He’s not inside the first wardrobe, with its falling ironing board, nor inside the second, with a smiling girl’s head propped on folded towels. His cranium-splitting axe awaits us in the final one.
Unsuspecting partygoers, dressed to a fancy ball, dance in the living room. The road outside leads into a wintry forest.
My time-travel mission was to kill 5-year-old Jason and save those future lives. 3-feet-tall, and with long silky hair, Jason played in the local hospital’s hallways. I carried him to the hospital’s roof and threw him off the ledge. He landed on a mattress, cried and survived.