Daniel started the car, turned on the windshield wipers. The names were connected in his mind with the House, but he could not recall their origins or put a face to either of them. He’d heard the names before, though. Of that he was sure, and he pulled out of the driveway and drove around the block to Edgecomb Avenue.

The rain had abated during the night, but it had started up again a half hour ago, and he drove slowly through the puddle at the intersection, careful not to splash a pair of raincoated kids waiting on the sidewalk to cross.

Tony had stuck to his story about the girl and her father, had insisted that Mr. Billingsly wanted to talk to him, but it was obvious that his son did not want him to go over and meet either of them. He was purposely vague about which house the Billingslys lived in, and he kept insisting that it was over, he’d learned his lesson, he’d never make another doll again.

Something was going on here.

Daniel vowed that he’d find the Billingslys if he had to knock on every door and ask every single person in every single house on Edgecomb.

He parked at the end of the street and got out of the car, opening his umbrella. The rain was back down to a drizzle. Daniel was grateful for that, and he hopped over the running gutter onto the sidewalk. He felt a little strange walking up to the door of the first house, a little foolish, but by the time he reached the fifth house, he had his spiel down pat and his embarrassment had given way to uneasiness.

Before he’d finished with the first side of the street, he knew the truth.

There was no one named Billingsly living on Edgecomb.

No one had seen or heard of a girl named Doneen.

He went up the opposite side of the street just in case, but the result was the same. Neither adult nor child knew anything about Tony’s mysterious acquaintances.

Daniel got back into the car and sat for a moment behind the steering wheel, staring out the windshield at the rainy street.

What bothered him the most was that he knew his son was not lying. Doneen was not simply a made-up person or a figment of Tony’s imagination. She and her father were real. Or, rather, Tony had really met them.

How did he know that? How could he be so sure?

Because he’d met them himself as a child.