Normal, Martin thinks, momentarily distracted from his own distress as he scrunches up in his face in an effort to piece his memory together. He feels okay, he thinks, but he doesn't quite remember what had happened just last night, which is a little funny. He supposes he remembers going to bed, but—

John gasps and Martin instantly follows his fixed stare to the door, his eyes widening in horror as it creaks open slowly, like in some movie his mum would be cross at him for watching. All he can think is it'll be either their kidnapper or a ghost, and Martin spasms back and grabs instinctively at John, unable to stop himself from that or from letting out a shrill, aborted scream.