It was a dark and rainy night in Westbush Close, time was around 8:30 pm, it wasn't the scary time yet, but it was close and people were already either heading home or locked inside with the blinds down and the TV on, ready to put up the volume when it was needed.

An old lady with white hair and wrinkles was knitting with red and black wool, she was sitting in a rocking chair and swinging back and forth at a slow and soothing pace; a young lady with black hair was talking on the phone to someone, her voice merely a whisper, accompanied by some shakiness and teary eyes, as every night.

"Darling I'm telling you, stay there. You will be fine with Larry, lock the door and pull down the blinds, I will see you in the morning." The young lady, Eleanor, said. After a sigh from his husband on the other side of the line, he agreed and told her to be careful, then he hung up. She put the phone down and looked at Mrs. Carrigan. They were a strange family.