A/N: I can't apologise enough for the delay in updating. My final year at University is taking up most, if not all of my free time. However, I've completed a lot of modules now so I should be more on top of things when it comes to updating.

Please leave reviews with any criticism/feedback. I love to hear from you all and I can't stress enough how much it helps me!

By the time Steve had had pulled up in front of Shirley's house, his daughter had fallen asleep. It had been a drive of malcontent silence and unwelcome Christmas songs. But it was over now and that was all that mattered.

Shutting off the engine, the car rippled to silence. Now that they were still, fat snowflakes were beginning to fall on the windscreen. He looked across at Nora, asleep with her face pressed against the glass. In simpler times, all it would take would be for him to go around to the passenger side of the car, unbuckle her seat belt, scoop her into his arms and carry her inside. But she was no longer a ten year old who could fit in to his arms, and he often found himself wishing that she still was.

Instead, her reached across and shook her gently by the arm.

"Up and at 'em, kiddo. We're here."

With a soft inhale, she lifted her head, neck stiff from her position. He smiled thinly at her. She didn't return it. Taking her backpack from the foot-well, she got out of the car without a second word.

By the time he had grabbed a few suitcases and made his way to the front door, his sister was waiting for him. Theodora, whiskey glass in hand and wearing a rather juxtaposing Christmas jumper. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You look like shit."

"I missed you too." Steve muttered, setting the suitcases down at his side. He looked at her expectantly.

"You gonna let me in?"

Pushing off from the door frame, she sipped at her drink and moved out of the way and back in to the house.

The inside of Shirley's house was warm. The smell of cooking was drifting to his nose from the kitchen and Christmas decorations donned the walls. Stamping his feet to dislodge snow, Steve shut the door behind him. A creak of a floorboard was all it took to make his smile return.

Leigh. God he had missed her. It had only been two days, but ever since they had made amends he had never wanted to stray far from her side. The steps he took to close the distance between the were hurried, and he accepted her hug willingly.

"Hey." She said, in the happy tone that had been absent from his life for so long.

"Hey." He breathed, ducking to press his mouth to hers.

With a laugh against his lips, she pushed his hands off her waist and pulled away. "Jesus, you're freezing! Get off!"

Half tempted to put his hands on her back under her shirt like the college kids they once were, Steve was only stopped by his son. Barely ten, walking over to him. Stepping back from his wife, he managed a genuine smile.

"Hey bud."

Hugh Crain, whom everyone referred to as Hughie, beamed up at him. At least one of his children wasn't unhappy with him. Pulling his son in to a sideways hug, Steve carried on walking down the hallway.

"How is everything?"

"Auntie Shirl has told everyone to get out of her kitchen and Auntie Theo has already had an argument with her so that's why she's sulking."

He had such a blunt way with words that it would always make him smile. An outlook on the world that Steve would seldom see in anyone else he knew.

"Did you see your sister, bud?"

"She's with Uncle Luke." Hughie looked up at him through a dark fringe, a lopsided smile on his face.

Of course she was. It made sense that she was. Whenever there was a family meetup the first thing Nora would ask was if Luke would be there., and if he was she rarely moved from his side.

Sticking his head through the kitchen doorway, he saw Shirley staring down at numerous pots on the hob. Kevin, at the chopping board, was already shaking his head in silent warning. But Steve, to be frank, had enjoyed annoying his younger sister since he was four years old.

"Hey Shirl. So nice to see you."

She didn't even look up from the cooker. "Unless you're here to roast potatoes you need to leave."

Steve twisted his head slightly with an inhale. "Christmas spirit, Shirl. I can feel it all around."

"You'll feel something else in a minute."

Leigh, sensing that there was a conflict in the making, had pulled him by the elbow and lead him down the hallway to the living room. Theo was sitting on the sofa in the corner, one arm around Trish—who he concluded was the culprit for making his sister wear a Christmas jumper seeing as she was sporting her own equally hideous one. And there, on the other sofa, was his little brother.

Luke had done well for himself. He had been clean now for close to a decade and a half. His clothes were no longer shabby sweats and he had bagged an animation job sometime after his third clean year. Sure enough, Nora was sitting at his side.

Luke stood, smiled his crooked smile and hugged Steve so tightly it had nearly knocked the wind out of him. He kept forgetting that he was going to the gym regularly.

"Hey Luke."

"Hey Stevie."

And that was that. He was settled, warm and surrounded by his family. Though his sisters and their attitudes were still lost on him. Steve found a spot on the armchair near the fire-place and Leigh settled on its padded arm, passing him a beer he was all too thankful for.

