* * *On Saturday morning, David went to the hardware store in town for painting supplies. Nora was unpacking the kitchen when Owen came downstairs with the expression he wore when he was trying to present something as casual."Hey Mom. There's a door at the end of the upstairs hall."Nora set down the mixing bowl she was holding. "I know.""It's locked. I tried it."She looked at him. "Did I ask you to try it?""No, but—""Then don't."He blinked. Owen was twelve and therefore accustomed to mild, negotiable authority, not the particular flatness in his mother's voice right now."Why not?"Nora picked up the mixing bowl again. She heard herself say: "House rules. The attic is off-limits until we know what's up there." Then, more gently: "We'll look at it together. When Dad's home."Owen accepted this with the minimal protest of someone filing a formal disagreement. He went back upstairs.She stood at the kitchen counter for a moment.Then she went to her coat, hung in the entryway, and took out the index card.
The attic door at the end of the upstairs hall — do not open it. Not for any reason. Not for any sound.Not for any sound.She put the card back in her pocket.She went back to unpacking.
