"Jack dropped from the windowsill, slipped on the bathroom tiles, and caught the sink with his elbow—crack. He sucked in a lungful of brisk air, held it, and waited for the tramping of feet and snap of light switches.

Nothing. A sluggish drip came from the corner shower basin. Behind him, the ground-floor window was raised to the top of the frame, the sash panel beside the lock smashed out. A hand reached over the debris glistening on the sill, and Jack lifted Michelle inside.

‘We go straight for the jewellery,’ he said, dragging his snowy boots on a bathmat. ‘Old ladies always hoard cash. Don’t trust the banks.’

As they edged through the dark hallway, feeding the cornice of the half-panelled wall through their hands, a bell on the coffee table caught his attention. He walked over and raised it high toward the ceiling.

Before Michelle could so much as inhale, he snapped his arm straight. The clamour echoed in their skulls, and Jack dropped the bell into the plush carpet, grinning unnaturally as the weight of their actions loomed over them.

But it was only when they stumbled upon the baby monitor that dread filled the room. A baby was beaming into the camera lens—lifeless, purple skin, bulging eyes.

‘Dammit, Michelle. Shell!’ he shouted as she whispered in terror, ‘It’s looking right at me.’

And then, scratched into the tablet’s back, a chilling warning: Don’t upset the babies."