The agent didn't tell them the price until the drive home, and she said it like an apology. Sixty-one thousand. Eleven rooms, a wraparound porch. Mara signed before Daniel finished reading. That first night they slept on a mattress in the parlor. Above them, a floorboard creaked. Then again, slow and even, like someone pacing the room overhead. They were alone in the house.

Daniel turned on his phone flashlight and headed for the stairs. "It's just the house settling," he said, but his voice shook. Mara followed. At the top of the steps, the pacing stopped the second their feet hit the landing. Every door up there was shut. They didn't remember closing them.

Mara tried the door at the end of the hall. Locked. Through the keyhole she saw a thin line of candlelight and a chair rocking on its own. She backed away fast. "Daniel," she said, "there's no power up here. So what's burning?"

"Forget the door," Mara said. They went down to leave, but the front door now opened onto a brick wall. Daniel pressed his ear to a side door and heard the agent's voice, faint and pleasant: "Sixty-one thousand. Eleven rooms." She was already showing the place to the next couple. While they were still inside it.

They searched every wall for a real way out. In the parlor they found a fresh mattress on the floor, exactly like the one they'd brought. A young couple lay asleep on it. Mara reached to wake them and her hand passed right through. "We're the floorboards now," Daniel said. "We're the thing they'll hear pacing tonight."