Arion had left hours ago for Devil’s Night, some weird tradition of youth mischief the night before Halloween most of the world had forgotten about except our little town, and my father never came home, probably spending the night in the city again.

I remembered my mother’s words about a mistress he kept, but I pushed the thought away and stood up. Other than me, my mom was the only one in the house, and she went to bed with an Ambien an hour ago.

Walking to my door, I pulled it open a silver and listened. Maybe my mom got up or Arion brought friends home.

But now I could tell the vibration I’d felt was a slow whine, but constant and melodic. Up and down, long and slow.

Music. Someone was playing music.

I crept into the hallway, the pulse under my foot growing strong the closer I got to the sound. My heart beat harder, and I descended the stairs, finally recognizing the song set at a really low volume. A Bush song from my playlist in the ballroom.

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth, trying to stifle the fear and excitement raging through me. I should call for my mom. I should wake her up.

But I ignored that voice in my head and pushed through the ballroom doors. The song played from my system next to the wall at a low volume, and I didn’t know if it was the monsters we all feel when we’re scared or some sixth sense I didn’t believe in, but I could feel someone in the room.

I walked to the dance floor and stopped on the marker in the middle, twisting in a slow circle.

“Are you there?” I asked.

The music suddenly cut off, and my breath caught in my throat as my heart jumped.

“Yes,” a whisper far off in front of me said.

I licked my lips, every limb trembling, but the way his voice washed over me… My blood flowed electric.

I had to swallow a couple times to get my throat wet. “You found the snow village for me?”

He didn’t answer. I knew it was him, but hearing him confirm it would have at least confirmed he was at the party—and near my sister—to hear me ask her for it. It might’ve been possible to pin down who he was then.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Maybe I never left.”

His whispering was haunting but there was something soft and playful in it.

And the fact that he kept whispering meant I might have heard his voice, and he was afraid of being recognized. Or maybe he just wanted to scare me.

“Who are you?”

“A ghost.”

I shook my head, a slight smile playing on my lips. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Why aren’t you screaming?” he inquired, changing the subject. “Or calling for help?”

I fell quiet, wishing I could answer his question. For my own sake. I might be in danger. At the very least a strange man was in my home uninvited, and he’d been here before, threatening me.

Run. Scream.

“I don’t know,” I answered instead.

I still could scream. I wasn’t ready just yet.

“Why did you come back?” I asked.

“I wanted to see if you’d dance again.”

“How did you know I’d be alone?”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re alone,” he said. “Just as long as I have you to myself.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I breathed faster and shallower.

I wanted to be like him. Bold.

“I have your shoes,” he whispered.

My shoes?

Oh, my pointe shoes. I’d left them near the stereo when I rehearsed this morning before school.

Dance for him…

I could. As long as I didn’t blast it, the music wouldn’t wake my mother.

What would happen after I danced, though?

What was wrong with me that I liked that he was here?

He liked my dancing. He came to see if I would dance.

It made the world prettier.

I quickly hid the smile that tried to peek out.

I held out my hand. “Shoes?”

He set them in my hand, using both of his hands to make sure I had them.

I dropped to the floor and slipped the shoes on, lacing up the ribbons as I heard him walk away, probably to give me room.

Once the slippers were fastened tightly, I stood up and walked to the center of the dance floor, finding my X, and turned out into second position. Bending my knees in a quick demi-plié to find my balance, I rose up to en pointe onto my toes and back down again.

I should have had more of a warm up, but I was suddenly nervous. Maybe because the last time he saw me dance I didn’t know he was watching or because I still wasn’t sure if he was going to slit my throat or not.

“Track seven,” I called out, my voice shaking a little. “Could you find it, please?”

I heard him move across the room as he did what I asked, and I wished I was dressed. The situation being what it was, I couldn’t believe I was worried about that, but I only had on my sleep shorts, a tank top, and no damn bra.

Ellie Goulding’s sonorous humming and chanting finally started, low and faint at first, but grew stronger, and I walked slowly around the dance floor, making a casual circle and getting a feel. I had only played around with choreography on this track once, and I couldn’t remember it, so I guessed I was winging it.

