both started laughing, and for a few minutes she felt better. In fact, by the time she left Dawn's, the whole thing seemed silly.
But now she was home, and all her creepy feelings were back, only there was no place else to go.
Remembering that her mom should already be home, she crossed the street, walked across the lawn and onto the porch, and unlocked the front door.
The house smelled different.
And it didn’t smell good, like when the cleaning lady came.
No, it smelled like people.
People she didn’t know.
“Mom?” she called. “I’m home.” The clothes washer was going, but her mother didn’t answer. Lindsay dropped her backpack on the kitchen counter and ran up the stairs.
Her room smelled wrong, too, but not like the rest of the house. It smelled different.
There was a musky odor, and there was something about it that made her skin crawl.
Lindsay opened the window wide, and as she did, noticed that her stuffed animals had been moved. Why would anybody touch the stuffed animals she’d lined up on the sill?
“Mom?” she called out again, almost unconsciously.
She looked around. Everything else seemed to be in the right place. A fresh breeze came in through the window and some of the musky odor went away.
But not all of it.
And it was going to be even worse on Sunday, when dozens—maybe even hundreds—of people were going to go through the house. How could her parents stand it?
Lindsay hated the whole idea of it. Hated it.
“Hi, honey,” Kara said from the doorway, startling Lindsay out of her reverie. “I was just on the phone with Mark Acton. He said he had twenty-eight people through and thought maybe we’d get an offer or two even before Sunday.”
“Good,” Lindsay said, feeling a surge of relief.
Kara leaned against the doorjamb and cocked her head quizzically. “That’s a change of tune.”
Lindsay shrugged. “I just don’t want any more strangers in my room.” Her eyes met her mother's. “They touched my stuff, Mom, just like I knew they would. They moved things around.”
Kara sighed heavily. “Nobody touched anything, Linds. Besides, how could you tell if somebody moved something?”
“I just can,” Lindsay insisted, and wrinkled her nose at the musky odor that still hung faintly in the air. “And it stinks in here. Can’t you smell it?” When her mother only offered her the kind of indulgent smile that told her she was being humored, not taken seriously, Lindsay felt her face getting red. She wasn’t a child anymore, and her mother shouldn’t treat her like one. But before she could say anything, her mother seemed to sense her mood and quickly changed the subject.
“Dad’s coming home tonight. And we saw some good places today.”
“I guess that’s good,” Lindsay sighed. She flopped on the bed, and the strange musky smell grew stronger.
It was on her pillow!
She jumped off the bed as if it were on fire. “Mom, somebody was touching my pillow. My pillow !”
“Honey—” Kara began, but Lindsay didn’t let her finish.
“I’m telling you,” she said, snatching up the pillow. “Smell this!”
Kara took a quick sniff of the pillow, then shrugged. “Sorry, honey—it just smells like pillow to me. Old pillow, maybe, but just pillow.”
When her mother went downstairs to start dinner, Lindsay ripped the pillowcase off and threw the pillow in the corner.
But it didn’t matter. Everything had changed.
This room, she knew, would never feel the same again.
Maybe it might be a good idea to move after all.
Chapter Eleven
W hy she woke up, Lindsay didn’t know. All she knew was that one moment she’d been sound asleep and the next wide-awake.
Wide-awake and listening.
But for what? The silence of the night was almost palpable.
And then she heard it.
The sound of breathing. She relaxed, certain it was her mom or dad checking up on her. Then she realized the door was closed and the room was dark. Faint light came in around the edges of the
But now she was home, and all her creepy feelings were back, only there was no place else to go.
Remembering that her mom should already be home, she crossed the street, walked across the lawn and onto the porch, and unlocked the front door.
The house smelled different.
And it didn’t smell good, like when the cleaning lady came.
No, it smelled like people.
People she didn’t know.
“Mom?” she called. “I’m home.” The clothes washer was going, but her mother didn’t answer. Lindsay dropped her backpack on the kitchen counter and ran up the stairs.
Her room smelled wrong, too, but not like the rest of the house. It smelled different.
There was a musky odor, and there was something about it that made her skin crawl.
Lindsay opened the window wide, and as she did, noticed that her stuffed animals had been moved. Why would anybody touch the stuffed animals she’d lined up on the sill?
“Mom?” she called out again, almost unconsciously.
She looked around. Everything else seemed to be in the right place. A fresh breeze came in through the window and some of the musky odor went away.
But not all of it.
And it was going to be even worse on Sunday, when dozens—maybe even hundreds—of people were going to go through the house. How could her parents stand it?
Lindsay hated the whole idea of it. Hated it.
“Hi, honey,” Kara said from the doorway, startling Lindsay out of her reverie. “I was just on the phone with Mark Acton. He said he had twenty-eight people through and thought maybe we’d get an offer or two even before Sunday.”
“Good,” Lindsay said, feeling a surge of relief.
Kara leaned against the doorjamb and cocked her head quizzically. “That’s a change of tune.”
Lindsay shrugged. “I just don’t want any more strangers in my room.” Her eyes met her mother's. “They touched my stuff, Mom, just like I knew they would. They moved things around.”
Kara sighed heavily. “Nobody touched anything, Linds. Besides, how could you tell if somebody moved something?”
“I just can,” Lindsay insisted, and wrinkled her nose at the musky odor that still hung faintly in the air. “And it stinks in here. Can’t you smell it?” When her mother only offered her the kind of indulgent smile that told her she was being humored, not taken seriously, Lindsay felt her face getting red. She wasn’t a child anymore, and her mother shouldn’t treat her like one. But before she could say anything, her mother seemed to sense her mood and quickly changed the subject.
“Dad’s coming home tonight. And we saw some good places today.”
“I guess that’s good,” Lindsay sighed. She flopped on the bed, and the strange musky smell grew stronger.
It was on her pillow!
She jumped off the bed as if it were on fire. “Mom, somebody was touching my pillow. My pillow !”
“Honey—” Kara began, but Lindsay didn’t let her finish.
“I’m telling you,” she said, snatching up the pillow. “Smell this!”
Kara took a quick sniff of the pillow, then shrugged. “Sorry, honey—it just smells like pillow to me. Old pillow, maybe, but just pillow.”
When her mother went downstairs to start dinner, Lindsay ripped the pillowcase off and threw the pillow in the corner.
But it didn’t matter. Everything had changed.
This room, she knew, would never feel the same again.
Maybe it might be a good idea to move after all.
Chapter Eleven
W hy she woke up, Lindsay didn’t know. All she knew was that one moment she’d been sound asleep and the next wide-awake.
Wide-awake and listening.
But for what? The silence of the night was almost palpable.
And then she heard it.
The sound of breathing. She relaxed, certain it was her mom or dad checking up on her. Then she realized the door was closed and the room was dark. Faint light came in around the edges of the
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