Page 122 of Play Nice

Of the unblinking eyes observing me.

Of how I haven’t eaten anything in days.

Of how I’m alone everywhere except here.

The front door is unlocked. I open it. Cross the threshold. I expect Roy to come and greet me, but he doesn’t.

“Roy?”

No answer.

“Roy? It’s Clio. I’m here.”

The front door closes itself behind me. I hear the lock click.

“Roy?”

I put a foot on the first step up to the living room.

My heart thumps.

Another step.

Another step.

My legs shake beneath me, knees buckle.

I use my hands to help me climb to the top, clinging to the banister.

“Roy?”

He’s not up here. He’s not outside on the deck.

All that’s here is Mom’s book, the hot pink lighter resting on top.

I look up, and I see it there on the wall beside the fireplace. Exactly where it was. Where I’d patched and painted over it.

I call out for Roy again.

It’s shy of eight p.m., and daylight lingers on the horizon. Still, I flip every switch I pass. Upstairs hall. Closets. Office. Leda and Daphne’s room. The bathroom. The shower rod is on the floor; I left it there after I ripped it down, the curtain crumpled.

I step back out onto the deck and scan the surrounding woods. “Roy!”

There’s a soft squeak behind me that grabs my attention. The sliding door pulls itself closed. Through the glass, I see a figure. Someone there. I can’t quite bring them into focus—they’re lost among the trees, in the confusion of the reflection.

Whoever it is, whatever it is…it isn’t Roy.

I rush forward and yank the door open. The living room is empty, save for the ambiguous sound of movement. A clunking somewhere inside the walls or beneath the floorboards. I hold still to listen, but it’s already gone.

The demon is committed to being intangible. An invisible threat is infinitely more frustrating. An invisible threat is madness.

I take my phone out of my pocket and call Roy.

It rings. I hear it.

It’s ringing. His phone is here. In the house somewhere.

He’s not answering.