Outside I hear a rough-throated creak. It shrieks, pauses, shrieks again in a nerve-shuddering rhythm, as if to deliberately antagonize me. After a time I realize I am hearing the front gate buffeted back and forth on its rusted hinges by a bored, irritable wind.

Unable to take the incessant wails, I get up to go latch the gate shut.

Night meets me, cold, pushing me along the front drive, urging me away from the house. The sky must be overcast because there are no stars, only an oppressive dark, and the clouds breathing down on me. The wind incuriously whistles out the word who as it passes.

I wish the gate were closer. With the stars shut out, the only light comes from the hazy impression of moon blurring mysteriously behind thin clouds, and beyond that a dull flickering light on the front porch that I switched on as I came outside. My eyes adjust well enough, but the dark is unfriendly.

And in that unfriendly dark, the moon reveals someone standing on the other side of the gate.

The gate swings back, away from me, toward the faceless boy of twelve or thirteen who stands against the night. He grabs the rusted black edge of the iron gate, which must be biting cold to the touch, and pushes; it swings back my way, releasing a burdened groan.

The wind drags it back again, asking who? as it passes.

Julian pushes the gate toward me.

Slowly I begin to back up the driveway toward the house, my skin gone prickly with goose bumps and a sick chill, like that of a fever.

“Auntie?” he says.

I stop. His face is trained on me, the darkness of his eyes in my direction. I don’t respond. Maybe he does not see me after all. It seems an irrational hope, but it is the only thing that makes sense.

“Auntie?” he says again.

My voice comes out low and rough. “Yes, Julian?”

“Let’s play hide-and-seek.”

“No,” I say as I resume backing up, unable to turn my back on that faceless gaze.

“You better hide,” he says. “I’m going to find you.”

Then he puts his hands over his eyes and begins counting. “Twenty … nineteen …”

I turn and run.

Distantly I am aware of how absurd it is, to be running from a child like this, a child who isn’t even really there (or is he?), but I can’t stop thinking about the way he said he would find me, he is going to find me, and the wind is blowing frantically in my ears now, asking WHO? WHOOO? as I bolt for the house.

“Sixteen … fifteen …” His voice recedes, almost inaudible beyond the roar in my ears.

I reach the front door, pull it open, throw myself inside, and close it behind me.

The sudden silence and utter dark make it all feel unreal. My heart thunders in my ears. I lock the door.

Go to bed, I tell myself. Go to bed, forget this happened, and in the morning you’ll feel awfully silly, won’t you?