The music built, haunting and crawling inside my skin, and then her voice gave in to lyrics, echoing and layered with chants as the drums started.

My pulse started to beat harder, and I closed my eyes, marking the tape on the floor in my head as I grazed over it and started moving. I hit the beat, rolling my head, shooting up on my toes, and twirling in a circle, feeling the music.

I forgot about him, and all of my teachers who complained about my technique, and just slipped into my own world where I craved the feel of my body slicing through the air and my hands in my hair and on my neck.

My back arched as I swung into an attitude, and I felt my heart leap in my chest when I twirled and posed in an arabesque. I smiled, biting down on my bottom lip to stifle the laugh I wanted to let loose. I spun and bent and dipped and slithered through whatever I wanted to do, just letting the music tell me.

When it ended, the air felt cold all of a sudden, and I breathed hard, remembering I wasn’t alone.

“Are you…are you still there?” I asked, my mouth parched.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but when he did, his voice was calm. “The way you move, it’s…different.”

“Different than what?” I stilled, breathing hard.

But he didn’t answer. I’d gathered my teachers were sometimes frustrated with me over years because I improvised. A lot. I appreciated the classical education I’d received, but I didn’t want to do the same things that had already been done to death. I kind of just went on impulse, because it made me happy. Did he not like it?

I found my way to the chair again and sat down, removing my pointe shoes. “Are you still thinking you might hurt me?” I broached.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

I almost laughed. It was a pointless question to ask, because I didn’t expect him to tell me the truth, but somehow, I liked his answer. There was humor in it.

“Why don’t you call the police?” he whispered, and I could tell his voice had gotten closer. He was approaching me.

I bent over, slipping the first shoe off and stretching out the ache in my foot. “Did you like the dance?” I asked instead.

“I won’t stop you if you call for help,” he explained. “Not tonight. Go ahead.”

“It wasn’t choregraphed. I just improvised.”

“I could kill you,” he pointed out. “It would be over before you realized what was happening.”

“I want you to like the dance,” I continued, ignoring his one-sided conversation, because it would mean I would have to have answers for things I didn’t have answers for yet. “My parents think the idea of a blind ballet dancer is ridiculous, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It can be done.”

“You could die tonight,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard me.

I unlaced the other shoe and slid it off, letting it drop to the floor. “I could die ten times on any given day. I could’ve died when I lost my sight when I was eight.”

I was used to feeling endangered. Every step I took could lead me off the side of a building for all I knew. Maybe that was why I wasn’t as scared of him.

“What happened that day?” he asked.

When I lost my sight?

“I fell,” replied. “From a treehouse. I hit my head twice on the way down. Optic nerve damage. Irreparable.”

“Were you pushed?”

I closed my right fist, still remembering the terrible feeling of the boy’s hand slowly slipping out of it and knowing that was all that was standing between me and the ground far below.

I wasn’t pushed. Not exactly.

“I shouldn’t have been up there.” My voice had lowered to a mumble. “I wish I’d never met him. I wish I’d never gone up there with him. I…” How very different my life would be if I could change that one day and never step foot in that fountain. “I miss seeing things. Movies and the sea.” I paused before continuing. “Your face.”

Not being able to gauge his body language or expressions left me at a disadvantage.

I heard a chair scrape against the floor and then it was placed in front of me before I heard his weight sit down on it. He took my hand, but I jerked back, sitting up steel rod straight in my chair and suddenly alert.

He took it again, squeezing my fingers a little tighter. “Stand up.”

I guessed what he was doing, and I’d gone this far, so… Hesitantly, I stood up from my chair, every muscle still rigid and ready to run if I had to.

His hand was a bit bigger than mine, and his fingers were long and sculpted but so chilled. So cold. He took both of my hands and led me to him. To his face.

“What do you see?” he asked, placing my hands on him and releasing me.

My fingers splayed across both sides of his face, and I stood still for a moment, afraid to move my fingers, because he would feel how much I was shaking. Every inch of my skin that touched his buzzed underneath the surface, and I almost pulled away because it tickled so bad.