"I know you say my mother cares about me, but if she cares, why would she talk about moving us again? I don't want to leave. I'm tired of moving. And I like this house, as weird as it is; I feel like I belong here. I wish you could just call mom and tell her that everything is fine and she needs to do what's best for me for once in her life. If I didn't have you to talk to, I'd go crazy, Grandma. I've tried to tell her we need to come visit you, but she always says it's not a good time. Pretty sure there's never going to be a good time. And I've been sick for weeks, now--the doctor can't quite figure out what it is, but they're looking into autoimmune stuff. At least they've let me stay home from school because I can't get rid of my fever--it just comes and goes; I'm doing all my work online, now, and I just get to stay home all day in my room. I feel really safe in this house. If mom tries to move me again, I swear to God I'll chain myself to one of those concrete beams in the basement. I'm not going anywhere.

"You asked about our neighbors. We've had some weird things going on with them lately. The old man down the street just died, literally in my backyard. Mom found his body! They say it was natural causes, just a heart attack or something, but who knows why it had to be in our backyard. And then the woman next door (everyone calls her Dottie, but I think that's a nickname) is in some sort of rehab, I think mom said for a month or so. She had a fall, and it was just her and her cats for, like, three days! Thank God they didn't start eating her. One of the other neighbors was supposed to seal her window so that the cats couldn't leave, but no one wanted to go in there and feed them, so I think he left it open on purpose. Those gross animals have been roaming the neighborhood, probably going feral.

"Anyway, I just hope I can see you again, soon. I miss you. Write back when you can.

Love, Cora bean"

Cora sat back against her pillows and pressed the send button. She hated lying to Grandma Luce, but she didn't want to worry the old woman. Besides, most of what she'd written had been true; the only lie was about feeling safe in the house. Whatever she felt, it wasn't exactly . . . safe. But she knew, too, that safe or not, she couldn't leave. She did belong there, and she didn't want to leave.

After what'd happened with the phone--well, Cora had needed a little time to process. She knew at that point that the house was somehow alive in a sense she couldn't exactly comprehend. It communicated with her. She'd known that for a while, with the night music and the way it adjusted itself for her, to keep her warm and comfortable. She'd known about its other quirks, like the cracking glass and the flickering lights when it grew particularly--what, angry? Did it have those kinds of emotions? Could it feel the things humans felt? That, she didn't know. But she'd nevertheless sensed its (if not anger) discontent with her, when she'd brought Ben into the house and when she'd returned after going out with Brian. The more she thought of it, the more it seemed as if the house was, in some enigmatic way, jealous--or at the very least, protective.

Cora had yet to understand what had happened to Ben. His car was still there, though Brian had said he'd driven away. Cora had considered that Brian could've lied to her, and yet, why would he? She was mad at him at present and was trying to find things to think less of him for, but Brian hadn't given her any reason to believe he'd lie about something important. When she'd last seen Ben, he'd been crazy, adamant about getting what he'd wanted, and she couldn't say she missed him, but she did wonder what had happened to him. As much as he'd upset her, she didn't wish him ill; she didn't want him to get hurt. In fact, once she'd given him a few days to cool off, she'd tried to contact him, but he hadn't answered messages or calls. So when he'd called her, and when his phone had been ringing within her own house, in her basement, and she couldn't find the source . . . it'd been too confusing, too frightening. It hadn't made sense. And in the days that'd followed, when she'd gotten up her courage, she'd tried calling again and heard nothing. It was back to before--no answer, and no ring.

So she was pretty sure she'd either imagined it, or the house had been messing with her. And either scenario freaked her out.

The only thing that had calmed her down was that she dreamt every time she fell asleep, and the dreams were becoming more intense, more vivid. She loved her dreams, wished she could live in them, inside the labyrinthine manor with its circuitous hallways and ballrooms and secret passages, its lounges filled with pillowy furniture and its sliding banisters and coal shoots and its massive winding stairways and its stained glass windows and creeping crystal-walled conservatories and, and, and . . . every dream brought new exploration, like Grandma Luce's house on steroids. In fact, on waking, she would be brought to thoughts of the old woman, wondering whether Luce were meandering through her own unending maze of treasure. Cora never experienced the sort of terrifying sense of being lost and alone one might presume she'd experience in a mystery mansion. She never feared being discovered by some nefarious entity. No, she always knew with certainty that she and the house were alone with one another, that she had all of eternity to wander . . . until she'd wake and realize in dismay that eternity had come to an end.

Cora sighed wistfully, ran her eyes around her room. Was it there with her, right then? Whatever it was? Was it something in the air that couldn't leave the house, or was it the very house itself? Babies and suicides . . . and that woman in the picture. She hadn't forgotten the picture. In fact, as it crossed her mind, she opened a drawer and drew it out, looked once again at the black and white photo of that smiling woman, so cheerful. What had happened to her? Was she the one who'd killed herself? Had it been her baby's cries that Brian had thought he'd heard, whose baby powder smell permeated the basement?

