The next morning, I told Daniel everything.
He listened while pouring coffee.
“So Rook thinks the nursery is haunted?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Should I call an electrician or an exorcist?”
“Daniel.”
He saw my face and stopped smiling.
“Okay.”
“I think something is wrong in there.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know.”
We inspected the room together.
We checked the windows.
The heating vent.
The outlets.
The ceiling.
Daniel climbed into the attic and looked around with a flashlight.
He found nothing unusual.
No leaking pipes.
No animals.
No damaged insulation.
No strange smell.
Nothing.
“It’s an old house,” he said when he came down. “Maybe he hears mice.”
“Then why does he want Caleb out?”
“You don’t know that he does.”
I looked toward Rook.
He was standing at the bottom of the attic stairs.
Watching us.
Daniel sighed.
“I’ll call someone.”
An electrician arrived two days later.
His name was Luis, and he spent nearly an hour checking the outlets, switches, breaker panel, and nursery wiring.
Everything worked.
He tested the circuits.
Normal.
He checked the temperature around the sockets.
Normal.
He inspected the attic.
Nothing obvious.
“You’ve got an older electrical system,” he told us, “but I’m not seeing anything dangerous.”
I pointed toward the air vent.
“What about that?”
“HVAC.”
“Could something be inside?”
“Possible, but I don’t see evidence of it.”
Rook watched the entire inspection from the hallway.
Luis noticed him.
“Dog doesn’t like the room?”
“You could say that.”
Luis crouched.
“Smart-looking dog.”
Rook ignored him.
His eyes remained fixed on the vent.
Luis followed his stare.
“You smell something, buddy?”
Rook whined.
Luis stood and looked at me.
“I can pull the vent cover if it makes you feel better.”
“Please.”
He removed it.
Nothing.
Just a dark metal duct disappearing into the wall.
Luis shined a flashlight inside.
“Clean.”
I felt foolish.
Daniel paid him.
That evening, we decided to move Caleb back into the nursery.
For two nights, nothing happened.
Rook still refused to sleep.
He sat outside the door like a guard.
On the third night, our hallway lights flickered.
Just once.
I noticed it because I was carrying laundry.
The lights dimmed, returned, and stayed normal.
“Daniel?”
He was downstairs.
“What?”
“Did the lights just flicker?”
“Probably the storm.”
Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance.
A summer storm was moving toward us.
I looked at Rook.
He was already standing.
His ears were forward.
Then the lights flickered again.
Rook ran toward the nursery.
He barked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Caleb started crying.
“All right!”
I hurried into the room.
Rook followed me this time.
He ran beneath the vent and began jumping toward it.
“Rook! Stop!”
Caleb screamed louder.
Thunder shook the windows.
Daniel came running upstairs.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know!”
Then I smelled it.
Faint.
Sharp.
Wrong.
It reminded me of the smell a hair dryer makes when it gets too hot.
Daniel smelled it too.
His expression changed immediately.
“Do you smell that?”
“Yes.”
Rook barked again.
Daniel reached for the light switch.
Nothing happened.
The nursery had gone dark.
The hallway lights were still on.
“Breaker,” Daniel said.
Then we heard a sound above us.
A tiny crack.
Like someone snapping a dry twig.
Then another.
Crack.
Rook went wild.
He jumped against me so hard I nearly lost my balance.
“Take Caleb!” Daniel shouted.
I grabbed my son from the crib.
Rook ran toward the door, turned around, barked, then ran toward the stairs.
“Go!” Daniel yelled.
I carried Caleb downstairs.
Rook stayed beside me.
Daniel went toward the breaker panel.
Then the smoke detector upstairs screamed.
Everything happened at once.
A piercing alarm filled the house.
Caleb began crying.
Rook barked.
Daniel shouted my name.
A thin ribbon of gray smoke rolled across the upstairs ceiling.
“We’re leaving!” Daniel yelled.
We ran outside barefoot.
Rain had begun falling.
I stood on the front lawn in my pajamas, holding Caleb against my chest while Daniel called emergency services.
Rook stood beside us, staring at the upstairs windows.
Thirty seconds later, one of the windows flashed orange.
My stomach dropped.
“Daniel.”
“I see it.”
There was fire inside our son’s room.
Not a huge fire.
Not yet.
But flames were moving behind the ceiling near the vent.
The room where Caleb had been sleeping less than two minutes earlier.
Firefighters arrived quickly.
We watched from across the street as they entered the house.
Rain soaked my hair.
Caleb cried against my shoulder.
Daniel wrapped his arms around both of us.