Emma glanced blearily at the clock. Three a.m., and Studley obviously needed to go out. He was whimpering, deep in his throat, and his cold nose kept nudging her arm.

Damn dog! She reached out and gave the silky coat a pat. Zombie-like, she stumbled across the room, to the front door, and unfastened the lock. “Out!” she commanded, punctuating it with a squeaky yawn.

When she opened her eyes again, the man was standing on the grass, just off the porch.

It was a very small porch.

She slammed the door and locked it, then raced through the house. She kept picturing Him running, trying to beat her to the back door.

It’s locked. It’s got to be locked.

It was, but she didn’t feel any better. No one had any business standing there, on her property, at three in the morning. He was up to no good.

She ran for the kitchen and picked up a knife in one hand and the phone in the other. The knife shook in her frozen fingers. Not a good thing. He’ll use it on me.

He damn well better not try. Her shadowy reflection in the window glass was that of a madwoman, brandishing a blade. Her staccato movements glinted across the toaster face, and she jumped, slashing the air.

Hysteria burbled up, like an unwanted belch, before sense clunked in with a nearly audible jolt. Window. Nightlight. He’ll see me. Frantic, she dropped onto the floor, and punched in a fumbling “911”.

If he saw me, I hope he saw the knife, too.

She shouted into the phone, “There was—!”, realized she was shouting, and quickly hissed, “There was a man!”

Why the hell hadn’t Studley barked?! The damned dog had practically dumped her in the killer’s lap!

The Police Operator was offering instructions now, and Emma listened to them blankly. She’d just recalled something very pertinent to her case.

“N-Never mind,” she said, replacing the receiver with shaking hands.

A dream. It had to be a dream.

But it wasn’t and she knew it. It was what she’d tell them, though, when they asked.

She sat there, huddled, too scared to challenge the near-dark. Her eyes were already scrunched closed, but now she drew up her knees and buried her face in her arms.

Shielded. Safer.

Not really.

She couldn’t afford to move now, even if it meant lighting the house. She was too afraid of what she might see.

She nestled her head deeper, to block her ears.

Too afraid of what she might hear.

She hummed a little whimper, deep in her throat the way Studley had. Just enough noise to challenge any other whimpers in the room.

When they came with the squad car to check out her call, she’d have to get up—but not till then. Then, it’d be okay—maybe even safe.

Why hadn’t Studley barked? That one was easy—now that she’d remembered.

About Studley.

He’d been dead—for almost a week.

From ErRatic