"How has it been here?" He asked, taking his first long sought after sip.

"Like watching eighty cat fights." Luke said simply, half smiling at the glare he received from Theo across the room. A brief tap of the knee from Trish was all it took to stop the dirty look.

"And then this one came bombing over at one hundred miles an hour and started telling me about her Art lessons."

Leigh nodded at his side with a smile, one hand on Steve's knee. "Best class you have, isn't it darling?"

Nora nodded, still hugging her backpack to her chest. Steve tried to meet her eyes.

She didn't let him.

Dinner proved to be less eventful than she had initially thought. Nora had spent the first half of it trying and failing to kick her brother in the shins under the table whenever he grinned over at her in the smug way that always got under her skin. Uncle Kevin was explaining a story to the rest of her family that was clearly absolutely hilarious for reasons Nora simply didn't want to understand.

As she had hoped, her Aunt Shirley's food did not disappoint. When the roast potato dish had been passed to her, she had piled a small mountain on to her plate, gaining her an unimpressed look from her Mother across the table. By the time she had turned five she had concluded that she would spend the rest of her life eating nothing but her Aunt's roast potatoes if she could. To Nora Crain, they were worth their weight in gold.

Every now and then, Theo would look over at her and smile. A smile that she knew to be genuine because it actually reached her eyes. It seldom did with anyone that wasn't Trish or one of Nora's cousins. Theo was still half listening to whatever nonsense Kevin was spouting as she ate, but she still found the time to mouth the words 'are you okay' to her. Knife and fork still in hand, Nora nodded her head. Her Aunt raised a brow in doubt but pressed on with her food anyway.

She looked over at her parents briefly. Her mother was talking to her father quietly, her brows pinched in concern. It didn't take a genius to know that the topic was about her. When her Dad glanced up at her, she looked away, sipping at her coke. Directly opposite her, Hughie was watching her intently. He leant over.

"Are you grounded?" He asked, setting his fork down so he could reach for his own drink. "Because you're doing the face you do whenever you're grounded."

"Haven't you got anything better to do than to push your face into someone else's business?"

For a ten-year-old, her brother was too snarky for her liking. She had often heard her Mother saying to her friends that she was certain it was because of all the video games he played. But in Nora's opinion it was simply because he was a turd. And she had no shame in mentally referring to him in such a way.

Hughie leant back in his chair with another one of his smug smiles, and Nora realised that she had broken one of her most important rules. She had risen up to him, and as soon as someone like her little brother got a rise out of you, he had essentially won.

"Someone's sulking."

"Well at least my voice doesn't break whenever I talk." It had been said quickly, half directed in to her drink as the rest of their family carried on chatting around them. His eyes narrowed, and she had seen him turn his head and draw a breath to call for their Father, but their Uncle, who she hadn't known was listening, had already leant forward.

"Hey." Luke's deep voice stopped her brother in his tracks. Forearms on the table, Luke leant closer to his brother's kids and shook his head. "Stop messing around. Because if your Dad yells at you we're the ones that have to deal with him being miserable when you're both in bed."

Hughie slumped back in his seat and took his cutlery up again. When his unimpressed gaze locked with hers, Nora managed an overly sweet smile, though as soon as she had done so she had been prodded in the ribs by her Uncle.

"Cut it out."

Turning back to his food, he cut in to the turkey his sister had spent far too long slaving over. This would be their only Christmas dinner, as when Christmas did roll around in the coming days, everything would be too hectic. Luke never minded. They were the Crain's after all. Normalcy just wasn't a factor of anything.

"What's your Dad done now?" He asked, fork scraping against the plate as he pierced some more meat. With yet another half-eaten roast potato on her own fork, Nora glanced at her Father once again, lost in conversation with his wife. "He isn't letting me read his book. The first one. The Hill House one."

Her Uncle had suddenly become very still. For a moment she was waiting for him to roll his eyes or huff out a laugh. But there was no such display of emotion. He was chewing his food steadily and nodding to himself just as slowly.

"Nora," He began, finishing his mouthful. "If you write something like your Dad did, and you take it to a publishers and get it copied hundreds and hundreds of times you can't take any of it back."

Even the potatoes weren't keeping her together anymore. Nora had settled her hands in her lap. Her phone buzzed in her jean pocket, but she knew that as soon as her Father caught her with her head bowed staring at another group chat it'd just give him another thing to tell her off about. Her argument was feeble, and she knew it was.

