The front door! Relief flooded me to bursting. It didn't matter whether the visitor was mischievous children, my employers or door-to-door salesmen wanting me to purchase a stone and a half of haddock and skate. All that concerned me was they would be a real presence in an increasingly surreal situation. I was never one to lose myself in fanciful yarns, but the house was enveloping me in a cloak of curiosities I'd be keen to shed.

I turned the latch and pulled the door as another round of hammer-like knocks started.

"Tom," I said, more pleased to see the librarian than I liked to admit.

Tom smiled. I couldn't help but return it and didn't doubt he would misinterpret my response. My pleasure had nothing to do with anything physical or emotional. Well, not in that way, I had a boy to find. I was being assaulted by disembodied sounds. The company of another, even one I'd walked angrily away from, was welcome. Still, he could work for it.

"Yes?" I asked, using the irritation I was feeling to make him think it was aimed at his appearance.

"Please," he said defensively, "I haven't come for an argument. I've come to apologise."

"Apologise? What for?"

"For being an arse. For offending you."

"OK."

"OK?"

"Yes, apologise."

"I thought I had?"

"No, you said you were going to apologise. You've yet to do so."

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I'm sorry. Honestly."

"That's fine," I said. "I overreacted. Would you like to come in?"

"Erm. Sure, thanks."

I closed the door behind him and led him into the kitchen. I tried my best to offer pleasantries along with the milky tea he requested, but my mouth was too dry for any liquid to quench. After the initial relief had faded, my tremble returned.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked.

"Yes," I lied. "I'm fine."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. I told you."

"If you say so."

Tom sipped from his mug, watching me over the rim. At first, I thought his gaze to be inappropriate but then I registered the concern in his eyes. I shook my head, at myself more than the librarian. I was being a fool, letting silly noises get to me.

But I knew I wasn't. The footsteps and laughter had been real. The baby's included. The fact it had come from a child's toy didn't negate its abnormality. I'd still heard it. I knew I had. And I had yet to find the doll.

"I can't find Albert."

Tom paled and I heard him gasp. I realised the Albert he knew had died twenty years previously.

"The doll! I meant the doll. He's called Albert."

"The doll is called Albert? Seriously?"

"Yes," I said. "I thought it was odd, but I didn't know the history. I thought the Denholms were just an old eccentric couple who treated a doll like their son. I didn't know they'd actually had a child and he'd died."

Tom didn't say anything. He set his cup down in the sink and crossed his arms. I felt suddenly defensive, taking his manner as being aggressive. He saw my reaction and put his hands up.

"Hey, please don't start on me again. I haven't said anything."

"I'm sorry. I feel on edge, for no real reason. I feel silly."

"How so? What's happened?"

"I can't find Albert."

"You said that," Tom said, frowning. "I don't get it. It's just a doll. Where did you leave it?"

"I left him in the sitting room watching television," I said, conscious of my 'him' contradicting Tom's 'it'.

"Oh... I see..."

He didn't understand. He couldn't. To him, Albert was simply a doll. He didn't know how important he was to Mr. and Mrs. Denholm. Or to me.

"He's their son. As much as he's made of porcelain, they love him as if he's real. And it's hard not to become attached to him."

"You mean 'it', of course."

"I mean 'him'."

"Fine. Whatever," Tom shrugged. "But you've lost him?"

"Yes," I said. "I mean no. I haven't lost him. He's just not there. I came back and he was gone."

"He can't be gone. You must have moved him... it... or something. It's a doll. Dolls can't walk."

"I know! Don't you think I don't know that?"

"Hey! Calm down!"

No, I wouldn't calm down. Who was he to come here, under the pretence of an apology, and mock me? Calm down? If he wasn't going to help, he could leave. Simple. I told him as much.

"Look," he said once my tirade had abated. "I'll help you find the doll. I don't know what's got you so agitated."

I didn't say anything at first. He had already made me feel more foolish than I already did, but I needed him to understand. I needed someone to be under this umbrella of eeriness with me, holding it so I could wrap myself up in myself.

"I heard a baby," I began. Once started, the words poured from me like a confessional river, flowing with the fear of being thought insane and plummeting over the waterfall of finding my fears were real.

