Laurie woke at 11pm, her neck and hips stiff from lying on the couch, her Kindle battery run to flat. The library was in darkness, save for the dim amber light streaming in from the hallway. She yawned then swung her feet to the floor. It had been light outside when she'd dropped off. The sun set around 8.30 now it was late August. Her mouth tasted like a parrot's ass and she had a mild headache. Reaching down she picked up the empty bottle of Claret and gave a moue of disgust.

Running her hand through her hair, she yawned. She needed to shower and clean her teeth. Laurie shuffled to the doorway. The hallway lamp, kept permanently burning day and night, cast a warm glow on the gleaming oak panelling. The stairs curved upwards onto a half landing and she focused on the huge painting there of the Heelshire family. In this light the figures were rendered to chiaroscuro and seemed to jump from the canvas. There was Mr and Mrs Heelshire, refined, stately, standing side by side; between them the diminutive real life Brahms, a handsome eight year old with large eyes and an angelic expression. Laurie felt a tug of compassion. What must it have been like to lose him?

"Jesus," Laurie breathed. "It was bad enough for me suffering a miscarriage. No wonder they fixated on you..." She turned her head to regard the doll she'd discarded hours ago on the hallway chair and felt her stomach drop. It was gone.

She stared stupidly at the fallen cloth she'd covered it with, then marched into the kitchen and switched on the light. Her eyes scanned the room. Nothing. She ran back out to the hallway and addressed the chair accusingly. "I put you there, I know I did!" Did I, she thought wildly. "Don't be ridiculous!" she said aloud. She padded back to the library then stared down at the empty wine bottle. "For Christ's sake!" She held her forehead, trying to think through the headache, which was getting worse. Get to bed, Laurie. You're overtired is all...

Something rustled softly from the hallway, so imperceptibly she almost didn't hear it. Laurie held her breath and froze. Rats! On tiptoe she crept to the doorway to peer tentatively around the door jamb. If she saw one she'd die...die screaming. It was one thing to pull a dead rat from a trap but quite another to... For the second time her stomach plummeted. The doll was back on the chair. For an age she crouched in the doorway staring at it as though it might get up and start trotting around. Then slowly, like an automaton, Laurie picked boy Brahms up, climbed the stairs and put him into his bed.

She slept that night in her clothes and woke to streaming sunlight. Oddly, her sneakers were placed neatly on the damask chair in the corner. She could have sworn she'd kicked them off under the bed. "No more wine," she muttered turning on the shower. She had no idea what time it was. "Like I care?" She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a short silk Empire line dress with tiny puffed sleeves. It was moss green with tiny crimson rosebuds all over it and one of her favourites. "The day is glorious," she told herself. "And I'm sick of shuffling around like a drunken slob." She took off her gold necklace and laid it on the sink then stepped beneath the water. Five minutes later she felt like a new woman. Ten minutes later she was scurrying around again trying to find her dress and gold chain. They were gone. Soaking wet, her hair dripping, she ran onto the landing. "I know you're there!" she yelled clutching at her bath robe, not knowing who the hell she was yelling at. "I'm calling the cops!" She cocked an ear as she heard a faint clonk.

"Brahms?" she breathed.

She found the doll sitting on his bed with the list of Rules Mrs Heelshire had drawn up for her beside it. The phone in her bedroom rang, making her start. Laurie charged back, slamming the door shut behind her then snatching up the receiver. "Hello!"

Static crackle then a child's voice said plaintively, "Laurie?"

"Who is this?" she demanded, heart thumping.

"Please come play with me. Laurie?"

"Who ARE you!"

"Why don't you follow the Rules? I promise I'll be good if you are."

She slammed the phone down. Shuffling sounded outside her room. Terrified, she could only stare at the thin gap beneath the door, at the shadow and light movement of someone or something out there. That voice came again, right outside, and she almost screamed.

"It's your favourite, Laurie. I made it just for you."

She stood poised, every muscle ready for fight or flight. Then she heard footsteps padding softly away. Laurie lunged for the door and snatched it open.

On the floor outside sat a tray with a neatly cut sandwich on a white china plate. She picked it up. Peanut butter jelly. "Oh, Brahms..." She went to his room where he still sat on the edge of the bed facing the doorway. Waiting for her...

Kneeling before him she whispered, "What is it you want? The Rules? Is this what you need? Is it that important?" The glassy grey eyes stared back her and Laurie felt, knew, that she wasn't alone in this house. "You're here, aren't you?" She remembered Mr Heelshire's words about their son being very loved. She hadn't understood but now she did. She knew this doll was incidental. Knew she was addressing a spirit child. But the doll was the medium through which the pair of them could communicate. She sat back on her heels. "I can feel you, Brahms. I can. I just wasn't looking before."

Somewhere, deep within the bowels of Fern Deane, a child's gentle laughter sang out.