The Pierces spent the nights lounging in luxury, eating dinners in the hotel restaurant (which was quite good; the waiters and waitresses dressed in Elizabethan costumes with puffy trousers and tights, and they even had lobster tails the last night, which Jessie ate eagerly, butter running down her chin), and eating out once in a tiny hole-in-the-wall place Mr. Poisson had recommended. The house remained on David’s mind, but only in the irritating, nagging sort of way things with no real consequence did; he had made a decision, they all had, and it seemed like the right one. It was only a house, after all. What he really should be thinking about was how to make Jessie understand that the woods were dangerous, and not just a nice place to play hide-and- go-seek. He didn’t think he was up to the Hank Babcock method of scaring-the-kid-till-she-shits-her-pants, and secretly he wondered if Hank himself were up to it, or only talking a good story. In any case, the woods were dangerous and would have to be dealt with in one way or another. He would figure out exactly how when the time came.

Jessie seemed to be feeling much better in the days since her nightmare, which was a good thing; he didn’t know if he could handle much more of that. Her highpitched scream had scared the hell out of him that night. It had pulled him out of a dream, and for a moment he hadn’t been sure where he was in the dark; for just a quick second, before the dream faded completely away, he had been sure it was the other girl who was screaming, the one who had gotten lost in the woods and never made it home. He could almost see her, little black pigtails, pale face with eyes huge as saucers and wet with tears, and the branches closing in on all sides like hands in the dark.

His dream had faded quickly, but now and again during the week that followed, the thought of that little girl returned to him; when he was in the office, bent over a file, and once just as he had drifted off to sleep she had hovered like a ghost on the edges of his mind.

They ended their last night in the hotel by drinking a little too much wine, which always sent Helen into the giggle-fits, and thanking Mr. Poisson for being the “best damn host anyone could hope for.” He, being the perfect concierge, responded modestly that he was only doing his job. But David had caught a little smile from the man as they had gone up to bed, and a nod, and he hoped sincerely that Mr. Poisson would not forget them any time soon and would welcome them back for a vacation when the time was right.