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I’m settling back into bed when something thuds downstairs, and instead of jumping, I only groan.

Really? More noises? Forget sleeping pills—I need earplugs.

When another thud follows a minute later, it pokes a memory of my first childhood home, out on the prairies. Our old house had storm shutters, and occasionally one would come loose and thump in the wind, just like that.

Does this house have shutters? It might. I know from my visits that—like the prairies—Lake Erie can get some incredible winds.

I should ignore it, but after my door slamming and rattling, and then my footsteps-in-the-attic hallucination, I amnotsleeping until I know what’s making this latest weird noise.

Yep, I definitely need to pick up earplugs. This is the loudest “quiet house in the country” ever.

I grab my phone a pad from my room and pause at the top of the steps. Everything below is still. I haven’t heard any more of those thuds.

Again, I consider going back to bed, but I’m sure I know what this is, and it’s easy to check. Better than startling awake every time a shutter smacks against the house.

I’m halfway down when something plucks at my nightshirt.

I jump, feet tangling as I stumble. The only reason I don’t fall is because my mother taught us to use the railing. She’d had a friend who suffered a serious accident on stairs, and here I must send up a whisper of thanks to her spirit, because her teachings just saved me from the same fate.

That’s when I remember why I stumbled, and my breath catches. Someone had grabbed my nightshirt, startling me and nearly sending me tumbling down the steps.

Hand tight on the railing, I look up the stairs. No one’s there. I sprint back up, as if I can catch the culprit, but the hall is empty. I listen. Silence.

So if no one grabbed me, what happened?

I go back to where I stumbled, peer down at the railing, and spot the culprit—a splinter coming off the underside. It must have caught on my nightshirt—one of Anton’s old tees, billowing around me.

Could a sliver do that? From the underside of the railing? There’s no lint caught on the splinter or prick mark on the shirt.

Another thump from below. I dismiss the splinter and stride down the rest of the steps. I’m looking for a loose shutter. I head to the front door—

A sound stops me.

That wasn’t the thud I’ve been hearing. I don’t know what it was. A hollow noise. That’s all I can say, and I’m not even sure what that means. I only know I heard something, and it sounded distant, but it definitely came from behind me.

I head straight for the most obvious spot: that dumbwaiter shaft. I unlatch and open the door. No, the dumbwaiter itself has not somehow re-formed from the ether, a grinning porcelain doll going along for a ride. The shaft is, as always, empty. I carefully poke my head in and shine my cell phone light up and then down. Yep, empty. No moaning voice from below, either.

I walk while mentally replaying the sound, trying to pinpoint the direction, like Jin had with the laugh. It leads me near the kitchen,and I’m heading that way, certain that’s my destination, when I stop to stare at a closed door.

The locked room.

I shake my head. The sound didnotcome from a locked storage room, because that would be as ridiculous as footsteps in a locked attic. The door is very clearly still locked, and I know what’s in there. Cleaning supplies.

But there’s a whole locked basement to store supplies in now. Why not open up this room?

Because according to Anton, this is just a walk-in pantry.

Isn’t that all the more reason for them to reopen it? The kitchen cupboards are stuffed so full of dishes that all our groceries are on the counter—

A creak.

I jump and spin.

That didnotcome from the locked room.

But the other sounds…? The thumps? That hollowsomething? Could they have come from in here?

It’s acleaning closet.At most, it holds stuff for special bookings. Champagne fountains for weddings. Extra glasses for parties. Hell, maybe high chairs and cribs for little ones. Something in there shifted or fell.