The brush froze in my hand.
“What do you mean, when I’m asleep?”
“He comes at night,” she said calmly. “He checks the window first. Then he talks to me for a bit.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“Ellie, sweetheart, what does Mr. Tom look like?”
She considered the question carefully, the way she always does.
“He’s old. He smells like a garage. And he walks real slow.” She paused. “He says not to wake you.”
“Will he come tonight?” I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
“I think so, Mommy,” Ellie said.
I didn’t sleep that night.
After Ellie went to bed, I walked through the house room by room, checking every door and window twice.
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