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desk drawer. Then she made her way to bed. She yawned wearily, her eyes on the blackness outside the bedroom window. After pulling back the sheet, she slid into bed. She had been asleep for only a few minutes when the soft knocking started again. Three light taps on the bedroom door. Then a pause. Then three more taps. Instantly alert, Cally crept out of bed. She took a silent step toward the door. Then listened. Three more soft taps. This time I’m going to find out who’s there, she told herself. Three more taps. Cally grabbed the doorknob and jerked the door open. “Hey—” Her voice echoed once down the empty hall. There was no one there.
    Cally woke up the next morning, Saturday, blinking into the gray light. What was that dark rectangle across the room? As her eyes focused, she realized she was staring into her open closet. She stared at the bare shelves, the white plaster closet walls. Empty. The closet was empty. And all of her clothes—jeans, shorts, Tshirts, sweatshirts—had been taken out and strewn all over her room. They were on the floor, over her desk, and across the windowsill. “I don’t believe this!” she cried out loud. “Who was in here?” She sat up, startled to alertness. “Kody? Kody? Were you in my room?” she shouted. No reply. She leapt out of bed and started to dress quickly, picking up a pair of white tennis shorts from the floor then pulling on a blue-and white-striped tank top. After she dressed, she picked up the Tshirts and sweaters from the floor and tossed them onto her bed. Then she quickly ran a brush through her blond hair and hurried downstairs. “Something weird is going on!” Cally shouted, hurrying toward the kitchen. She entered a scene of shouting and confusion. “Where’s Cubby?” James was demanding shrilly. Cally’s brother was down on his hands and knees, peering under the kitchen table. “Cubby? Cubby?” he called. “Where is that dumb dog?” Mr. Hankers hurried past
    Cally with a nod and a muttered “Good morning.” He closed the basement door behind him. She heard his heavy footsteps clambering down the narrow basement stairs. “I don’t want eggs!” Kody was saying irritably. Her mother snapped the plate up from the table. “You told me you wanted scrambled eggs this morning.” “But these are too runny. They’re sick!” Kody declared. “I’m going to hurl! Really!” “Fine. I like them runny. I’ll eat them!” Mrs. Frasier snarled, carrying the plate away. “Where’s Cubby?” James repeated shrilly. “Has anyone seen him?” “I think he went outside,” Mrs. Nordstrom said, her face hidden behind a pile of bath towels she was carrying in front of her. “I saw him in the backyard a few minutes ago.” “Are you going to wash those?” Mr. Frasier asked. “Yes. I’m on my way to the basement,” the housekeeper replied. “But Mr. Hankers told me the basement is still filled with rats,” Mr. Frasier told her. Mrs. Nordstrom kept walking toward the back hallway. “I’m not afraid of rats. Rats are afraid of me,” she said, and disappeared, heading down to the washer-dryer. “Cubby? Cubby? Did she say Cubby went outside?” James demanded. “Cubby isn’t allowed outside!” He pushed open the kitchen door and ran out, calling the dog’s name. “James—come back! You haven’t had your breakfast!” Mrs. Frasier called frantically. She blew a strand of hair off her forehead. “Anybody want eggs?” “Somebody pulled all the clothes out of my closet!” Cally reported, managing to get a word in. “My room is a total mess!” “Later,” Cally’s mother said. “Let’s get breakfast out of the way, then—” “But, Mother—” Cally cried sharply. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” “What’s going on here?” Kody demanded. “Why is everyone screaming and running around like a maniac?” “Cubby? Cubby?” James’s desperate shouts floated in from the backyard. “If that stupid puppy has run off …” Mr.