No. There is a light tapping on the back door. Quickly, let me peek out the window. No one. The back porch and the back yard are empty. No one there.
And another bit of tapping. This time on the basement door. Someone is on the top step, knocking. I cautiously open the door, holding an iron skillet that belonged to my grandmother in my hand, just in case. But of course--when I open the door--there is no one there.
Wait! There it is again. Down in the basement. Someone is tapping on the side of the furnace. What a hollow, scary sound.
I start to close the door, and the tapping grows louder, more urgent. Who is it down there?
I go get Pa's old double-barreled shotgun, and I load both barrels. I open the basement door, look down, see only the darkness below. But the tapping continues, as though mocking me.
"All right!" I shout, starting down the steep basement steps, holding the shot gun out in front of me. "That's enough of your mischief. We're going to have it out--right now! Ready or not--here I come!"