He didn’t know, but it was the image that came to his mind, and it stayed there, refusing to budge. His first instinct was to get Tony and Margot out of the house. They might be in danger. But he could not act on that impulse. As concerned as he was for their safety, he was paralyzed, afraid to get out of bed, afraid to wake up Margot, afraid even to move.

It would not harm Tony, he told himself. Tony had made it.

And it wasn’t after Margot.

It was after him.

Just as it had been—

In the House.

He heard it outside, shuffling by on toilet-paper-tube feet.

He held his breath, praying that it would not stop in front of their bedroom, praying that Margot had locked their door.

He waited until both Margot and Tony left.

Then he searched through Tony’s room.

Daniel wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find. Some clue, he supposed. Something that would jog his memory, something that would let him know what was going on.

Something.

But there was only the doll itself, at the bottom of his son’s closet, in a plastic grocery sack sitting atop a jumbled pile of old worn-out sneakers. There were no notes, no diary, no hints as to why Tony was working on the disturbing figure, no reference of any kind to anything remotely connected to the object. There were only Tony’s books and toys and tapes and clothes. His rock collection and bug collection and a pile of old homework.

And the doll.

Daniel carried the sack out of the closet and put it on the bed, taking out the nearly finished figure. He picked the doll up gingerly.

It was as repugnant as it had been before, and once again it seemed familiar to him. He thought of the noises in the night, in the hall, his certainty that the doll was on the prowl, looking for him, and though it was daytime and he could hear the sounds of the street outside, the television in the family room, he was acutely aware of the fact that he was alone in the house with this horrible figure.

Its expression was fixed, formed from the newspaper photos, but it seemed different from yesterday, more purposely hostile, its eyes narrowed, its teeth bared. Maybe he remembered it incorrectly, but he could have sworn the eyes had been more open, the mouth closed.

Maybe Tony had altered the face after their confrontation.

There was no indication that the doll could ever be mobile, much less animate, and its taped and stapled limbs hung limply down as he gripped the midsection, but Daniel had the impression that it was playing possum, pretending to be dead when it wasn’t.

That was ridiculous.