Since I’m not a big fan of going back into the basement, the large cardboard boxes remained in the living room and Caitlyn has found a million uses for them. Sometimes, they’re spaceships that she’ll pilot around the galaxy and suddenly cry out, “Asteroid field!” which is my cue to come over and shake the box. Other times, they’re race cars and she’s flying round the track. Last time I poked my head out of the Writing Room to check on her, they were laid end-to-end across the floor, creating a vast system of underground caves. From the Writing Room, I can hear her loudly announce her encounters with bats, lava, and trolls as I place some treasured paperbacks on a shelf in no particular order.

It used to drive Nicole nuts.

My books covered almost an entire wall of our apartment in Portland. One night, we were sitting on the couch with a glass of wine after Caitlyn had gone to bed.

“Alphabetically? By year?” she asked, waving her glass at the wall of books. “Ranked in order of your favorite? Is there any method to your madness?”

“Nah,” I replied.

“Then how do you expect to find any particular book when you need it?”

“I won’t need to find any particular book. They’re just there.”

“Then why have them?”

“You know how hunters have the heads on their walls, like trophies?”

“Yes, and they’re assholes.”

“Well, there you go.”

“So, that would make you an asshole?”

“Yes, but I’m your asshole.”

She gave me a look. “No other way we can phrase that, huh?”

I laughed. We kissed and—

Thump.

What the hell was that?

It was soft, almost inaudible, and sounded like it came from the bookshelf, and not in my memory with Nicole but here, in the Writing Room.

Maybe it was just a book sliding to the back of the shelf after I set it down.

I transfer the books in my hand to the shelf and wait to see if it’ll happen again. When it doesn’t, I bend down to grab more books.

Thump.

I stand up and stare at the bookcase.

It definitely sounded like it was in the bookcase. I know it can’t be behind it. The bookcase is built into the wall. I step out of the Writing Room and inspect the wall on the other side, but there’s nothing remarkable about it.

Maybe Caitlyn is playing a prank on me. After all, I don’t hear her playing “caves” anymore.

I stick my head into the living room.

The boxes still span the floor.

I’m about to call her name when I hear her whispering from inside the box at the far end of the room.

“… No … I don’t want to play with you, right now … You have to move. You’re blocking my cave … Why? Why is he upstairs?”