On a contingency basis, I'd given my parents the opportunity to let me talk to them again. My pride couldn't be more important than them hearing my concerns regarding the house and why we couldn't stay in it tonight, or any other night. Or anywhere ever in our supposedly new hometown of Dorn, Washington. For all I knew, every house in this place was like ours. The little I'd seen of Dorn on the drive in was all I needed to make a well thought out and not at all rash judgement. It was a runt of a town clinging to the far end of one of the Puget Sound's many inlets. The main street, patterned after seaside villages in Sweden, was dotted with new age stores mixed with Scandinavian bakeries, acupuncture offices, and not-so-trendy boutiques, giving it an Old-World European meets West Coast hippie on social security vibe.

The reason I was here in the Swedish Chef's summer vacation spot instead of home in Spokane was because Robert Orting died earlier that year. I never had the honor of meeting him, but my sincere condolences to his family.

Robert owned a popular restaurant on Main Street called Dornzeria. When he passed, his wife put the business up for sale. Enter Becca and Carlo Rivera. They'd never owned a restaurant and mom had a severe allergy to gluten, but Dad's grandparents were Italian, which somehow made them feel qualified to run a pizza joint. They did operate a travel business for a while and mom was semi-adequate at bookkeeping, so the situation was completely and utterly hopeless. It was, however, an "I just got sentenced to two years for a crime I didn't commit" kind of hopeless. I mean, I might get liberated eventually (like when I'm eighteen and go back to Spokane for college), but for the time being, things were looking bleak.

I was expected to live in a house held together by killer moss with two parents who complained daily about how much adulting they had to do. And in two weeks I had to learn to control my panic attacks long enough to get through a school day without going catatonic around a bunch of strangers. Unless, that was, I could get my parents to change course.

"This house is haunted. Possibly by a demon." I'd decided on a supernatural upgrade because demon sounded a lot more menacing than ghost.

My dad dropped the piece of pho he'd been eating back into its plastic take-out container. This was the first thing I'd said to them since the day before yesterday, so his surprise was not surprising. He let out a long sigh.

I waved my hand through the air in front of them to make sure they wouldn't lose focus. "Have you seen Paranormal Activity? Or The Exorcist? We need to leave before the demon takes possession of me and uses my body to seek vengeance for being cast into the flames of hell."

"A demon would have been born from hellfire, not cast into it." My mom tapped her chopsticks against the edge of her bowl. "What evidence do you have for this, Mazie?"

"Aside from the pools of dried blood that won't come out of the carpets you mean?"

They performed their parental stare down.

"Am I the only one who can see the blood? Oh, my God, its evil influence has already begun to affect me! That blood is literally all over this house. Especially in your bedroom."

"Mazie," my father placed the lid back on his pho and got up to store it in the fridge. "I know you're upset, honey, but you can't make up stories and think that it will undo what's been done. We live here now."

"I'm not making it up, I'm embellishing. Something unexplainable really did happen to me. I wasn't going to tell you in order to spare you the terror, but I think you have the right to know. When I was upstairs, my bedroom door opened and closed on its own. I swear it did."

My mother sighed. "Wind, drafts, maybe it wasn't closed all the way to begin with... any number of things could account for that. But your mind always goes to the most extreme place it can, Mazie. A door opens and it must be because the Devil sent one of its minions to do it."

"Forget the demon part, then. It's just weird."

"Life is weird. This family is weird. Get over it."

Get over it. Those words came out of my mother's mouth so many times, if there was one thing I really needed to get over, it was the sound of that sentence being directed at me. It's not that simple. If it was, Becca would have finished law school instead of dropping out second semester when her father died, and Carlo would have kept writing instead of giving up when his first novel got bad reviews. My parents were the queen and king of psychological hang-ups, yet here we were, pretending I was the only one with issues.

For his part, Dad was more of an affirmation salesman than a command generator. "New experiences are chances for us to grow, honey. This move is an opportunity for growth. You just need to give Dorn a chance. And yourself as well. You can adapt. You don't think you can, but it's in you. You're more amazing than you give yourself credit for."

I sat back in my chair, kicking my legs in front of me, my untouched pho growing cold in its container. Maybe I would go back to not talking to them. It was easier than trying to explain myself. "I don't know if I can do this."

Standing behind my chair, my mom placed her arms around me and squeezed. "It's scary for us too. Not only are we new in town, but your father and I have a business to get up and running. Any number of things could go wrong, but we must hope for the best. All of us."

"I saw him too. The ghost. And he spoke to me."

"Mazie!" My mom let go of me. "Come on now, there's no need to lie."

I closed my eyes and resumed silence. If they weren't going to believe my paranormal door story, they weren't going to believe I'd seen and heard a real ghost. I had at least hoped to plant a seed of fear in them, but that seed was dead before it was in the ground.

That night, my parents' bedroom door opened the way doors normally do—by human intervention. They went to sleep dreaming of locally sourced pizza toppings and gluten-free breadsticks, not ways in which their new home might murder their innocent young daughter.

While they got the "not a creature was stirring" night, I was treated to "there arose such a clatter."

I climbed into bed and lay there, contemplating if I should sleep with the light on. Normally, the darkness of my own room wouldn't be a source of fear, but this wasn't my own room. I was a stranger to it and it to me. I couldn't decide whether it was better to see every corner and what might be lurking there or not see every corner and what might be lurking there.

That's when the clatter arose. The window facing the front of the house and the road beyond it began to rattle like an earthquake was shaking the glass loose from its frame. Gasping, I pulled the covers up tight around me, wondering for a moment if it wasn't an earthquake causing the commotion. A second later, the window came slamming down. I pulled the covers up over my head and began to examine the many ways this night could end in my untimely demise. The house might indeed be about to collapse. There might be a tsunami triggered by the earthquake that may or may not be occurring and it might be powerful enough to strike my street. Or, I might have conjured a demon from the pits of hell simply by mentioning the possibility one existed.

As I shivered in bed with my grandmother's handmade quilt pulled up and over me, footsteps began to tap on the ceiling from the attic above. I could rule out an earthquake then, and by process of elimination, also X out the possibility of an approaching tsunami. That left demon. I listened harder... a demon who... tap danced?

The tappity tap of heel toe heel was coming through loud and clear now. Tappity tappity tap tap tappity tap. Fast and precise. At least if I was going to be possessed by a member of Satan's legion, it would be one who knew the time step.

I peeled the quilt away from my face at the rate ketchup flows out of a glass bottle. My room looked normal, which was to say that it was a disaster zone of partially unpacked boxes with narrow walkways carved out between clutter mountains. Other than the newly closed window, everything was as it had been before the commotion began. The tapping stopped, which was both a relief and terrifying. At least I'd known before where the demon was. Now it could be anywhere. I eyed my bed with suspicion. It could be here.

"If you're going to turn me into a vessel to convey the Dark One's evil intentions, just do it now and put me out of my mystery."

No response.

I situated myself into the corner so that the only way a demon could show up behind me was if it was in the walls.

In the walls. Oh no, no, no, no, no....

The walls were safe, the walls had to be safe. Sliding down so that I was lying flat against my mattress, I pulled the quilt back over my bed and shut my eyes, grateful that I'd opted for a lights-on night. Grateful, that is, until after a fitful night of sleep, I woke to a room lit only by the natural light of dawn.

Someone had turned my lamp off during the night. And I'm guessing whoever it was had cloven hooves and an online dating profile that read, "loves long walks along the pit of despair and possessing the souls of teenage girls."