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was seven, and Sally, who was five. According to investigators, William Holscomb discovered a wooden chest in the attic that had belonged to the previous owner, a Ms. Vivian Blair. Ms. Blair had resided in that house for ninety-nine years before she fell out of a third-floor window and died. Do you know what was in that chest?”
    â€œHumanoid creatures?”
    â€œNo,” he said, frowning, “it was filled with antique dolls. Neighbors told the police that they often saw Ms. Blair sitting with those dolls in front of the TV or at dinner. They chalked it up to loneliness because Ms. Blair never remarried after her first husband died. Guess what happened to him?”
    â€œEaten by werewolves?”
    â€œNo,” Miles snapped. “He fell off a ladder when he was painting the house about six months after he’d married Ms. Blair. She mourned the death of her husband and then lived alone with those dolls until she fell out of the window. By that time, however, her house was up for sale. According to the police report, her nephew, a Mr. Norman Blair, had convinced her to move out. He had been nagging her for years to move out of the residence so that he could move in. Some people said he used the dolls against her, as proof that she was becoming senile and needed to be placed in an old-age home with proper care. Ms. Blair eventually agreed to move out, but Mr. Norman never got the chance to take up residence at 101 Darling Street.”
    â€œLet me guess,” I said. “He fell off a ladder? Off the roof? Out a window?”
    â€œNo, he died of a heart attack in a Denny’s restaurant about one hundred miles away. In the end, some second cousin inherited the house and put it up for sale without even looking at the place. As a result, the Holscomb family got it for a great price. It was a killer deal,” he added with a smirk.
    â€œThen the Holscombs found the chest, the dolls leaped out and slaughtered the family, yada yada yada,” I said. “I think I’ve seen this movie three or four times.”
    â€œNo, actually —” Miles started, and then there was a knock on the front door.
    I turned to answer it, but Miles grabbed my arm.
    â€œWait,” he said. “Check who it is.”
    â€œBe my guest,” I said, stepping back.
    Miles approached the door cautiously. “Who’s there?” he called, in a slightly trembling voice.
    â€œIt’s Sheriff Dutton. Is that you, Miles?”
    â€œIf you’re Sheriff Dutton, what’s the number on your squad car?”
    â€œStop playing games with me, Miles, and open the door!”
    Miles turned to me, nodded and slipped back into the sitting room.
    I opened the door.
    Dutton was standing outside, scowling. He was a tall man with wavy brown hair and a square jaw. When he realized I wasn’t Miles, he lost the scowl and smiled, flashing some seriously white teeth.
    â€œHello, there. I’m Sheriff Dutton,” he said. “May I come in?”
    â€œSure,” I said. “I’m Charlie.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Charlie,” he said, shaking my hand. “Where’s Miles?”
    â€œHello, Sheriff,” Miles said, stepping into the foyer.
    â€œTime to go,” Dutton said, and started toward him.
    â€œSo sorry to bother you, Sheriff Dutton,” Mom said, hustling down the stairs. She’d changed into a T-shirt and jeans.
    â€œNo bother,” Dutton said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mrs. Autumn.”
    â€œMs. Autumn,” she said, shaking his hand.
    â€œI was hoping I could introduce myself under more pleasant circumstances,” he said.
    â€œThat would have been nice, but this young man seems to believe that there are monsters chasing him.”
    Dutton shook his head. “Miles is our resident conspiracy nut. A month ago he called me about a UFO sighting out at Victor Opal’s new resort.”
    â€œUFO?” I