She needed to talk to Niecey about it. Hadn't the woman invited her to come by some time, to look through clothes? Yes! This would be the perfect opportunity. Surely Niecey wasn't busy; how much could an old woman have to do all alone by herself every day? And Cora was just sitting around; her mother was at work, and she'd completed her school assignments for the day.

Getting up a little quickly and regretting it when her head spun, Cora blinked away the dizzy and threw on a pair of sweatpants and her thick black cardigan and slipped into some boots. She was about to head out of her room when, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Cora froze. Nobody ever rang the doorbell. Like, ever. The postman and delivery people left everything at the mailbox down at the end of the street, and the neighbors never visited. Brian was the only person she could think might try to talk to her, but he definitely wouldn't have come up on the porch. The whole idea of someone waiting on the other side of the door was so absolutely odd that she stood there until it rang again, two rapid presses in succession, as if the ringer were growing impatient.

Disconcerted, Cora stepped outside of her bedroom and walked almost cautiously through the hall into the living room. Something around her--something in the very air, maybe something about the walls and ceiling--hovered, sat still and heavy in the corners, perhaps (she fancied) as wary, as confused as she was. There was no way to see who was out there without exposing her presence; the living room window was huge and looked right out at the porch and its swing. The doorways in an alcove that sat perpendicular to the house itself. So, gathering her courage, Cora drew near the door and peeked through the peephole.

An unfamiliar woman stood there, back a few steps, young-ish, maybe her mother's age, hair dyed an unnatural shade of red. Her arms were crossed in what was probably annoyance, and Cora watched as she leaned toward the window to get a look inside, see if anyone was in there.

Well, at least this stranger didn't appear intimidating. Cora pulled in the door quickly, startling the woman just as she'd leaned a little far back and causing her to stumble to rebalance. "Can I help you?" The girl didn't hesitate to put a little edge in her tone.

"Yes!" the woman chirped too cheerily, a questionable smile lighting her face. "I am so happy you're home. Listen. I--the car out front . . ." She gesticulated toward Ben's car still parked on the street.

Cora thought she understood. "Oh, I'm sorry. Listen. My mom is going to get it towed. It'll be gone soon."

Her whole face stiffened, nonplussed, but then the woman gave a nervous laugh. "No, no. I don't care about the car. I care about the person who drove it here. You're Cora, right?"

Things changed. Cora was put on alert, and she felt the house tense around her. "Do you know him?"

"Ben? I'm his stepmother. Is--is your mother here? Or . . . father?"

"Um, no. No. It's just--just me." And the house. Don't ask to come in, she willed.

The woman smiled beatifically, condescendingly really. "Well, Cora, Ben talked so much about you. He wasn't with me very much, so I don't think I got to meet you, but he's living with me now. And, well . . . I wasn't really keen on him coming all the way here. So if you could just tell me where he is . . ."

Cora's heart beat a little loudly. "I'm sorry," she had to admit. "I don't know where he is. He was here a few nights ago," she rushed to fill in, "but then he left. The neighbor, he saw him go--"

"Without his car?"

"I . . . don't know. He must've come back. All I know is I haven't seen him. I thought maybe he'd gone off somewhere and was going to come back to get it." Cora didn't dare mention the phone ringing in her basement. She hardly knew if that'd actually happened. But she was definitely beginning to grow concerned, and she felt bad for the woman. If she really were Ben's stepmother, then surely she was worried about him. She'd driven all the way. "I am so sorry. I wish I could help you."

The woman glanced down at the concrete porch, sighed, then looked back up sternly. "I don't quite believe you're telling me the truth, honey."

Cora frowned. "What do you mean? I am telling the truth." She was sure the ground began to tingle almost imperceptibly.

"I've tracked his phone. It's definitely in this area. I've looked in his car, and there's no way he'd go somewhere without it. If you can't tell me the truth, I'll have to involve the police." A fire ignited in her eyes; she was serious. Her lips began to quiver with emotion.

The door frame warmed beneath Cora's palm as she held onto it. The door, which her other hand held open, contrarily grew ice cold. She began to worry something might happen, and though she couldn't fathom what it might be, she was sure it wouldn't be anything good. "Please, I'm not lying to you. Ben's my--my friend. I wouldn't keep anything from you. I'm worried, too."

Narrowing her eyes, the woman fortunately backed away, said, "I'm giving you twenty-four hours to come up with more than that for an answer. I'll be back tomorrow. I hope you can help me, then."

It was a weird request considering the fact that Ben was apparently missing, but Cora was grateful for the time and opportunity to think. As soon as the woman had left the porch, she closed the door and slid down to the floor with her back against it. She'd have to talk to Brian again, and even thinking about him caused the air around her to chill, leading her to say to no one in particular, "It's fine. We'll figure it out. Don't worry, please."