The line went dead. He’d hung up.

Helen pushed redial. He answered on the first ring. “What is it you want?”

“Mr. Decrow, I heard what happened to your wife and I’m so, so sorry. And I hate to bother you, but it’s just that weird things are happening here. My husband, he thinks I’m imagining things, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m going a little crazy.” She paused, worried that she’d said too much.

She heard his raspy breathing, was sure he was about to hang up. But he didn’t.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

Helen held the phone tight against her ear, listening to George Decrow breathing. She thought of lying, of playing dumb, but this might be her one and only shot with this guy and she thought honesty was her best hope of keeping him talking.

“Yes. I saw her last night.”

“Edie saw her, too. I didn’t believe. I didn’t believe until it was too late.”

“Mr. Decrow, I know this might sound crazy, but I think maybe she wants something. She said a name last night—”

“She wants something, all right. She wants you. The best thing you can do, you and your husband, is leave right now. Leave and don’t ever go back. I’m sorry.”

And there it was again, that sound of dead air. He’d hung up. She tried calling again, but the line was busy. He’d taken his phone off the hook.

Shaken, she sat down at the table, opened her laptop, then closed it. Where the hell was Nate?

Work. That’s what she needed to do. Go to work like this was just a normal day. Like she hadn’t seen a ghost last night. Like Nate hadn’t disappeared into thin air.

He’s gone for a walk, that’s all, she told herself. He’s gone to look for birds. She said this last bit while trying to ignore the fact that his binoculars, bird book, camera, and nature journal were sitting on the table right beside the front door.

She went back over to the house, stood outside staring up at it, entirely framed now and sheathed in plywood. It was the first step of the process her father always called “closing in,” where they sheathed the house, put in the windows and doors.