Now she was huddled on the bed, shivering under her grandmother’s quilt.

Because—the sound at the window. It was back again.

Scratching. Tapping. Like fingernails, dragging back and forth across the wood, stopping every so often to deliver short little raps. Three of them, always, all in a row.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was louder than it had been last time she’d heard it. Tonight it was so loud everyone upstairs in the ballroom could surely hear it. So loud the whole building should’ve been shuddering on its foundations.

Lily was shaking harder than she could ever remember shaking before.

She’d been shivering there for an hour, listening to the sound getting louder, waiting for it to turn into something normal. A raccoon rubbing against the siding. The ancient heating system malfunctioning.

No matter how long she waited, it still sounded like enormous, claw-shaped hands scraping eagerly at the window frame.

Lily peeked out from the edge of the blanket. She could see the window in the candlelight, but the glass was hidden behind the curtains. All she had to do was draw them back and she’d have her answer.

She was still working up her nerve when the scratching sound was replaced with a slow, steady thumping.

Then louder. A fist, pounding on the window, hard as thunder.

It sounded exactly like the knocking they’d heard that first night in the old dining hall. The knock that sounded like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Lily shrank back onto the bed. There was no way she was touching those curtains now.

It was getting louder. Then louder still.

Scratching. Knocking. Crashing. Like some wild, ferocious animal trying to tear through the wall.

When Lily heard a sharp, sudden thud right above her, she dove back under the covers, pulling the pillow over her head to shut it out.

Nothing is happening. I’m only having a nightmare. I’ll wake up tomorrow and realize how stupid I’ve been.

As though they could hear her thoughts, the sounds started to lessen. Slowly. Over another hour, or two, or three—Lily had lost count—the constant, insistent knocking gave way to the occasional tap or scrape. Sometimes an entire minute would pass without a single sound at all.

Finally, the sounds ceased altogether.

After ten minutes of silence, Lily’s breathing started to slow.

Then the window latch slid open.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Lily was beyond reason now.

Oh God, please help me. Please make this stop. Please make this go away. This isn’t real—make this not real, please, please. . . .

The window squeaked as it slid up in its tracks.

Lily shut her eyes as tight as she could and ordered every muscle in her body to still. She held her breath. Maybe the thing wouldn’t see her if she didn’t move.