He stared at the window. He could still see farmland, hay bales, the Iowa sky, but everything was blurry, indistinct, as though the glass had been soaped over or smeared with Vaseline. The legs of the table and one corner of its top were still visible on this side of the window, but they had no counterpart beyond it, and he released his grip, let the legs go. The rest of the table was immediately sucked into the window and the entire piece of furniture returned to its normal location in the room.

His spirits sank. It was a mirage, an illusion. There was no Iowa outside. There was no way he could escape from the House into that farmland and make his way back to Oakdale.

He turned. There were new shadows in the den now, shadows that had not been there before, sleek, furtive swaths of darkness that had no distinct features but that he knew were watching him. One on top of a bookcase. One in the fireplace. One beneath the pool table. They moved, switched positions, changed shape.

Something passed by him, brushed him.

He felt tickling hairs, whiskers.

He instinctively backed up, not screaming only through a sheer effort of will.

The light was switched on.

Billings was standing in the doorway.

The butler was smiling at him, and something in that smile made Norton take a step back. His heart was pounding painfully and he wondered if he was having a heart attack.

It would serve him right if he did.

“Is the door locked?” Billings asked.

Norton stared at him.

“It’s not supposed to be. Not at this hour.”

The butler strode across the room, removing a full key chain from his pocket. Sorting through keys, he found the one he was looking for and placed it in the small keyhole beneath the doorknob, turning it.

He pocketed the key chain. “It’s open,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

Norton remained unmoving. This was a trick. It had to be.

Billings smiled at him.

Norton swiveled around, reached out, grasped the knob. It turned in his hand.

He yanked open the door, felt the coolness of night on his face, smelled the fertile scent of a newly plowed field.

There was a jolt like a small earthquake, a tremor that passed through the house, swinging the chandelier, knocking a bust of Plato to the floor. It was accompanied by an electronic hum, a low sustained tone that hurt his ears and made his stomach feel queasy.

Billings smiled. “The House is ready,” he said, and his skin appeared suddenly tanned. His eyes were sparkling. “It has finally regained its full strength.”

He bowed toward Norton. “Thank you.”

It was then that the doors and windows were sealed shut.

SEVEN

Daniel

They met in the entryway.