It was dark and it was small; she had been told to hide here in case anything went wrong, and Zoë understood that something was very wrong. Where was everyone? Why was it so quiet?

She knew Abby was out with Blade. Uncle Hannibal was resting because a bad man hurt him. Everyone else, besides her mother, had been playing basketball. Where were they now? What had happened?

Zoë didn't know. Mommy had spoken to her about this before; if something happened she was to hide in the small little niche that made up part of the boathouse.

Zoë was scared. Where was Mommy? And the others? She hoped everything would be okay.

There was absolute silence. She couldn't hear or see anything. It was too dark. Zoë wasn't afraid of the dark, but she shivered. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

A scream echoed through the boathouse. It was her mother! Zoë resisted the urge to run. No, she would listen to what her mother had said, she would stay. She hugged her knees closer to her chest. She was scared.

What was that? Footsteps? They didn't sound like Mommy's. Hers were measured and careful, and you could hear the tap-tap of her stick against the ground.

Zoë brought in a shuddering breath. She was very, very frightened — like Dorothy when she landed in Oz.

Someone walked past her. Zoë thought her heart was going to stop. She held her breath, and tried not to move. All she had to do was lay low for a while until Abby came back, and everything would be alright.

The footsteps echoed away from her. Whoever it was, had moved past the grating. Slowly, her heart stopped hammering against her ribs. Zoë moved slowly and carefully; her six-year-old curiosity wasn't abated by the fear she felt.

She crawled the short distance to the grating, looking out for anyone she knew.

Suddenly the grating was pulled off with enormous force, and Zoë screamed. Drake, Drake was baring his fangs and snarling, Drake was here, he had made it to the boathouse!

Zoë screamed on, scrambling back into her niche. She panicked and screamed louder, most desperately, as Drake reached a grab her, to kill her like he did Mommy and everyone else...

Zoë shot up in bed, screaming her little lungs out. It was Drake, Drake was here, Drake had come for her —

She struggled against the sheets. In her tossing and turning in the bed, her small limbs had become entangled in the cloth and now they were like the restraints Drake had put on her. No, she wouldn't let Drake get her, not again, not after he killed Mommy and strung her up just like he had done to Daddy but she had been little then, she hadn't seen what it was but Mommy told her it was bad, bad like Gnome King and —

Zoë willed herself to be calm. But she couldn't, and as the door flew open to a concerned Abby and King, she curled up in a foetal position and cried.