Frank Deep kisses his girlfriend, Natalie Parker, goodbye on the mouth. Tender, lingering, tasting like strawberries and cheap lip gloss. It was around 10:00 PM, right at the front door of the Samberg house. A typical suburban home owned by some wage slave and a housewife, who at the time of the event were holed up in a hotel celebrating a second honeymoon. The family's kid, an 8-year-old named Bob and dubbed Bobby, is hypnotized by his bedroom TV, blasting polygonal ships with his game console controller.
Natalie, famous in La Crosse for her exotic violet eyes, sprawls out on the living room sofa with a bowl of popcorn. The TV is playing a rerun of A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Frank walks away from the house, hits the curb, and unlocks his car: a light blue 2001 Chevy. Before getting in, he feels a chill on the back of his neck and a heavy pit in his stomach. He peers over the roof of the car. Two silhouettes are waiting under a lit streetlight on the opposite sidewalk... Males, one taller than the other, both dressed in dark clothes.
The strangers are talking to each other in low, indistinguishable murmurs. Both stare back at him; one says something that makes the other laugh. Frank suspects they're mocking him, and the discomfort born from an unknown dread is quickly replaced by an irritation he feels much more comfortable with. He skirts the car and approaches the strangers.
"What the hell do you want?!"
"We're negotiating a blowjob, interested?" the older one says.
The shorter one laughs.
Frank glares, clenching his fists, itching to shut their mouths with a beating. But he decides that making a scene in the middle of suburbia at the dead of night would only bring trouble, plus there's a football game tomorrow and he needs his rest. He gets in his car and drives off, completely unaware that he just saved his own life.
An hour bleeds by.
Natalie turns off the TV, goes to the kitchen, washes the bowl, and puts it in the cupboard. She goes upstairs to check that Bobby is asleep. She cracks the bedroom door open; the strip of light from the hallway illuminates part of the bed. The blanket rises and falls to the rhythm of the kid's peaceful breathing.
Natalie heads back to the living room, starts turning off the lights, and makes sure everything is locked tight. On her way back up to crash in the guest room, she hears a thud. She freezes halfway up the stairs, just as two more knocks echo...
The sounds are coming from the front door.
Natalie figures Frank might have changed his mind about staying over. She retraces her steps and walks to the door. She peeks through the peephole, but the only thing staring back is the night and the isolation. She peers through the window curtains to make sure any potential pranksters are gone. Next to the curb, someone parked a grey van, engine running. No license plates.
A loud crack shatters the quiet. Natalie instantly registers where it came from and bolts to the kitchen. The door leading to the backyard is wide open, the deadbolt broken and rattling from the cold wind pouring in. Natalie goes pale, and the shadows in the corners of the room suddenly feel occupied.
She hears footsteps, people breathing, a breath on the back of her neck. She scrambles to hit the nearest wall switch and the light floods back. Table; stove; fridge; pantry; dripping sink; counter with the bowl on top. Nothing changed, but the dread remains. On high alert, Natalie walks to the door to inspect it... That's when she sees him.
The lights from the neighboring houses reveal a figure in dark clothes standing in the yard, his identity concealed by a cheap, blue plastic rabbit mask. In his gloved hands, he holds an iron mallet. Natalie freezes again. The stranger takes a step forward. The girl snaps out of her fear-induced paralysis and slams the door shut.
Natalie snatches the wall phone and runs to the living room. Her trembling hand makes it hard to dial 911. She glances toward the kitchen; the rabbit is poking his head out from there. Natalie opens her mouth to scream, but a hand clamps over her lips and slams her head against a framed photo of the Samberg family. The glass shatters and embeds itself in her temple. The world turns red.
Upstairs, Bobby wakes up to the commotion. He stares at the bedroom door, where the hallway light bleeds underneath. He hears strange noises. Scuffling. Something breaking. Thuds against the walls...
The boy sits up, figuring maybe Natalie left the TV on. The racket stops. A couple of minutes drag by as he waits to hear his babysitter's voice, but nothing.
He catches the sound of slow, cautious footsteps, neither rushing nor stopping. Bobby can make out the noise of doors creaking open slowly, as if that presence were searching for something in the rooms. The steps sound closer and closer, until the shadow of two feet interrupts the hallway light. Bobby feels a chill, pulls the blanket over his head, and turns to the wall. He closes his eyes and hides his face in his hands.
The doorknob turns and with a click, the door gives way with a whine. The presence moves forward until it stands right next to his bed; Bobby can hear it breathing.
"Natalie?" Bobby asks in a whisper. He instantly regrets opening his mouth, wishing the boogeyman was hard of hearing.
But the man heard.
"Quiet." The tone is soft, youthful, like any kid you'd bump into on the street. "You'll wake the neighbors. That wouldn't be polite."
Bobby obeys. He has a gut feeling that if he angers the stranger, something bad will happen. The mattress dips under a new weight. The fingers of a gloved hand stroke the boy's head through the blanket.
"W-Where is Natalie?" Bobby tries to sound calm, but the words come out trembling.
"Downstairs. We're her friends."
"Friends...?"
The boy lowers the blanket and tilts his head toward the stranger. The guy is sitting with his back to him, the blue rabbit ears sticking out from his face. The cheap carnival mask turns slowly until it faces the kid's glassy eyes.
"Is she okay?" Bobby asks.
"She's in bad shape."
The little boy shudders, noticing the iron mallet resting on the rabbit's lap. He tries to slide out of bed, but the visitor's hand shoves him back onto the mattress.
"Don't get up. It's late."
"I want to see Natalie."
"She's busy with my partner. You don't want to bother him. He hates noisy, spoiled brats," he warns, pulling the blanket up to Bobby's chin. He brings his face close to the kid's. The cold breath, reeking of cheap liquor, numbs the child's nose and makes him nauseous. "I'm the understanding one."
The rabbit stands up from the bed, the mallet resting on his shoulder.
"Go to sleep," Josh adds without looking at the kid, and walks out of the room.
The house lights stay off. A van purrs and peels away from the street. Bobby just stares at his bedroom ceiling until he falls asleep.
The police found Natalie Parker's body the next night.