Barney settled on the floor and I crawled in underneath the pin-wheel quilt that covered the bed. I reached my hand out, turned off the light on the bedside table, and lay back. I stared off into space for a while, waiting to go to sleep. Then… something. It sounded like someone at the front door. The sleepiness of just a minute before was gone. I sat up and listened. Quiet. I looked over at a sleeping Barney and was comforted for a moment that he hadn't been alarmed, until I remembered he couldn't have heard anything. I lay down again, but I made sure to face the bedroom door. Just in case. Minutes passed. I started to close my eyes when there was a definite noise, like a door flying open, but it seemed to be coming from the kitchen this time. I had locked the doors, hadn't I? I couldn't remember if I had locked up. Every muscle tensed and I froze.

I turned on the bedroom light. If someone was in the house, he'd know that he'd been heard. I threw a pillow at Barney, who raised a sleepy head in my direction.

"Get up," I whispered. "Go downstairs."

Barney got up and started wagging his tail. He lay his head on the bed next to me because he clearly believed that I had woken him up to pet him. You had to admire his optimism.

I got up slowly, shaking with each step, and walked to the door of the bedroom. I couldn't hear anything but wind and rain.

Now I really missed my cell phone. I could walk to my grandmother's bedroom, where I thought she had a phone, but if I called the police and it was nothing, then everyone in town would be telling the hilarious story tomorrow.

But I couldn't just stand there shaking all night. My grandmother wouldn't. I grabbed Barney's collar and we headed to the top of the stairs. If someone was going to kill me, he was going to kill me standing up. I wasn't going to be found cowering by my bed so everyone could say "poor thing, first she gets dumped and then she dies alone and scared." No, they were going to say "poor thing, first she gets dumped and then she dies stupidly fighting off an intruder."

Barney walked beside me as we slowly descended the stairs. He couldn't hear what I was listening for, but he knew I was scared, and that was enough for him to stick close. Together we made it into the downstairs hall, turning on every light I could find. My grandmother didn't have much in the way of weapons, so I grabbed an umbrella out of the stand and walked into the kitchen.

I turned on the light. The back door was open.

The room was empty. Barney walked lazily over to his bowl and started picking at the last of his dinner. Even a deaf dog would sense danger, right?

I grabbed a knife from the counter to replace my pathetic umbrella weapon and slammed the kitchen door shut, locking it tight.

Walking back out into the hallway and toward the living room, I saw no one. I opened all the closets, checked all the doors and windows, turned on all the lights.

Had it just been the wind?

Barney found me standing by the front door and looked at me with sleepy eyes. I knew what he was thinking, and he was right, probably. I had forgotten to lock the kitchen door and a strong wind blew it open. Still, I left the lights on downstairs while Barney and I headed back up.

The next morning, a loud car horn woke me before the alarm or Mother Nature had a chance to. I walked over to the window ready to scream at whoever was making that racket. A red-haired woman in jeans and a bright blue sweater stood in the driveway next to a truck with a medicine bottle logo on the side.

"Bernie?" I yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Hey there, sweetie," she yelled back. "I brought you breakfast."

As annoyed as I was by the early morning intrusion, she had brought food, so I lumbered downstairs, followed by an equally sleepy Barney, and let her in.

"You didn't have to do that," I said as I took the plate of Danishes off her hands.

"Oh, I just did it as an excuse to check on you, dear," she said, smiling. "Did you sleep okay or did this spooky old house get to you?"

As we sat in the kitchen with Danishes and coffee, I told her about the creepy noises and the total darkness that kept me from getting a good night's sleep. I did not mention that I had hoped to sleep in a little-a plan she had spoiled.

"I think Eleanor's crazy to keep this place all by herself, but crazy in a good way, you know?" Bernie laughed heartily. "After my first husband died, I moved into a small apartment with the kids. And after my divorce, I moved in with a friend. Couldn't live alone in a place like this."

"How many husbands have you had?" I asked, probably impolitely.

"Three, so far," she laughed again. "Three husbands, two fiances that didn't make the cut, and more lovers than I can remember. Which is a shame, since they would be very good memories."

"I guess I have some catching up to do."

"Best way over a broken heart is a romance," she said as she leaned back in her chair. "But guessing by the interest you've generated, you may already have figured that out for yourself."

Interest? I blushed, then realized what she must have meant. "No. Marc just drove me to the hospital."

She waved me off. "Marc is a lovely distraction. But he's not a romance. There's a darkness around that boy."

"I sensed that he wasn't well liked by some of the women in the club."

She smiled. "He's not well liked by some, too well liked by others, but everyone can choose their own friends." She poured herself the last of the coffee. "Make a fresh pot dear," she ordered, which I did without argument.

She watched me, smiling. "The girls laugh at me, but I'm a bit of a psychic," she said. "I sense things."

"Like what?"

"I don't think you've seen the last of your wayward fiance."

"No, I haven't. He'll be at work tomorrow."

"That's not what I meant."

I laughed. "Bernie, I hope you're right. I think."

She finished her coffee and got up. "Just be careful, Nell. Make sure you keep your eyes open." She smiled at me, then turned away. "Tell Eleanor I'll be by later."

Though the game plan was that I would spend the morning at the hospital, I knew I had to make one stop first. The car keys that were so elusive the night before were now hanging on a hook by the back door. Didn't I look there yesterday? I tried to remember, but it was all a frightening blur. It didn't matter now. I grabbed them and headed to Main Street.

The shop wasn't open when I arrived, so I let myself in. Normally my grandmother and Nancy would have cleaned the place in the evening, putting fabrics and notions back where they belonged, so the next day would start fresh. But in the excitement of last night, all of that was left undone. Bolts of fabric lay on the cutting table and magazines were spread out on the counter. Even the cash had been left in the register.

I walked to the back of the shop and stared down the stairs. They were empty, just as I had left them. Carefully I walked down one step, then another. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but it just didn't feel right. To everyone else it was a case of an elderly woman who slipped on steep, narrow steps. Something that happened all the time. But I had cleared the stairs because I had been afraid of something like that happening. And something about it just didn't make sense.

I slowly walked step after step, looking for a loose board or a nail that might be sticking up, something Eleanor had tripped on. Something I could fix. But I couldn't find anything. Then, with only four steps to go, my foot came out from under me and I went, butt-first, down into the basement.

With nothing but my tailbone and my dignity injured, I got up and walked back up to the fourth step. I pulled at it, but it wasn't loose. There were no nails sticking up. I ran my hand gently over the wood. The step felt sticky, almost greasy, but not quite. I rubbed my fingers on the spot and sniffed. No smell. It felt a little like wax, but it didn't have the thickness of wax. What was this stuff?