"But he's writing a follow up."

Luke shook his head, bumping shoulders with his niece once. Anything to tell her that though what he was saying was harsh, he was still a supportive figure in the situation. "Okay. New way of seeing things. What do we do when we make a mistake when we draw?"

We. Already he was making her smile return again. In her head, the two people that understood her frustrations the most were her Art teacher and her Uncle Luke. Tucking a dark curl behind her ear she, smiled. Properly.

"We rub it out."

"Yeah. Rub out the mistake and draw it again. See, what your Dad has done is allow thousands and thousands of copies of that drawing with the mistake in it to be in galleries all over the world. He can't erase it, not every single one. So he'll write a follow up. To change that mistake. Because just as many people who read the first one will read the second one. Get it?"

"I think so."

With a sniff, Luke finished his glass of water. "Art analogies. Only way to get through to you. I'll pass that on to your Dad."

As always, the sleeping arrangements were haphazard and last minute. Theo and Trish had claimed the larger spare room long before her parents had even arrived. Since she had moved out of the annex on Shirley's land, her Aunt had opened it out to a renter. An older woman by the name of Mrs Blanche Creed, who seemed to do nothing but catch the bus to her crochet meetings, go to church and spoil her six cats. With her cousin Jayden away at college, her Mother and Father were sleeping in his room instead. Which of course, left Nora uncomfortably sleeping on one of the sofas. Hughie was on the other sofa and Luke, all too used to sleeping rough, was on the floor in a sleeping bag.

After one too many drinks after dinner, Kevin had had to steer his wife back upstairs, and judging by the look in her Mother's eye, Leigh would be spending most of the night with her face over a toilet. Wine wasn't her friend, she always said. But she drank it anyway.

Both her Uncle and her brother were snoring. If that wasn't irritating enough, they had synchronised perfectly so that whenever Luke exhaled silently, Hughie inhaled noisily in a constant loop. The risk of freezing to death while sleeping in the car was becoming all too tempting. The white light of her phone was keeping her awake as she scrolled through endless posts from friends and classmates. A myriad of Christmas tree photos, family selfies and the more than frequent slutty Santa dresses from some of the more 'confident' girls in her classes.

After some time even the world of social media was beginning to bore her. Thankfully, her younger brother had turned in his sleep and his snoring had ceased. Though the same couldn't be said for her Uncle. With a jagged swallow, Nora realised that her throat was dry. Her tongue was no longer wet in her mouth and she could feel a tickle beginning at her tonsils. Of course. Of course she would need a drink of water at this time of night.

Careful to not accidentally stand on her Uncle, Nora swung her legs off the side of the sofa and sat upright. She could just see the silhouette of the Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the room, surrounded in darkness. The coffee table adjacent to it was still littered with the cards her Father and Uncles had been attempting to play after dinner. Standing, she stepped over Luke's legs and circled around the sofa that her brother was fast asleep on. Seeing as she had spent nearly every Christmas in her life at her aunt's, the route to the kitchen was one she knew all too well. Straight down the hallway, first door on the left opposite the second staircase. As her feet made their way across the vinyl flooring, she found herself wishing she had worn socks to bed.

Despite the central heating, the December chill was making each step pinch at her bare feet. Quickening her pace to save them from any more grief, Nora hid a yawn behind the back of her hand. The kitchen still smelt of cooking, and the low lights from under the island kitchen top in the centre barely lit her way when she flicked them on. Vinyl floor had changed to marble, which only meant her feet were met with a more intense chill that washed its way up and down her legs.

Walking over to the correct drawer, she tiptoed to get a glass. As she ran the tap, she looked out across her Aunt's property at the annex that was partially tucked away by the trees. A single light was on in the bedroom. Nora felt her eyebrows twitch in a frown. Last time she had checked her phone it had been coming up to 3:00 in the morning. Why was a woman as elderly as Mrs Creed awake at such a time? The curtains were shut, but she could still see the orange light ebbing out from the gaps in the fabric. The light flitted briefly, as if someone had walked past it's source.

The sudden shock of ice cold water spilling over her wrist startled her so much that she had nearly dropped her glass. She had been so distracted that it had overflown. Shutting off the tap with a muttered curse, she emptied some of the glass, dried her hand on the back of her joggers and took a good few sips.

