The police ruled the deaths as animal attacks. It was as close to the truth as they were ever going to get. There was no convincing them otherwise and they were frequently told they were lucky they hadn't been accused. Graham insisted he would be fine in a cell surrounded by feet of solid concrete.

The hospital in the mountainside town had been enough to stabilize them when they arrived until a helicopter was able to carry Brian and Phoebe away. Graham didn't see much of the others for a few days while they underwent questioning. By the second day, Graham was wondering if they'd throw them all into an institution.

When they were finally released after a thorough check-up, Graham and Nora reluctantly led them back to the cabin. They remained on their guard the entire time despite the accompaniment of armed officers behind them. The cabin had been ransacked in the few days they'd been away. Some of the officer's skepticism melted away then and belief began to replace it when they looked into Regan's cabin across the lake.

The news channels had a field day with the story and it only grew when a reporter dug into Graham's past. For days he could feel them dogging his every step. He almost didn't mind. Compared to the people in the forest, the reporters were easy to keep track of. The familiarity of detectives and private investigators following him was almost a comfort. Some days he could pretend it all hadn't happened and he was a teenager again, hiding the gruesome deeds of his father. It never lasted.

Graham buried the memories the best he could but they always found a way to resurface. They were there the day Brian took his first steps on his new prosthetic leg. Everyone made the effort to see him as often as possible. Mike went with him to talk to Maya's parents but he seemed to drop off the face of the earth soon after. Occasionally he'd reach out at least to tell them he was alive if nothing else.

The last time they'd heard from him was when Amy stumbled out of the forest hundreds of miles away from where they'd been. She didn't speak about where she'd been, just asked for Moira until Nora was able to tell her she was gone. The hospital kept her on a constant watch for nearly a week before her parents brought her home.

Nightmares kept Graham awake most nights. Even curled up in a hotel room with Gio after Nora and Cass's wedding he knew they'd come. His father's face was always there. Antlers broke through his skin as he stood over Graham. A black hole would open far behind him and though Graham screamed for him to let go of his neck and turn, his father never saw the reptilian hand that slowly reached up from the depths. They always ended with a rush of black feathers and the beating of a drum mixed with roaring shrieks.

He turned to therapy, something that had worked before. The beige tones of the office streaked with afternoon sun felt safe. Even his odd request to have the plants removed had been met with calm words of understanding. Bit by bit, Graham felt the anxiety lessen. It was even manageable now as he stood in front of his childhood home and looked at the chipped wooden door.

Across the street, Gio and Spencer carried a few suitcases into Spencer's parents home. For the first time in nearly a decade they'd opened their arms and their home to Graham. He wondered how much Spencer had exaggerated Graham's involvement in getting their son home safe. The two of them disappeared and Graham ran his thumb over the key in his hand.

Age and the passing seasons had stripped the hinges of any oil and they whined as the door swung inward. They'd left in such a hurry back then. The living room was still exactly as he'd remembered it. Only a thick layer of dust marred the reality.

Graham didn't linger and went directly to the upstairs bedrooms. Colby's was the second on the right and he found the music books in question with ease. They'd been neatly stacked on the bookshelf along the wall across from the window. Graham gathered them along with a few bits and pieces he was sure Colby would be happy to see, including old photos shoved into the frame of the mirror above the dresser.

Family portraits, school pictures and blurry images of playgrounds cluttered the rectangular frame. Graham stacked them in his hand and froze as he turned to leave. A shadowy figure took up the center of the mirror, light from the window framing it in a halo. His heart leapt into his throat before he took a moment to really look at it.

The figure wasn't painted black, it just was. The edges were ill defined as if it was made up of smoke barely contained in a human form. Graham recognized the general silhouette. After all, he's just looked at the figure of his father in the family photo he left behind on the mirror. His breathing settled and Graham shook his head at the figure.

"I'm not touching this with a twelve foot pole," he said before he walked out.