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“No one lived here for years before us,” Hannah said. “John Carter—the caretaker, he said it’s been empty forever.”
“Huh.” The boy shrugged. He took the corner seat across from her bed.
Hannah glanced at him warily, wondering if she should let him get that close. If he was a vampire, he didn’t look cold and clammy. He looked tired. Exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer. But what did she know? Could she trust him? He had visited her twice already, after all. If he’d wanted to drain her blood, he could have at any time. There was something about him—he was almost too cute to be scared of.
“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, when she found her voice.
“Oh, you mean the thing with the lights?”
She nodded.
“Dunno. For a long time, I couldn’t do anything. I was sleeping in your closet but you didn’t see me. Then I realized I could turn the lights on and off, on and off. But it was only when you started noticing that I began to feel more like myself.”
“Why are you here?”
The boy closed his eyes. “I’m hiding from someone.”
“Who?”
He closed his eyes harder, so that his face was a painful grimace. “Somebody bad. Somebody who wants me dead— No, worse than dead.” He shuddered.
“If you’re a vampire, aren’t you already dead?” she asked in a practical tone. She felt herself relaxing. Why should she be scared of him when it was so obvious it was he who was frightened?
“No, not really. It’s more like I’ve lived a long time. A long time,” he murmured. “This is my house. I remember the fireplace downstairs. I put the plaque up myself.” He must be talking about that dusty old plaque next to the fireplace, Hannah thought. But it was so old and dirty she had never thought to notice it before.
“Who’s chasing you?” Hannah asked.
“It’s compli—” but before the boy could finish, there was a rattle at the window. A thump, thump, thump, as if some-one—or something—were throwing itself against it with all its might.
The boy jumped and vanished for a moment. He reappeared by the doorway, breathing fast and h
ard.
“What is that?” Hannah asked, her voice trembling.
“It’s here. It found me,” he said sharply, as if he were about to flee. And yet he remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the vibrating glass.
“Who?”
“The bad... thing...”
Hannah stood up and peered out the window. Outside was dark and peaceful. The trees, skeletal and bare of branches, stood still in the snowy field and against the frozen water. Moonlight cast the view in a cold, blue glow.
“I don’t see any— Oh!” She stepped back as if she’d been stabbed. She had seen something. A presence. Crimson eyes and silver pupils. Staring at her from the dark. Outside the window, it was hovering. A dark mass. She could feel its rage, its violent desire. It wanted in, to consume, to feed.
Hannah... Hannah...
It knew her name.
Let me in... Let me in...
The words had a hypnotic effect. She moved toward the window and began to lift the latch.
“STOP!”
She turned. The boy stood at the doorway, a tense, frantic look on his face.
“Don’t,” he said. “That’s what it wants you to do. Invite it inside. As long as you keep that window closed, it can’t come in. And I’m safe.”
