against the windowpane above the headboard. She got up and shivered in the cold, slipped on David’s robe, and padded barefoot out of the bedroom. She went down the hall to the bathroom and relieved herself. When she stepped into the hallway again, she stopped and listened.
She could hear David snoring in the bedroom, the wind and rain outside, but nothing else. The house was silent.
She noticed Miles’s bedroom door was closed, which was odd. She and David always left his door open about a foot—Miles preferred it that way, always had. Light streamed out from under the closed door.
Jenna went to his door and opened it a crack. Miles was sound asleep in his bed with the overhead light on.
“Damned horror movies,” she whispered. She reached in, turned the light off, and left the door open several inches before going back to bed.
Miles opened his eyes in the dark and was immediately wide awake. Was it because he’d heard the voice? Or was it only because one of his parents had noticed his door was closed and his light was on, and had turned it off? He’d closed the door hoping they wouldn’t notice his overhead light was on, but apparently someone had, and had left him in the dark.
He was prepared. He reached beneath his pillow and removed a small Mag-Lite penlight. It had been in his Christmas stocking last year. He twisted the head to turn it on and trained it on the light switch beside the cracked-open door. He sat up on the edge of his bed and almost stood, but waited a moment. The digital clock on his bedstand, shaped like a flying saucer, read 3:04.
Had he heard the voice? He waited several seconds but heard nothing. He looked over at the area by the shelf where he’d seen the fat man coming up through the floor once before, and he was tempted to follow with the powerful penlight. But he could not do it. He hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t mean there was nothing there, and if there was , Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to see it.
He turned to the light switch again, focused all his attention on it. He stood and started walking toward it. He was so afraid, he had trouble moving his legs.
Miles wondered if the fat man could come up through the floor anywhere in the room. He wondered what it would be like if the man were suddenly to come up right under his feet, if his head were to rise beneath the oval rug on the hardwood floor beside his bed. Or would he come through the rug? Would he come straight up through the rug and into Miles? The thought only made him feel worse.
He was halfway to the light switch when the rough, whispered voice said, “Where you goin’? Get over here and be a good puppy, now.”
With his arm outstretched, hand reaching for the light switch, Miles turned his head toward the voice. He tripped over his own feet and fell flat on the floor. The penlight slipped from his hand and rolled away.
“C’mon, y’fuckin’ puppy,” the voice said.
Miles saw movement in the darkness to his right, over by the shelves. As he scrambled to his feet, he screamed. He didn’t want to, but could not help himself. His hand found the light switch and flipped it up.
The room filled with light as the floor creaked down the hall in his parents’ bedroom. They spoke to each other as their footsteps drew nearer.
Turning, Miles saw nothing by the shelves, not even a sign that anything had been there.
Whatever it is , he thought, it doesn’t like the light.
Mom and Dad came into the room and squinted against the light.
“What’s going on?” Dad said.
Miles was breathless when he said, “He was here again! That man!”
Mom sighed.
Dad said, “Miles, you can’t keep doing this. You’re just having bad dreams.”
“It’s not a dream. I heard his voice. He keeps calling me a puppy.”
“Two nights in a row from one stupid movie,” Mom said.
Miles looked up at them and pleaded, “Can I come sleep with you again?”
Dad shook his
She could hear David snoring in the bedroom, the wind and rain outside, but nothing else. The house was silent.
She noticed Miles’s bedroom door was closed, which was odd. She and David always left his door open about a foot—Miles preferred it that way, always had. Light streamed out from under the closed door.
Jenna went to his door and opened it a crack. Miles was sound asleep in his bed with the overhead light on.
“Damned horror movies,” she whispered. She reached in, turned the light off, and left the door open several inches before going back to bed.
Miles opened his eyes in the dark and was immediately wide awake. Was it because he’d heard the voice? Or was it only because one of his parents had noticed his door was closed and his light was on, and had turned it off? He’d closed the door hoping they wouldn’t notice his overhead light was on, but apparently someone had, and had left him in the dark.
He was prepared. He reached beneath his pillow and removed a small Mag-Lite penlight. It had been in his Christmas stocking last year. He twisted the head to turn it on and trained it on the light switch beside the cracked-open door. He sat up on the edge of his bed and almost stood, but waited a moment. The digital clock on his bedstand, shaped like a flying saucer, read 3:04.
Had he heard the voice? He waited several seconds but heard nothing. He looked over at the area by the shelf where he’d seen the fat man coming up through the floor once before, and he was tempted to follow with the powerful penlight. But he could not do it. He hadn’t heard anything, but that didn’t mean there was nothing there, and if there was , Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to see it.
He turned to the light switch again, focused all his attention on it. He stood and started walking toward it. He was so afraid, he had trouble moving his legs.
Miles wondered if the fat man could come up through the floor anywhere in the room. He wondered what it would be like if the man were suddenly to come up right under his feet, if his head were to rise beneath the oval rug on the hardwood floor beside his bed. Or would he come through the rug? Would he come straight up through the rug and into Miles? The thought only made him feel worse.
He was halfway to the light switch when the rough, whispered voice said, “Where you goin’? Get over here and be a good puppy, now.”
With his arm outstretched, hand reaching for the light switch, Miles turned his head toward the voice. He tripped over his own feet and fell flat on the floor. The penlight slipped from his hand and rolled away.
“C’mon, y’fuckin’ puppy,” the voice said.
Miles saw movement in the darkness to his right, over by the shelves. As he scrambled to his feet, he screamed. He didn’t want to, but could not help himself. His hand found the light switch and flipped it up.
The room filled with light as the floor creaked down the hall in his parents’ bedroom. They spoke to each other as their footsteps drew nearer.
Turning, Miles saw nothing by the shelves, not even a sign that anything had been there.
Whatever it is , he thought, it doesn’t like the light.
Mom and Dad came into the room and squinted against the light.
“What’s going on?” Dad said.
Miles was breathless when he said, “He was here again! That man!”
Mom sighed.
Dad said, “Miles, you can’t keep doing this. You’re just having bad dreams.”
“It’s not a dream. I heard his voice. He keeps calling me a puppy.”
“Two nights in a row from one stupid movie,” Mom said.
Miles looked up at them and pleaded, “Can I come sleep with you again?”
Dad shook his
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