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take a look around and see what the old place looked like after all these years. That would certainly help him—finally—put to rest all those deep-seated fears he had about this building.
    But his mind reeled at the prospect of actually looking into—and maybe even going back inside—the schoolhouse. It would be the first time he’d been in there in. . . . What? More than twenty-five years.
    A confused rush of memories filled him with rising apprehension and expectation. He shuddered at the thought, but had to admit that it was exactly what he should do. He had to go inside the old school if only to prove to himself that there was absolutely nothing in there to be afraid of.
    —Running feet—
    He moved a few steps closer to the school.
    The instant he was under the shadow of the huge maple tree, he felt a chill and started shivering uncontrollably. He looked at Cindy as if she was supposed to give him a cue as to what to do next.
    After a moment, she smiled and, pointing at the long-unused swing set, said, “We’ll be over on the swings.”
    Finding it nearly impossible to speak, Pete nodded and then turned his back to her and shrugged his shoulders so she could ease Ryan out of the backpack. The instant he was on his feet, Ryan took off down the slope, heading toward the swings. His chubby legs were moving as fast as they could go. Cindy grabbed the cloth backpack from Pete and then, calling Ryan’s name, started off after him at a run. She caught up with him after a few paces and held his hand tightly as they walked the rest of the way to the swings. The further they got away from Pete, the fainter Ryan’s squeals of delight were as they echoed across the field. Cindy glanced back at him once over her shoulder and waved to him.
    “Take your time looking around, honey,” she called out, her voice sounding oddly distant. “We’ll be fine over here.”
    “Yeah . . . Sure thing,” Pete said weakly, not even sure if she heard him.
    He watched them walk out in the white glare of the summer sun. When they were almost to the swings, Ryan broke away from his mother again and raced to the nearest swing. He was scrambling hard to get up onto the seat but couldn’t make it until his mom got there and helped him up. She began to push him gently. The heavy, humid air muffled the sounds of Ryan’s laughter and the loud complaint of the rusted swing chains.
    They were no more than a hundred yards away, but there was a distant, mirage-like quality to the scene that made it look to Pete as though they were no longer quite in this world. He felt like he was watching a movie . . . or seeing them in a dream. He stood in the shadow of the school a moment longer as a cold, lonely anxiety twisted deep inside his gut.
    Turning slowly, he looked back up at the school.
    It seemed to tower above him, and once again he imagined that the building was about to come crashing down on his head. His leg muscles felt as loose as jelly as he mounted the wide concrete steps to the front door. The feathery flutter in his ears got stronger with every step. He sucked in and held his breath when he stopped within arm’s reach of the tarnished brass doorknob and stared at the dull glass windows.
    “Jesus Christ!” he whispered.
    Feeling oddly dissociated, he watched his trembling hand reach out and grasp the doorknob. The metal was warm to the touch and felt slightly greasy as he squeezed it and gave it a gentle twist.
    For a terrifying instant, the doorknob turned, and Pete thought—incredibly—that the door might have been left unlocked; but then the latch fetched up.
    Realizing that he’d been holding his breath, he let it out in a long, slow whoosh before wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead with his forearm.
    Numbing chills played up and down his back as he leaned closer to the door and peered in through the dirty wire-mesh glass. His breath rebounded into his face from the window, but he barely noticed it as he scanned the dim,