"You're sure it's not kids messing about?" he asked when I'd finished.

"I'm sure," I said. It was true. I didn't believe children were really in the house. "There was only one set of footsteps, and they were shoes. Kids would be wearing trainers. I'd probably not even have heard them. And the laugh - I couldn't place it. It was all around me."

"So, what do you think it is? A ghost?"

"No. Not a ghost."

"Well, what then?"

"I think it's Albert."

"Brah..."

Tom's words were cut off by a crash upstairs. We stared at each other, unmoving. Tom's mouth opened to say something else but the words never materialised. Instead, we heard the laughter. He heard it too, I could tell from his expression. It wasn't just in my head. It wasn't from him. It came from upstairs too. He nodded. He believed me.

Together, we ran from the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time. At the landing, we looked for the source of the crash - a broken ornament or light or an overturned cabinet. Everything was as it should be. Tom put his finger to his lips, an unnecessary gesture as I was unable to speak. We crept along the hall and I shuddered at the sense of déjà vu. I hoped we weren't heading for...

Tom paused at the bottom of the stairs to the attic. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Was this the room? I nodded and made to move away. A low thud followed by a strange skittering sound and that laugh again caused my shudder to become a shake. Tom grasped my hand and started to climb the steps to the attic, the noises emanating from the dark room. I pulled back, reluctant to follow. The throb in my hand was becoming a hot lesion. Suddenly, I just wanted to leave. I knew I couldn't. I had no choice.

I followed him, my feet dragging. The attic was just as it had been. Why would it be any other way? The darkness lay in wait. There was no candle. The light switch refused to work. Tom walked in confidently. I stumbled in, my confidence staying behind at the threshold.

The neatly stacked documents and photographs were strewn across the floor. The dresser was in two pieces; the top, arched shelving unit lay cracked just inside the entrance and the lower portion was pushed away from the wall. Behind it, barely discernible in the gloom, was a door. Using the light from his mobile phone, Tom walked directly forward. I was no longer in control. I let him lead me.

"What's in here?" he whispered.

I shrugged. I didn't even know the door was there.

He tried the handle. There was a soft click. It was unlocked. Tom pushed but the door didn't move. He tried to use his shoulder, but it remained closed. With legs feeling like someone else was controlling them, I lent my weight to the effort.

"One, two, three."

The door gave way too suddenly, as if it had been pulled from the other side. Tom and I fell inward, his phone flying from his hand and spinning across the carpet. Sometimes, in times of stress or panic, you see nothing but the black light of terror. Sometimes, you see everything, as if the whole world is a Polaroid and your eyes are the camera. I saw two things. An immaculately laid out bedroom. Bright and clean and fresh. Perfectly laid out.

I also saw a boy. Or a doll. Albert. He was standing at the foot of the bed. His hands were held together at his waist. He was standing, church straight, looking at me. He was smiling. It was a lovely smile, filled with wonder and youthful innocence. His eyes, however, were cold.

Tom was on his knees and I fell to mine. The librarian looked up and saw Albert and his eyes narrowed, filling with hate. He lunged to his feet, throwing himself at the boy.

"You killed my sister!"

What? No! Leave him alone! I jumped up, grabbing Tom's leg, taking a step forward, falling. How was I falling?

The carpet sank into the floor, the floorboards beneath missing. Our combined weight pulled us through, too fast to grab at anything other than the carpet, which fell with us.

I awoke to screaming. I wondered if it was my own, but my throat felt constricted, making breathing difficult. I turned my head, seeing I was lying on my back. I couldn't feel my body but saw my arm bent in a way an arm shouldn't. The screaming was coming from Tom. He, too, was on his back but it was his entire torso that bent abnormally.

The Polaroid in my head showed me the bone in his leg poking through the flesh and the material of his jeans. It showed me the pool of blood reaching for me as he couldn't.

It showed me Albert, standing over us, smiling. The blood was reflected in his porcelain cheeks, making him looked flushed with excitement. His eyes were no longer cold. They were wide and piercing. He turned his head to me.

"Hello Nanny."