She couldn’t remember where she was. The walls were foreign, the window alien. She reached toward where she kept her bedside lamp but her fingers only touched air. Then the memories snapped back to her like an elastic band, and she keeled forward, groaning.

Home. This is home now.

The sound that had broken her dreams continued. A shrill, chiming alarm, loud and close by. The room was dripping in heavy moonlight. Margot squinted into the darker corners of the space and saw a flicker of movement.

The service bell danced on its hook.

Her pulse pounded through her, stirred into a frenzy by the nightmare. She clenched her teeth until they ached as she stared at the bell. It bounded wildly. Something, somewhere in the house, was pulling on the cord with such fury that it seemed close to breaking.

One twisted, frightened thought flashed through her mind: I should have locked the window.

She was out of her bed before she could stop herself. The cold padlock was heavy in her hand as she grappled with the key.

No. Stop. Think.

Margot slowly let the metal slide out of her grip. Whatever was pulling on the service bell wasn’t outside her window. If she locked it now, she would be barring a possible escape from the house.

Slowly, she turned to face the bell. The moonlight flashed across its tarnished bronze. It jolted one last time, then finally fell still. The aching chimes hung in the air for a second longer and then they, too, were gone.

Her lungs ached. She made herself breathe again, but couldn’t manage much more than shallow gasps.

What does this mean? Is someone in the house?

She darted her eyes across the room, searching its dark corners and lingering on the empty travel cases, as though the stranger might be there, crouching in the shadows, grinning as it watched her reaction.

Margot crept toward the door. Her back itched at being left exposed. Cold wood spread its chill through her bare feet.

If someone was inside the home, she had two choices. She could barricade her bedroom door and spend the rest of the night hoping and praying that whatever was outside couldn’t get in…or she could leave her room and search the dark house.

She glanced toward the bed. It was the only item in the room big enough to hold the door closed. Maybe. Depending on how determined the intruder was.

And then what? Lie down and try to sleep, listening to every creaking floorboard as the night drags on and on?

The alternative was a thousand times worse, but at the same instant, it didn’t seem like she had a choice.

I’d feel safer if I didn’t have to search it alone.