I walk down the hall to the door to the side porch. The air turns colder as I approach. The house needs new insulation. Something else on the long list of home improvements we’d had planned. The enclosed side porch with its rows of louvered windows is my favorite spot. Last spring, a couple of months after we moved in, white lilac bushes bloomed right outside this little room, providing a fragrant hiding place to read or relax. I can’t wait until winter ends and I can sit there again. I try the knob to make sure the door is securely locked. It is, and I turn and head back down the hall.

In the living room, I turn on the TV and switch channels until I land on a movie, one with bright colors and chirpy dialog. I hope the sound will chase away the stillness. I glance at the pile of books on the end table. Normally, in the evening, I’d read. Losing myself in a story has been a lifelong passion and escape. I’d cuddle up with Jay and read while he watched a game. I sniff back tears. I’m so exhausted, I don’t even have the energy for a novel right now. I don’t think my brain could follow words on a page. So TV it is.

At midnight, after watching two movies, the names of which I couldn’t tell you, I head upstairs. Standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, I see that the cleaning ladies have made the bed and folded the clothes that had been scattered throughout the room. My clothes and Jay’s now sit in a neat stack, mixed together, my sweater nestled between two pairs of his Dockers.

I go through my night routine like a robot, pretending Jay is away at a conference, anything but reality. With the lights on, I slide into bed, stay on my side, and despite myself fall into a deep, murky doze.

Darkness wraps around me, and the walls of my prison reek of earth and decay. I’m on my hands and knees, crawling, feeling for the stairs, soaked in my own urine. A girl is crying, whimpering, and I can’t tell if it’s me or someone else. There’s a monster down here in this hole. I smell his sour breath, hear his raspy breathing. I scuttle across the floor, my fingernails digging into the muck, my knees burning. But I can’t get away. I can’t find the stairs. My heart pounds as he leans over me and shoves me roughly facedown. My teeth hit dirt, and it lies bitter in my mouth. I can’t breathe. And his fingers, sharp as talons, squeeze my flesh. He yanks my arm out from under me and pierces my tender skin. I feel the bite of the knife as I’m sinking into the earth, never to get away.

I wake, choking for air, dripping with sweat. It takes me a minute to ease my breathing into a normal rhythm. I swallow my tears, swing my feet to the floor, and pull myself out of bed. I find Jay’s robe on the back of the closet door, slip my arms into the sleeves, wrap the flannel firmly around my waist, and pull the lapels to my nose, willing myself to breathe slow and steady. I wander out into the hall, my bare feet on the cold hardwood. At the top of the stairs is a small round window that overlooks the backyard. I pad over to it and wonder how many people over the years have stood here in this very spot looking out, looking for something or someone. My mind settles on the idea, anything to chase the nightmare away. Chilly air seeps around the old frame, and I lean my forehead against the cool glass.