It’s amazing how different it looks in the hallway of the second floor when the sun is up. It was nothing short of terrifying last night, but now it doesn’t seem so bad. I’m still reluctant to live here, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. The windows make it bright and cheery, although they illuminate every crack and imperfection in the wall.

And they illuminate one other thing:

A pullcord hanging from the ceiling.

I don’t know how I missed it last night. I guess it makes sense since the hallway was so dark and the cord isn’t exactly easy to see. I can now see that the cord attaches to a rectangle on the ceiling.

It’s a passage to the attic.

Of course. I remember now in Judy’s description of the house on the website, she mentioned “an attic perfect for storage.” But somehow it didn’t even occur to me last night. When we checked all the rooms on the second floor, I assumed that we had covered all our bases in terms of where somebody could go.

But there was another option. The attic.

I reach up and tug on the cord. Nothing happens. I tug harder, and this time I hear a click, and the rectangle swings open. There is a ladder folded up inside, and when I pull on it, it comes down, ending at my feet.

I glance at the room next to me—the door is shut tight. That must be where Ethan is working. I’d like to ask him to check the attic, but I have a feeling he won’t be too excited about that. He already seemed exasperated with me after I made him check every room on the floor. And I only made things worse when I started freaking out in the middle of the night. He’s already calling me “nutty” and blaming pregnancy hormones.

I squint up into the opening for the attic. It doesn’t look too dark up there. There are so many windows, there’s no way somebody could hide up there and jump out at me. I could check it out myself. And if I spot anything upsetting, I’ll yell for Ethan. He’ll hear me easily—the walls are thin in this house.

I grab one of the rungs of the ladder, putting my weight on it to test its stability. It seems stable—and it’s not like I weigh a ton. I place one of my feet on the bottom rung, then the other foot. Before I can talk myself out of it, I start climbing the ladder carefully. I’ve got to see what’s in this attic.

A few seconds later, I reach the top of the ladder. I hesitate for a split second, then I stick my head through the opening. And I look around. It looks like…

An attic.