The angle was wrong. It was mounted high in a corner, looking down at a child's bed. But the bed was empty. The sheets were a tangled mess, frozen mid-crumple as if someone had just thrown them off.
He should close the browser. He knew that. Instead, he hit the audio button. intitle webcam 5
The command had become a ghost hunt.
A small handprint. It was on the wall, just beside the door. It wasn't drawn in paint or crayon. It was dark, almost liquid, and it was slowly, very slowly, sliding down the plaster, leaving a fresh streak behind it. The angle was wrong
