Mom screams. Short and piercing like she’s just stumbled across something startling. Her shriek comes from downstairs.

‘Sounds like she’s in the kitchen but why is she awake and out of bed at this hour?’

She screams again, calling my name. ‘She needs me.’ I spring from my bed, confused. Scared.

Pausing at the threshold to my room, I look left. Mom’s door is open. I look right and see what appears to be the dim flicker of candlelight emanating from downstairs.

As I pass the hall closet, Mom’s hand grabs mine, pulling me in, whispering, “That was not me.”