It was Christmas, she told herself. Why would Mrs Creed not have people visiting for the holidays? And yet, in Nora's experience, the senior woman was one of the people who found the tradition of drunken festivities and gift giving abhorrent. She had learnt as such when she had been six and she had been invited over for cookies with her cousin Allie. Mrs Creed had asked if she was familiar with the true meaning of Christmas, and Nora had remembered the haggard, uncomfortably large wooden cross that hung on the bare grey wall in the living room.

Would a woman who seldom left her house apart from on Sundays who kept her company with cats and, Nora assumed, had a very sheltered and opinionated world view, have visitors?

She doubted it. The woman had probably over-run on her own midnight mass, she thought. Or had woken up too late to begin with. Finishing her fill of the water, she let the rest splash down the sink. Setting the glass down on the side, she turned and started to make her way back across the kitchen, turning off the light behind her as she left.

The Christmas tree was on.

Red and green lights turning on and off in synchronised tandem, cast colourful shadows across the room and the sleeping faces of her Uncle and brother. Nora remained in place, her hand still resting over the light switch behind her in the doorway. Perhaps they worked on a timer like the lights outside. Perhaps Luke had knocked the switch on the floor turning in his sleep.

Movement in the corner of her eye dragged her attention away. The staircase directly opposite the kitchen doorway was more lit up than it had been before. A light from the floor below. It made sense now. Her Aunt clearly couldn't sleep and had gone downstairs to do some work. She had turned the tree lights on to light her way.

Kicking herself, her hand fell from the light switch and she took her first step on to the hallway. The chill was more intense now, numbing the soles of her feet. As a child she had never journeyed further than the second step. Her Mother had wrapped an arm around her and told her that there was an element of respect that was needed for the people Shirley's clients sent in to her care. That it was no place for a six year old to play hide and seek in. But this was different, surely. She was fifteen. She knew more about what her Aunt did now than she ever did when she had first discovered the staircase.

Her hand came to rest on the bannister though she did not take the step. There was certainly a light.
"Auntie Shirl?" She kept her voice moderately quiet. She looked back over her shoulder in to the living room. Hughie turned over in his sleep, one hand hanging down off the sofas edge. Dangerously close to their Uncle's nose.

Her foot met with the first step down to the mortuary. She suddenly realised how tight she was gripping the banister. The walls in the living room were still flickering due to the tree. Red. Green. Red. Green. Nora straightened, cleared her throat and took the second step. And then the third. By the time she had turned on the landing and made her way down the final set of stairs, the lights from the tree were out of sight. Only the yellow, warm light from the strips on the ceiling showed her her way to the mortuary door.
"Auntie Shirl?" Louder this time. "Sorry if I'm interrupting. I can't sleep. Can we talk? I fell out with Dad..."

It was colder down here than it was anywhere else in the house. Nora wasn't sure if she shuddered because of the change in temperature or because she had realised why it was needed. To preserve what was needed to be preserved.

She knocked. There was no response. Though whenever she had visited with her Mother on weekends she had seen her Aunt go down to work with headphones in more than once. Bracing herself to be snapped at by Shirley, Nora pushed the mortuary door open.

Two slabs, both pristine and smelling strongly of disinfectant lay before her. Thankfully, they were empty. There was a stillness here like no other. It's varnished vinyl floor and white, chilled counters and drawers. It was a room without any life in its walls, which in reason, was useful seeing as there was seldom any life within them. It was a room that existed to hold non-existent people.

She was unsure what she would have done if she had walked in on her Aunt with her hands inside someone's digestive system. Probably shut the door and hurry back upstairs where she was supposed to be. However, Shirley was no-where in the room.

As she was questioning whether there was another room downstairs that she had missed, her phone buzzed in her jogger pockets. Still leaning against the door to keep it open, Nora fished around for her phone and looked down at her lock screen. Blocking the photograph she had of her and her friends was messenger notification. Sliding her thumb across she instantly rolled her eyes. Paul Nelson. A boy in her homeroom who she just about tolerated.

"Someone's up late. Or Early.' And, good lord, two winky face emojis. Muttering to herself, Nora sighed and lowered her phone from her eyes.

Writing. Large and arching, jumping out at her from the mortuary wall. The lettering was red and runny and spanned from one side of the wall to the other.

Crain.

Her phone clattered to the floor. Sweeping down to snatch it up again, she turned. Slipped on the polished vinyl and hit her head on the doorway making white flash before her eyes on impact. If anything it just spurred on her fight or flight as she sprinted up the stairs without looking back.

Upstairs in his nephews bed, Steven Crain sat bolt upright, heart pounding in his chest. With his hand pressed to the side of his head.