She continued walking, now with purpose, determined to reach the brilliant light, to find the source that she knew would return her voice. Sidney’s steps came more quickly, more sure footed, the cold and bitter snowflakes swirling up from her bare feet, her gray flannel nightgown wrapping and binding her legs to strides much shorter than her determined mind wanted. It took only a few moments to close the distance. As she shrugged the shawl from her shoulders she leaped forward and grasped the gleaming chrome handle of an ancient car door, wrenching it open.

Sidney Palmer was right in her instinct that the light would, somehow, bring her voice back. A high-pitched, guttural scream floated from her mouth as the cold, dead hands of the passenger flashed out, grasped her wrists and pulled her bodily into the car.

As the door closed, the passenger whispered into Sidney’s ear, “We’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart. The young ones always taste better.”