Well, no big deal, I say to myself, it’s just a flip-flop. The iron-rich scent that fills my nostrils tells another story. Reluctantly I nose it over, and there it is on the other side. The sole is stiff, caked with dried, dark-brown matter. So I think, Maybe it’s jelly or ketchup or something, maybe it’s not blood. But my mouth is filling up with the scent. I want to eat it. The whining rises in pitch and volume.

I drop the flip-flop between my front paws and stare at it, as if there’s an answer written there. It’s probably nothing to do with me. Lauren must have hurt herself. She doesn’t have any feeling in her feet, she’s rough with them. But I can’t help thinking about tiny bones, and the taste Night-time leaves at the back of my throat. About how often he has taken over, recently—how often I have let him. My tail blows up into a bottlebrush of unease. Normally this is exactly the kind of situation in which I would look to the LORD for guidance. But I don’t. Somehow I don’t want His attention on me, right now.

There is no blood anywhere else in the kitchen. I am sure of that. In fact, it is unusually clean. I can smell bleach. Now, that is really weird, because Ted never cleans.

Are you there? I ask.

His eyes glow green in the darkness. Is it my time?

No.

Maybe it is. He comes forward, a little playful, trying to take control. I fight him back—but honestly, it is more difficult than I remember. Is he getting stronger?

Did you … I pause and lick my chops. My tongue feels kind of dry and woody. Did we hurt Lauren?

No, he says, and there comes that dark ripple through my body that happens when Night-time laughs. Of course not.

Phew. But my relief can only be short-lived. Then why, I ask Night-time, is there a bloody flip-flop under the refrigerator?

He shrugs, and the whole inside of my mind moves up and down like the swell of the ocean. Hurt herself? he suggests. Kids.

Maybe, I say. But why hasn’t she been around lately?

Not my job to explain things to you, he says. Ask someone else. He turns to go back into the dark.

Well, what a gd help you are! I shout after him. Who the hell else am I supposed to ask?

I don’t feel reassured. The opposite, actually. Night-time was so strong. The hair stands up on the ruff of my neck.

Ted sways into the kitchen. The light blazes up. I hadn’t realized it had gotten dark.