The door is an obstacle. My head is fuzzy and I blink rapidly as I skid to a halt in front of it. I yank off the blindfold with the palms of my hands and then grasp the knob and attempt to open it. Pain nearly knocks me to my knees. My fingers are useless, but I have to get the door open!

"Hurry, Mattie," Emma says. "She's getting up!"

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and then turn the knob as hard as I can. It pulls open and I say a short prayer to the Man Above. Definitely owe Him at least a month of Sundays for this.

"RUN!" That was everybody.

I don't have to be told twice, so I dodge out the door and turn left. Definitely, I'm in the basement and I take a second to orient myself. I've been here before. This was one of my foster homes before they closed it. There's only one entrance to the basement level.

Heavy sounds, thumping, heavy breathing. Yep, I can hear Mrs. O in the room behind me. I duck into the first room I see, leaving the door open and stuffing myself behind it. If I close the thing, she'll know. Maybe this will buy me just a few minutes.

"Mathilda Louise Hathaway, you get back here right now!"

I flinch at the fury in her voice, but try to be quiet. She's running but in the opposite direction which tells me she's heading for the stairs. I turned wrong, dang it! Now she's upstairs. And I have to try to get up and past her. Right. I need a weapon, but what can I use that doesn't need my hands? Nothing comes to mind and I groan.

Nope. I'm not done. I made it this far, I can make it out.

"She's upstairs looking for you," someone said.

I let out a strangled shout and jump at the sound of Eric's voice. He nearly scared me to death! I turn to glare at him and then stop. My mouth falls open just a bit before I catch myself. Whoa. He looks normal, not mangled. I'd forgotten what he looked like. I don't know how, considering I'd stared at his picture for hours on end. I haven't been able to really shake his image since Dan showed me the picture. It's his eyes. The vibrant blue is the darkest, but clearest color I've ever seen.

"I have the kids looking so when she goes up to the second floor we'll get you out of here," he tells me.

The head wound must be doing some serious things to me if I can stop and ogle a ghost right in the middle of my escape plan. So not good. I sigh. At least he's here and didn't leave me.

"Are you okay?" The concern in Eric's voice is... odd.

"Yes," I answer him silently. "Just really, really tired."

"Mattie, I will get you out of here, I promise."

I smile and try to believe him. He sounds fierce like a warrior, but as sincere as my old Sunday school teacher. I wouldn't have gotten away without him. Mrs. Olson got just a little terrified when I said his name. I frown. Why? There's something to that. I remember thinking Eric was the key to all this and I think that is why she's afraid of him.

"Eric, why is Mrs. Olson afraid of you?"

He sighs just as heavily as I had. "I got away once and tried to find help. It was before they moved us to this place. I'm the reason they had to move their playhouse. They found me before I could get help. But that is when I learned their secret."

"Their secret?" My heart thumps wildly.

"Yes..."

"She's upstairs!" Ricky screamed in my ear and I jumped. I pushed away from the wall and hobbled down the hall as fast as I could. My ankle is on fire and only gets worse with each step. I've probably done a lot more damage to it. The stairs loom ahead of me and I press my shoulder to the wall for support as I drag my legs up them one at a time. I come out into the hallway right off the kitchen. There is a kitchen door and all I have to do is get there.

I hear the shouts and cries of fear and dismay all at once. Two dozen voices hammer at me and I nearly scream at the white-hot agony that rips through my aching head. Something has changed, something scared them all. Eric hisses and his cold seeps into me, like he's trying to hold me and can't. This is so not good, so very, very not good.

The archway leading into the kitchen is blocked. A man is standing there watching me. He's wearing a dark hoodie and I can't see his face, but I don't need to. There's only one person it can be –Mr. Olson. There's only one place to go. The back stairs go to the second floor. I grit my teeth and run.

He's whistling as he follows me. He's not running, just walking steadily and whistling. How weird. Why run though? Not like I have anywhere to go now is there? Just upstairs to where Mrs. Olson's lurking, waiting to find me and put me back in that chair. Not if I can help it.

The second floor has about nine bedrooms and the third floor about six as well and three bathrooms. I bypass the second and head for the third. All the rooms are locked except the bathrooms and none of them have windows big enough for me to get out of. The attic stairs are at the end of the hallway. I can't go back down. He's searching and I don't trust my ability to slip past him on the stairs, either.

"He's on the second floor checking bedrooms," Emma whispers and I nod.

The attic door is slightly ajar and I hesitate. Is Mrs. Olson up there?

"She's not," Emma tells me and I go in, pushing the door shut, but it springs back open as I knew it would.

The attic is huge, but not dark. I can still see daylight streaming into the windows. How long have I been here? I look around quickly and don't go for the corners. They'll look there first. Instead I look at the middle of the room. There is junk everywhere from broken toys to office furniture. The desk draws my attention. There are two trunks sitting in front of it. If I can duck under it...

"Don't you watch horror movies?" The sarcasm in Eric's voice is heavy. "It's always the idiot girls who get killed first! Putting yourself in a place you can't run from is the stupidest thing I've heard in a long time."

"Yeah, well, you got any better ideas?" I snarl at him and limp towards the middle of the room, my eyes searching frantically. I need a place to hide.

"Over by the door," Eric tells me. "Hide behind those boxes stacked up. When one of them comes in, you run out the door and downstairs as fast as you can. We'll do our best to help you."

Like that's any better than my desk idea? I roll my eyes at him, but hobble over to my new hiding place. It's not like I have a lot of options. My head feels like it's gonna explode, my hands are on fire, and my ankle is past the point of pain. God knows what kind of damage I've done to it on top the sprain.

How did I get myself into this situation? Dan's right. I've gone soft. I ignored my own rules about ghosts. When I saw Sally, I should have just ignored her like I did every other ghost. I should have... I sigh.

I need to get a handle on this situation. Should've, could've, would've... none of that will get me out of this. I take a slow, deep breath and take stock of my situation. Okay, I'm hurt. I have two psychos trying to kill me, and oh yeah, I'm surrounded by ghosts. I want to laugh. It's either laugh or cry. Mathilda Louise Hathaway doesn't cry.

Footsteps on the stairs interrupt my tirade. I tense. Each heavy thud brings him closer and closer. I have to be ready. The cold closes in around me. I don't see them, but I can feel their terror. It only magnifies mine. I've seen what Mr. Olson has done to them, what he plans to do to me. What he's already done to me with his knife. My body starts to shake. No, no. No more of that! Don't obsess about the knife.

"Calm down, Mattie," Eric whispers. "I'm right here. Just calm down."

"Easy for you to say," I grouch in answer. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"What?"

"You're already dead, Eric," I say. "He can't do anything else to you."

"But I can feel him hurt me every day," Tina whispers brokenly. "I'm back in that chair every minute of every day."

Oh, God, like I have time for a Dr. Phil session? But if I can make them understand that he can't cause them any more pain then maybe they will fight harder. I frantically search my memory for all the things I've read on why ghosts linger.

"No, he can't hurt you," I tell them softly. "You died a horrible death and that is your last memory. It's the clearest memory you have and that is what you focus on. You relive it every day, but that's all it is, a memory. He can't see you, can't touch you, can't talk to you. He can't hurt you anymore. I promise."

I turn to look at Eric, one ear to the door listening. Mr. Olson is almost up the stairs. "But,he can hurt me! I need all of you to help me.  Please don't let him hurt me."

I see the shadow fall across the floor.

He has the knife.