Was it over? Were they free? Norton quickly pulled on his pants and shirt, unlocked his bedroom door. He hurried out into the hall. It was long after midnight and he would have expected there to be only quiet, but the House was far from silent. He heard low whispers at the far end of the shadowed hall, occasional thumping from somewhere downstairs. Above, in the attic perhaps, there was a noise that sounded like a child’s laugh, a high continuous chuckle that did not pause for breath but went on nonstop.

The typical sounds of a haunted house.

There were goose bumps on his arms, but he resisted his instinctive impulse to turn back and flee into the safety of his room. This was too important, and he might not get another chance like it. This burst of reality might be only temporary. Hell, it might even be only a joke, something to tempt him.

No matter what it was, he had to act on it, had to assume that it was real, and he ignored the slithery whispers around him as he sped down the hall to Mark’s room and knocked quietly. “Mark!” he whispered. “Mark!”

No response.

He knocked a little louder, raised his voice. “Mark!”

No answer.

“Mark!” he yelled.

Nothing.

There were several possibilities. Mark could be sound asleep, he might not be able to hear through the thick door, he could have left the room and gone downstairs—

he could be dead

—or this could all be a dream.

He didn’t have time to find out, though. Time was a-wasting. Norton turned away from the closed door.

And something rushed by him in the hall. A small dark figure that did not even come up to his knee but traveled on two feet like a man.

A doll.

He did not want to think about it, and he kept his attention focused on what he’d seen out the window as he hurried down the hall toward the stairway, ignoring the unidentifiable noises that dogged him through the semidarkness.

There were footsteps other than his own on the stairs as he took the steps two at a time, but he ignored them as well.

Of course the front door was locked, but he’d known that would be the case, and after a quick cursory try he headed down the dark corridor that led past the dining room, kitchen, pantry to the den. The air was cold but he was sweating, perspiring more from nervous tension than fear. If he’d known where Daniel and Stormy and Laurie were sleeping, where their bedrooms were, he would’ve tried to rouse them, but he didn’t feel he had time to hunt them down. The House was too big and this was too good an opportunity to waste.

He could come back for them later, rescue them.

Rescue them?