I finally shake my head at how absurd my thoughts have been the last few days. I walk toward the door and grip the handle, and then an unexpected sound forces me to pause in my tracks.

One of the piano keys just played.

It was so loud I recognized exactly which key it was that made the noise. Middle C.

I close my eyes.

That did not just happen.

I slowly turn around, eyes still shut, not sure what I’m expecting to find when I open them. Maybe my laptop fell onto the piano keys? My pulse is pounding so violently—I can feel it in my neck.

I open one eye . . . then the other.

There’s no one at the piano. No one in the room but me.

I immediately pull my phone out of my pocket, open the app for the security cameras, and watch the playback of the last thirty seconds.

The app shows me standing up from the piano. Stretching. I keep my eyes on the footage of the piano. As soon as I reach out for the door handle, middle C on the piano is pressed by nothing.

The key just . . . played itself.

There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing.

There is no way that can be explained.

My first instinct is to run, but my second instinct—the part of me that finds this fascinating—wins out.

“Do that again,” I say, walking closer to the piano.

A few seconds pass, and then the same key plays itself again.

I take a quick step back.

My knees feel like they’re about to give out. “Fuck.” I bend over, staring at the piano. I take in a slow breath.

I want to ask another question. I want to ask a million questions. But the reality of this moment is too heavy for me to accept. This is where I draw the line, apparently, because I’m walking toward the door. Rushing. Running. Halfway up the stairs, I pause and press my back against the wall.

I think back to every ghost story I’ve ever laughed at. Every fairy tale I’ve never believed in.

Could I really be wrong?

Incredulity begins to simmer inside of me, or maybe it’s fear. How can I have been wrong my whole life? I’ve always been able to explain everything. These last few days have been the only time in my life I haven’t been able to explain something away.

I can either continue to run from that, or I can confront it. Figure it out. Put my mind at ease.

I think about the idiots in scary movies that never run when they should, but I empathize with them now. The need to disprove the thing that’s scary is greater than the need to run from the potential harm it might bring.

I’m not convinced this is something I should be scared of. I’m convinced it’s something I should investigate.

When I’m back in the room, I close myself inside. I realize most sane people would be in the rental car right now, getting the hell away from this place. I’m still not sure that won’t be me in a few minutes.

“Who are you?” I ask, staring at the piano, my back pressed to the door in case I need a quick escape.

I wait for an answer but realize a question like that can’t be answered with the stroke of a piano key.

I hesitate before finally walking to the piano. I look behind it. Beneath it. Inside of it. There are no wires . . . no setups that would allow someone to be doing this.

“Press a different key.”

The D key is played this time, almost immediately.

I cover my mouth with my hand and mutter “Holy shit” against my palm. I have to be dreaming. That’s the only explanation.

“Press the A key.”

The A key makes a sound.

I don’t know what’s happening, but I completely suppress the skeptic in me and just go with my instinct this time. “I have questions,” I say. “Press middle C for yes. D for no. A if you don’t know the answer.”

Middle C presses lightly, which means yes. My voice comes out a little shaky when I ask, “Are you dangerous?”

I don’t know why I ask that. Any dangerous entity would surely deny they’re dangerous.

The D key is pressed for no.

“Are you a ghost?”

I don’t know.

“Are you dead?”

I don’t know.

“Do you know me?”

No.

I start pacing the room. My legs feel like they’re floating because I no longer have feeling in them. My skin is tingling with excitement. Or fear. They feel the same to me sometimes.

“I’m having a conversation with a piano,” I mutter. “What the fuck is happening?”

I have to be dreaming. I’m asleep right now. Either that, or someone is punking me. I’m probably on some prank show. Hell, Layla probably signed us up for a prank show to get me more notoriety.

Maybe someone outside the room is getting a kick out of this. I should ask questions no one would know the answer to unless they were here with me. I look up at the security camera. Maybe that’s it? Someone from the security company thinks this is a funny prank? I take the cover off one of the throw pillows on the couch. I toss it at the camera and cover it up.

I hold up five fingers.

“Am I holding up three fingers?”

No.

“One?”

No.

“Five?”

Yes.

I drop my arm. “Am I going crazy?” I whisper to myself.

I don’t know.

“That question wasn’t for you.” I sit on the couch and rub my hands down my face. “Are you alone?”

Yes.

I wait for a while before asking another question. I’m trying to soak up everything that’s happened in the last half hour, but I’m still trying to throw explanations at myself.

No keys are pressed while I sit in silence. My adrenaline has never been this high. I want to wake up Layla and show her what’s happening, but I’m reacting to this like I found a stray dog and not some entirely different . . . realm. Layla said that once. That she thinks there are different realms. Fuck. Maybe she was right.

It makes me want to tell her about this even more, but I’m worried it’ll freak her out. She might want to leave. We’ll have to pack our things and get in the car, and then I’ll never get answers to all the thousands of questions that have formed in the last few minutes. Like what is this thing? Who is this thing?

“Can you show yourself to me?”

No.

“Because you don’t want to?”

No.

“Because you don’t know how to?”

Yes.

I run my hands through my hair and then grip the back of my neck as I walk over to one of the bookshelves that line the walls. I need more proof that this isn’t a prank. It’s not that easy to suspend an entire lifetime of beliefs in one day.

“Pull a book off one of these shelves,” I say. A hacked security camera won’t be able to pull that off.

I stare patiently at the bookshelf in front of me.

Ten very quiet and still seconds go by; then the book I’m focused on slides out of the bookshelf and falls to the floor with a thud. I look at the book in complete disbelief.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out of it.

I pace the room for a few minutes. I think about everything that’s happened up to this point, and I think maybe I’m numb. In disbelief.

“Do you have a name?”

Yes.

“What is it?”

Nothing happens. No keys are pressed. I realize the question can’t be answered using one of the piano keys. I’ve started working out a way words can be spelled out using piano keys when I hear a noise. I look over at my laptop, which is sitting on top of the piano. It’s opening.