Mara tried the door at the end of the hall. Locked. Through the keyhole she saw a thin line of candlelight and a chair rocking on its own. She backed away fast. "Daniel," she said, "there's no power up here. So what's burning?"
Daniel kicked the locked door open. The room was empty, the rocking chair still. But the candle on the sill had burned down and was now climbing back up, the wax rising, the flame growing taller as they watched. "It's running backward," Mara breathed. "The house is going back to before us."
Daniel blew out the candle. The whole house went dark and still, finally still, for one perfect second. Then thirty-one candles lit themselves in thirty-one rooms, one for every name on the basement mailboxes, and footsteps came down the stairs to meet the two newest flames.