We could hear faint crashings from upstairs; the Fiends, making a mess because they couldn't find us. Chewing on my drapes; defecating on my carpet, ripping up my graphic novels in their bloodthirsty rage. But surely they could follow their noses?

That's when Sinclair stopped walking and began tapping his knuckles on what looked like a solid cement wall.

"I don't think you should do that," I said nervously. "They might hear."

"Over the sound of their own nonsense? Doubtful. "

I opened my mouth to object again (quietly) when the solid cement wall suddenly swung wide to the left, revealing a narrow, dimly lit (with fluorescents, blinking on one by one even as we stared) tunnel.

"Tunnel?" I asked, peering.

"Tunnel," Marc confirmed, peering with me. His grip tightened around my neck. "Did this come with the house, or did you put it in after?"

Good fucking question, which, I couldn't help notice, my husband didn't bother to answer.

"The lights and heat are motion activated." Sinclair turned to me, smiling with all his sharp teeth. "Usually, in our case, heat activation would do little good. After you, my queen."

Wondering what else about the Vampiric Mansion of Mystery I didn't know, I went.