The air in Devon’s bedroom was thick with the scent of her own panic sweat and cheap perfume. She’d been waiting, perched on the edge of her unmade bed, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. The red and green lights from the cheap plastic tree in the corner cast shifting, devilish shadows across the walls. It was Christmas Eve, but she wasn't expecting presents. A floorboard creaked in the hall, a sound that shouldn'...