“John?” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “What happened? I… I don’t remember anything.”

John swallowed hard, deciding to play along. “You must have been sleepwalking, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He guided her gently, avoiding her questioning gaze, and tucked her in. As she drifted back to sleep, John examined the message on the wall more closely. It wasn’t blood, but rather some kind of red paint, hastily applied and still wet to the touch.