Now, sometimes a cat’s eyes will catch the light just the right way to reflect off the back of them or something, and they look red. I’ve seen that. I know what it looks like.

This was different. Fluffy’s eyes were fire red, blazing with their own light. Before I could move she nuzzled her face close to my ear and whispered, “Weztix wants you, David. He wants you to come to the other side.”

I screamed and yanked up the covers, sending Fluffy flying off the bed.

“What’s going on up there?” shouted my father.

“It’s Fluffy!” I cried. “She’s . . . she’s . . .”

My voice trailed off as I realized that Dad would never believe me.

“She’s what?” he yelled.

“Nothing!” I shouted. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Why did I give up so easily? Because I had been through this a hundred times before. Because I had barely avoided being sent to a mental institution after I had insisted on clinging to the “delusion” that there was something strange under my bed. And most of all because I didn’t know that being sent to an institution would have been infinitely preferable to what lay in store for me.

Fluffy clawed her way back onto the bed. Her eyes blazed in the darkness.

“Go away!” I hissed. “Get out of here!”

Instead of leaving, she slunk onto my chest. “Go under the bed, David,” she hissed. “Weztix wants you under the bed.”

I jumped to my feet, scooped up Fluffy, and threw her out the door. Then I took a flying leap back onto my bed, avoiding at least six feet of the floor. I lay there shaking with terror, wishing I could sleep downstairs for the night. But my parents had put a stop to that one angry night years before.

After I caught my breath, I hung my head over the bed and lifted the edge of the sheet, hoping not to find anything too strange. And what I saw wasn’t that strange, really. Just that familiar shimmering grayness. But it scared me then in a way it never had before.

I rolled back onto the bed and stared up into the darkness, wondering if I would make it until morning.

Suddenly I felt something pounce onto the bed. I cut short my scream when I realized it was Fluffy again.

I glanced sideways. The door was still closed.

“How did you get in here?” I whispered.

I know people talk to their pets all the time, but I realized with a kind of terrible fascination that I expected her to answer me.

“The same way I got back from the other side,” she purred. “Once you’ve been there, doors don’t mean that much. But you’d better go soon, David. They’re waiting for you.”

“Who?” I asked desperately. “What do they want?”