A teenage girl is trying to make some extra money babysitting for a rich couple. She's already put the little boy to bed, and now she's downstairs watching TV and waiting for the couple to return.
Faintly, she thinks she hears a scratching sound coming from upstairs. She mutes the TV and listens hard, but it doesn't come again, and so she writes it off and goes back to her film. An hour passes and she's almost asleep before she hears it again, this time louder than before.
She mutes the TV again and listens. Maybe the little kid has gotten out of bed and is up to something. She decides to go up and check on him. She heads upstairs, but pauses at the entrance to the boy's room. Just in case he is still asleep, she doesn't want to wake him, so she goes in without turning on the light. She creeps over to his bed, and reaches down, expecting to feel his head on the pillow. What she feels instead is something wet and sticky. Some kind of mush. Gasping, she flicks on the bedside lamp.
The boy is still in bed, but where his head used to be there's now nothing but a bloody mess of brains and bone. It's as if his whole face has been torn away. The girl screams, and in panic turns to run towards the door. But she freezes before she's gone two steps. Standing behind the door is a man in a grey trench coat. His front is stained with blood, and where his left hand should be is a dripping metal hook.
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