"Everyone is gone now," the voice replied, sounding almost like a lullaby. "You can stay here forever. We can play in the dark."

He found Kaylee sitting on the ceiling in the living room. She wasn't falling; she was just tucked into the corner where the walls met the roof, her eyes wide and fixed on the darkness of the kitchen. "Don't look up," she mouthed, though she was already there.

Kevin sat on the floor and began to stack his blocks. He stacked them higher and higher, but they never fell. Gravity had left with his parents. He looked at the TV, where a caption appeared in grainy, white text:

He went downstairs. The television was on, tuned to a channel that didn't exist—just a loop of black-and-white cartoons from the 1930s, flickering and silent. The light from the screen cast long, twitching shadows of the Legos scattered across the floor. "Mom? Dad?"