Lily and Charles Wright had just moved into their new home-sweet-home, which sat amongst others in the Houston suburbs. The neighbors were welcoming but kept to themselves most of the time, and there was a lovely playground for the children to skip in the mulch and touch the sky on the swings. Belly swollen with their first child, a daughter to be named Emilia, the new couple decided to move from the cities to a quieter neighborhood for a better opportunity at the public schools. They had already set up her room by the time Lily was nearly bursting; the wallpaper was light pink, as well as the rest of the pastel bedroom. A stuffed bunny, pale ivory with black button eyes and a little pink nose, laid on its back as if to doze off in the neatly made crib.

Soon enough, Lily went into labor.

Emilia was welcomed into the world with two loving parents, and she took adorable genes from both of them. Her skin was fair and soft, and she was as pudgy as a baby should be. Emilia was a good daughter, though she didn't accomplish much other than breathing and suckling for her mother's warm milk.

But before she began to crawl, both Lily and Charles started to suspect that something was a bit off about their precious daughter.

For example, she was awfully strong for an infant, as she managed to throw her stuffed bunny across the entire room during one of her regular crying fits. It hit the ground with a "THUD," and both of her parents' eyes danced between the toy and Emilia in utter astonishment. However, they simply shrugged it off, for it was their first child, and perhaps, such odd behavior was perfectly normal.

But one day, Emilia began to shriek like no other, almost as if something bizarre had come over her. Lily rushed to her daughter's side and found her skin to be as red as a traffic light and as thick and tough as a rhinoceros' hide. She didn't hesitate to take the poor girl to the hospital for desperate help for such a severe rash. Lily retraced what she had done the previous night differently than all the others and concluded it to be something in the laundry detergent that was used to wash Emilia's blanket and clothes with. The doctor sent them home with an ointment to be applied twice a day--once in the morning and once at night.

Lily applied the cream religiously, and the rash soon calmed down.

But Emilia had something else in store for her parents.

Two nights after her rash had gone away, Charles went into his sweet daughter's bedroom to read her a bedtime story. But strangely, the stuffed bunny had been torn apart. It was decapitated, with the cotton stuffing pouring from the detached head and body and around Emilia like a pool of seafoam.

How could such a small baby have the strength to rip apart her toy?

As Charles began to coo to his daughter and clean up the mess she had made, Emilia suddenly began wail, and as her wailed, her piercing voice shattered her bedroom window. Lily rushed in, her damp body hurriedly wrapped in a towel and her hair dripping wet, and saw the shards of glass on the carpeted floor.

Still, they put their daughter to sleep with a bedtime story about a princess who had transformed into a frog.

The morning after, Emilia began to howl, but this time, without a window to destroy. Lily came in to coddle her daughter, still drunk on sleep and fatigue that all mothers should know, and only found....

Emilia's veins were black as if pure venom ran through them.

They raised in her skin, and Lily could swear that she could see them pump the black liquid through Emilia's tiny body. Her eyes were bloodshot, glaring and glowing in the dark room. Charles followed Lily and soon became haunted by his daughter's unnatural condition.

This wasn't just a regular medical condition.

This was something else--something more severe.

The Wright couple called in the neighborhood priest and ordered him to perform an exorcism, as they were sure--no, they were _definite-- _that Emilia was possessed by a demon. The neighbors began to talk their usual neighborly gossip, and some developed quite wild theories on the Wright family. One theory was that, of course, Emilia was possessed. Another was that they were engaging in witchery. There were many more of them, too many to count. But all that Lily and Charles cared about was the wellbeing of their sweet daughter, for all they've ever wanted was a child of their own.

The priest, Father Francis, performed the exorcism with no success. As he threw the holy water on the writhing baby, the contact between the blessed liquid and Emilia's reddening skin only made her shriek more. Father Francis, scared for his own sake, could only leave and say that there was nothing else he could do to help. Lily and Charles were utterly hopeless but were too worrisome about what Emilia may do to them, so they left her unfed and alone in her room. They closed the door on her, grieving their living daughter as if she were dead, but they also tried to move on with their day.

But the banging and slamming made it rather difficult.

The rageous, deliberate slams ricocheted through the "home-sweet-home," making it seem as if it was being shaken so hard that it could crumble any minute.

This went on for some time, and Lily and Charles, heartbroken by the loss of their tender Emilia, decided to pack up and leave. They couldn't live with such a monster. They couldn't live with the neighbors' whispers surrounding them every time they left the house. The most they could do was live with the unwavering guilt of failed parents.

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Victoria and Jared Caldwell just moved into their new home. It was a bit shabby, but they could always just fix it up for the new addition to their family. Victoria was heavily pregnant with their first child, a son named Henry. The house was sold for cheap, an awfully good deal for a house in such a nice neighborhood. The owners seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of it, and the Caldwell couple didn't think twice about buying it.

Victoria already had the vision of what she wanted Henry's bedroom to look like. She wanted blue wallpaper with footballs, basketballs, and soccer balls bordering the ceiling. As they moved in, she found a room that sat in the corner, seemingly forgotten.

She opened it.

The door creaked open, revealing a long-forgotten room.

And a giant, armored worm feeding on the peeling wallpaper staring back at her with its many, red, beady eyes.

And in the corner was the ruins of an old crib.