While the Guaraldis were having their end-of-summer barbeque, a young woman stood alone across town. She walked down the gravel pathway of Minerva Boulevard slowly, like she had no interest in ever getting to her destination. She wore a long black jacket even though the weather bore no need for one. A suitcase was clutched in one gloved hand. A dark pair of sunglasses covered her eyes. The only distinctive feature that could be seen was her hair: long and red, so bright it almost looked to be dyed. If anyone in Clearwater would've looked out their window to see her, they would've known exactly who she was.

Her sights sent a whirl of dread through her stomach. Boulder Hill, one-half of the infamous Twin Eyesores, stood proudly at the end of Minerva Boulevard, big and imposing and horrible. Kids in town used to say the house was cursed. The young woman was sure it was true. After all, look at her.

Her feet took her to the front door though her mind was willing her away. She pulled a small silver key from the pocket of her jacket and just stared at it for quite some time, feeling its subtle weight against her hand. She'd thought she'd never have to use it again. She'd thought she'd knocked the dust of this backwater off her shoes for good. But she'd heard. She'd heard about Steve Bellfrey. And she knew better than anyone what the people in this town are capable of. What the things in this town are capable of.

Finally, she fitted the key in the lock of the front door and turned. Unsurprisingly, it worked. The locks hadn't been changed. She hadn't expected them to be, but perhaps she'd been hoping. Retracting her small silver key, she pulled the door open and stepped into Boulder Hill for the first time in years.

"Daddy, you sweet son of a bitch, I'm home."

Kitty Sinclair had returned to Clearwater.