I didn't waste any time looking at them.

Turning on my heel I bolted out the door. Luckily Peter was already in the passenger seat.

I took the guitar off my shoulder and shoved it through the driver's side to Peter, not bothering to open the back door.

"What's wrong?" He asked, taking the guitar without question.

I got in and locked the doors without answering him.

"What is it?" He asked, forehead wrinkling.

I still didn't answer as I put the car in gear. He moved to put the black case in the backseat but froze, staring out the back window.

Turning around I saw what looked like an older man standing next to the house. His clothes were splattered with blood and his long white hair was matted and dark at the ends.

He was watching us.

"Drive." Peter croaked.