His goose bumps doubled, tripled, and he was tempted to walk out the way he’d come, drive straight to the real-estate office, and drop off the keys. Even with the front door open, the lobby was dark, its edges shadowed, and both the stairway to the balcony and the open door to the theater proper were pitch-black.

He moved over to the ticket booth, flipped the series of light switches for the building. Soft yellow bulbs flickered on but did little to dissipate the gloom.

The idea that there was a kachina doll—a living kachina doll—somewhere in the theater was stupid, but the image was undeniably powerful. In his mind, he could see one of the strange figures skulking under the projector in the booth, crawling under the seats in the theater, lurking behind the screen in the storage area.

He’d never been one to let fear get the best of him, though. If he even suspected he was scared of something, he’d meet it head-on, fight it and tame it. He’d had a fear of flying. Now he had a pilot’s license. He’d had a fear of the ocean. He’d taken a cruise to Alaska. This was smaller, more specific, but that didn’t make it any less acceptable, and he wasn’t going to let doubt and fear and superstition run him out of his own building in the middle of the day.

He walked forward, through the double doors on the left side of the concession stand. Before him, rows of red seats sloped slightly downward. He saw no sign of movement in the aisles or on the abbreviated stage below the ripped screen, but he was still chilled, and he stood there for a moment, waiting, watching.

Nothing.

The interior of the theater was quiet, the only sound came from outside, and the silence made him feel a little better. He heard no claws on cement floor, no soft rustling, none of the sounds a doll would make if it was looking for him, coming after him.

If it was looking for him? Coming after him?

Where had he come up with that?

He didn’t know.

But he knew the sounds.

He’d heard them before.

The silence was no longer quite so reassuring. He backtracked into the lobby. There was no reason for him to be here. He should lock up, turn in the keys, sign the papers, and get his butt back to Santa Fe before the afternoon rain started.

But he didn’t want to feel like he was running away.

He stood for a moment, staring at the dust-covered popcorn machine, then turned and walked upstairs to the balcony.