I drop the sleeping bag and pillow where I found them, my heart pounding. I’ve got to get out of this attic. Because I’m not sure I’m alone in here anymore.

I take brisk steps to the trap door. My hands are trembling so hard, I’m afraid I’m going to slip and fall through the door. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. Nobody is going to attack me in this attic. Not when Ethan is within earshot.

By some miracle, I make it down the stairs to the second level without falling. As soon as my feet touch the floor, I turn to the bedroom door that’s closed and start pounding on it. After a second, I realize it probably isn’t locked, so I try the doorknob and it twists under my hand.

“Tricia?”

Ethan is sitting at the desk in the room, his hands positioned over the keyboard of his laptop. He looks shocked to see me standing there.

“There’s someone in the attic!” I gasp.

Ethan leaps to his feet. “What?”

“I…” I’m starting to hyperventilate. My breaths are coming too quickly. Ethan rounds the desk and puts his arm around me. “There’s a…”

He squeezes my body close to his—protectively. “A man?”

I shake my head. “A sleeping bag.”

“A…” His protective grip on my shoulders loosens slightly. “A sleeping bag?”

“Yes! And it’s clean!”

“I… I don’t get it, Tricia.”

I shrug off his embrace, upset that he doesn’t seem concerned anymore. “Somebody is sleeping in the attic!”

He rubs the growing stubble on his chin. At home, he usually shaves every morning. “Just because there’s a sleeping bag up there, it doesn’t mean somebody is sleeping in the attic. People keep sleeping bags in the attic.”

“But it’s clean!” I’m desperate to make him understand. “Everything in this house is so dusty, but the sleeping bag has been recently used. It’s not dusty.”

“Maybe it was under something that was keeping it from getting dusty?”

I glare at him.

“I’m sorry, Tricia,” he sighs. “I just don’t think a sleeping bag in the attic is evidence that there’s some stranger in the house. We haven’t seen anyone here. I haven’t seen any signs that there’s another person here.”

“Are you kidding me? There have been a zillion signs that there’s somebody here! There was a light on upstairs that mysteriously turned off. All that food in the fridge. The footprints on the floor. I heard a crash when I was downstairs. And the painting that moved…”

I stop talking because it’s obvious from the look on Ethan’s face that nothing I’m saying is convincing him even a little bit.

“Fine,” I grunt. “Don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you…”