“I’m going to close the windows now, Mary. I’ll still be in the room.”

She pulled the blanket over her head. He went to the four windows that looked out on the front yard and slammed them shut and locked them. He saw spatters of rain on the glass. He went back and slowly peeled the fleece down from half of his daughter’s face.

“Did you dream that someone was in your room, honey?”

She said again: “Window.”

“Did you see something outside?”

“Him him him him him.” She pulled the blanket up again, hiding.

“You stay right here, honey. Daddy will take a look.”

Clark returned down the dark hallway to Mary’s room. It was past midnight. He turned off the lamp by her bed, and with the room black, he went to the window and looked out at the back lawn and the woods a few feet away. He didn’t see anything. He stayed there for several minutes, watching, but nothing moved outside.

When he returned to the living room, he found that Mary was asleep again, with her blond hair messily sticking out of the blanket. He could see half her face, which looked peaceful and angelic. His own heart was racing, and he knew he would be up into the early hours. He sat down beside her, caressed her cheek with one calloused finger, and was rewarded with a sigh. She made little noises of happiness.

Clark eased himself off the sofa again without disturbing her. He was nervous, and he wasn’t sure why. Children had bad dreams, and that was that. Even so, Mary rarely used such a specific word. Window.

He retrieved a heavy flashlight from the kitchen and went to the front door and let himself outside. He locked the door behind him. When he stepped down off the porch, drizzle spit on his face. The leaves murmured with the night breeze. He switched on the yellow beam and waved it around the yard, seeing everything that should be there and nothing else—the weeping willow, the swing tied to the branch, the three old cars he scavenged for parts, the long grass that needed to be mowed. He stepped silently and carefully toward the rear of the house. He held the flashlight in a tight grip and led the way around the corner with the light.

Clark examined the backyard carefully. He didn’t come back here often, except to push the mower around every few weeks. There was only a narrow strip of lawn, and behind it, the dense stand of birches and their white bark peeling like paint. He stared into the woods and had the strangest feeling that someone invisible was staring back at him.

He shrugged. His mind was playing tricks on him.

Clark went over to Mary’s window and shined the light on the sill. He realized that he could stand here with half his body above the height of the window, and if the light was on, he could stare inside and see everything.