"Don't touch that!"

My voice cracked through the dusty air of the attic as I reached for Nicole, who stood with one tiny hand stretched toward the glowing, rattling box perched high on the top shelf. The light flickering from it wasn’t electricity. It pulsed, faintly golden, rhythmic, alive.

"Momma, it's singing," she said, tilting her head like she was listening to something I couldn't hear. "It knows my name."

My heart skipped. Shit.

"Ethan!" I called down the ...