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in ages. You’ve got it under control.”
    That’s what I thought last time. Pushing the thought away, we paused at the top of the stairs. Mom’s voice was muffled now as she called our names again.
    “Be right there!” I yelled down.
    “Now what?” Grant whispered.
    Crossing my arms I arched a brow at him. “You started this.”
    We stood at the mouth of a long hallway, and all I saw in the blackness were doors lining both sides. All were shut.
    Footsteps creaked to my right and I jumped. Beside me, Grant made a small noise and then tried to cover it with a cough. When I looked at him, he shrugged. “Dust.”
    “Yeah.” I roll my eyes.
    Gulping a mouthful of air, I stepped forward and wrapped my hand around the doorknob. Excitement throbbed in the air. Not mine. Not Grant’s. The house was enthusiastic we’d come up here.
    I wiped my other hand down my hip. The metal under my fingers was cool to the touch. Cooler than it should have been up here in summertime.
    I twisted the knob, but it didn’t turn. Locked. I rattled the knob, confused. Something wasn’t right about the handle. It felt…off somehow.
    “What the heck?”
    Grant moved closer. “Open it already!”
    “I can’t,” I told him, moving back. “It’s locked.”
    He reached for it with a grumble. “Who would lock it from the inside? That’s just stupid.”
    I put a hand on his arm. Finally, I registered what bothered me. “It isn’t locked from the inside.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “The locks are on our side, Grant.”
    He froze, his hand hovering over the knob. When he spoke, his voice shook. “Why would they be on the outside?”
    Before I answered, something slammed into the door from the other side. We both jumped, turned, and ran for the stairs. The sound of the wood as it groaned under the loud thuds, and the insistent rattle of the knob, as if someone trapped on the inside was pounding for release followed us.
    Mom stuck her head out of the kitchen door as we hurtled down the stairs, out of breath and panicked. Her mouth pulled into a frown. “What did you guys knock over?”
    “Knock over? We didn’t—”
    I nudged his elbow and shot him a glare.
    “We didn’t knock over anything important.”
    Mom stared at the two of us, and I struggled to put on an innocent face. With a shrug, she turned around and we followed her back into the warmth of the kitchen. Grant looked at me, a question in his gaze.
    “We’ll talk later.” I whispered to him. “She’ll go nuts if we tell her what happened. Or she’ll tell us we’re crazy.”
    “How? We didn’t make it up.” He hissed the words.
    “Old house. It could have been a lot of other things.” I glanced over at Mom. “I’ve heard all the explanations, remember?”
    We both sat down at the table while Mom poured the spaghetti and sauce into a bowl. Grant stared at me, a frown pulling a deep line between his brows.
    I patted him on the back. “Don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine.”
    Grant shook his head. “No, it won’t. Not for a long time. No matter what she does or doesn’t believe. She wants us to be happy. That this house is going to change everything. I think she’s right, just not for the same reasons.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Right now, I’m hungry.”
    If we were lucky, it would stop at footsteps, maybe an occasional cold spot. In a home this old, they would be easy to explain away. Hopefully it wouldn’t get any scarier. The thought of those locks upstairs, like prison cells, rose in my mind and I forced it away. We had enough drama of our own.
    I smiled at Mom as she put the food on the table and dished up dinner. Twirling my fork in the pasta, I sent up a silent prayer it stayed quiet.
    Mom finally broke the silence. “So, what do you need for school?”
    Grant shoved a meatball in his mouth, his cheek puffed like a deranged chipmunk. When he tried to make a sound, Mom pointed her fork at him. “Don’t