I lie still. The moon peeks out behind a cloud for a moment through the window, then disappears. I stay as stiff as a board, but my heart thuds at my ribs like hooves.

The voice moves off, as if whoever owns it is heading down the hall toward the stairs, though I hear no footsteps. And then, silence.

I wait and wait. Several minutes go by. I start to think maybe I’ve been dreaming, but my skin crawls. I wish I could get into bed with my mom, tell her I heard something strange. But those wishes have never worked out. I am the protector of this house; no one else is going to do it.

After several long minutes I force myself to silently slide out from under my covers, grabbing my Lumos flashlight from my nightstand as I go. I tiptoe to the door, pull it open silently, and peer out into the hall.

There’s no one there, but—with a jolt—I hear the voice, still there, though moving away from me and down the stairs.

I step out onto the threshold and peer in both directions as all goes silent again. I tiptoe down the hall and then descend the stairs, my heart thudding.

At the landing I step into the parlor and come to a stop. Because there, hovering in front of the door that leads to the basement, someone is watching me.

He is shimmery and glowing bright blue, frowning at me, his eyebrows low. He floats at least a foot off the ground.

He stares at me for a long moment, as if in surprise. Then he turns and floats through the door into the basement, and is gone.

I stand gaping for just a moment longer before I turn and run up the stairs, hurtling up to the attic. I slam the door shut behind me, then stand with my back to the door, trying to catch my breath.

Then I walk over to my mom’s bed, and after hesitating a moment, I shake her awake.

She blinks at me, groggy.

“Mom, there’s a ghost downstairs,” I whisper.

Mom squints at me, trying to wake up.

“I’m sleeping,” she says, annoyed. And then she covers her head with the pillow.

“Mom,” I whisper again, shaking her arm, my voice cracking. “Mom, I need your help.”

My mom reaches out from under the covers and gently bats me away. “Leave me alone,” she says, her voice cold and far away.

After a moment, I hear her breath get steady and even. I step away from the bed and sit down on the floor with my back to the door, watching her sleep, trying to steady my own breathing.