By the time I reached the house, my anger at Tom had swung back and began to needle at me. Why hadn't I stayed quiet? Why blurt out such a stupid comment? What did it have to do with anyone what went on in here? Why did I even have to go to the library?

Poor Mr. and Mrs. Denholm. Poor Albert!

I held my head in my hands and could feel prickles of tears creeping at my eyes. I felt I'd betrayed my employers, Albert the doll and Albert the memory, all because of my curiosity. And, in the meantime, I'd taken the sheet of rules and torn them into strips, screwed them up and set them alight. Not the best analogy under the circumstances. Even my mind was battling against me, flinging images of burning children and various disembowelled animals around inside my head.

Stop.

STOP!

I took a deep breath and pushed myself away from the door. I needed to see Albert. I needed to tell him how sorry I was for leaving him and for what happened to him so many years before.

The door to the sitting room was closed. Did I shut it? I couldn't remember. I clearly wasn't thinking straight when I left so I was surprised I'd even remembered my shoes. My hand was throbbing again. I'd forgotten about the burn and now it was taking the time to remind me of its presence. I'd have to check it before seeing the boy. The pain was increasing steadily and I needed to address that hurt before turning to Albert's.

I went to the kitchen. I fumbled about for the first aid kit. Normally, I'd always return things to wherever I found them, but, for some reason, that wasn't the case with the small green box. My search became more frantic as the discomfort in became sharper and I almost cheered when I finally found it next to the eggs in the refrigerator. Removing the bandage carefully, I winced as I pulled it away from my palm, the cream causing the seared flesh and the material to stick together. Quickly rinsing my hand under the cold tap, all too aware of each passing moment, I redressed the wound. Time seemed to be speeding up now I was home. The longer I was taking the faster time was marching from me. I needed to get to Albert. I needed to make sure he was okay.

He's a doll, Yvonne. He's a doll.

And? So what? He's Albert. He's your charge, your responsibility.

My reason and my heart could battle it out between themselves. I had a job to do. I had a boy to look after. Finishing in the kitchen, I moved to the sitting room. Without thinking, I knocked. Of course, there was no answer, so I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

"Hi Albert," I said happily. The happiness was all on my lips and I could hear the deception in my voice. Still, as long as Albert couldn't tell. "Sorry I was longer than... I... Albert?"

The television was still on, with a cartoon I didn't know the name of but was sure I'd seen on some merchandise once or twice playing. The high backed chair I'd set the doll down in was empty. A slight dip in the cushion indicated where he had been sitting, but even that was rising until it was smooth and flat. I looked around the room slowly.

"Albert? Are you in here? Come on, it's Nanny. Please don't mess about. I'm sorry I was so long."

I didn't know who I was talking to. The doll obviously wasn't hiding. Dolls didn't do that. Dolls sat where they were placed. They didn't argue, they didn't fidget or talk through a film you were trying to watch. They did whatever you told them to. Was I losing my mind? I knew I'd put him in the chair. Why else would I have turned on the television? I patted the chair cushion, as if doing so would give me an idea where Albert was or make him become visible if, in fact, he'd become invisible. I paused, feeling warmth. How odd. The doll was porcelain. Cold. Hard. How could the seat be warm?

I shook my head in an effort to loosen the stream of questions. They jangled about for a moment, then settled and I did my best to think rationally. He wasn't on the chair. He wasn't beside it, having fallen off. On my hands and knees, I saw he wasn't beneath it either. I looked around the sitting room again, peering at the bottom of the curtains and under the sofa to see if I could see his shoes or a glint of his shiny face. There was nothing.

I stood with my hands on my hips. Had Mr. and Mrs. Denholm returned? I hoped not. The last thing I needed was for them to see me not looking after their son. If they had, I'd be out of a job. I'd never been sacked before, always remaining with families until my services were no longer required and, even then, the parents were sorry to let me go. It was a track record I was proud of and didn't want my overactive imagination to ruin it. If they were, in fact, back, I'd be best to pack my bags. I'd best find them and face the music - a funeral dirge. The entrance hall felt smaller than a few minutes before. Enclosed and claustrophobic. The large front door loomed over me oppressively, as if daring me to even speak. I shrank down before its immensity and moved to the bottom step of the staircase.

"Mr. Denholm," I called. "Mrs. Denholm?"

I closed my eyes, hoping the action would boost my hearing. I heard nothing.

"Mr. Denholm! Are you home?"

Silence.

"Mrs. Denholm?"

Uncertain whether to go upstairs or remain on the floor I was on, I stood wavering. My hand gripped the balustrade and my teeth bit my bottom lip.

"Albert?"

It was a pointless call, but I didn't know what else to do. Apart from burglars, if the owners of the house hadn't returned, I couldn't explain the doll's disappearance. The village we were a part of was too small to be a hive of criminal activity. Crime of any kind was virtually unheard of, with the resident police force in place more as a formality than there being a genuine need. It had to be them. The Denholms. It had to be. Perhaps, if they were in their room, unpacking their bags, for example, they couldn't hear me. If they'd been on the ground floor, they surely would have so they must be upstairs.

Not necessarily, though. The house was massive, the doors thick and the walls solid. It was quite possible they hadn't heard me. I could run up to my room and quickly pack, leaving before they fired me. I'd hate myself for doing so, not liking confrontation but still able to stand up for myself. I could plead for mercy and promise never to go against them again. I cared for Albert, I'd tell them - something I was realising was becoming a reality - and I would follow the rules to the letter in future. They might be understanding. They may forgive me, give me a verbal slap on the wrist and tell me to go fix Albert's supper.

Whatever happened, I had to find them first. The sitting room was empty, I knew that. I'd come from the kitchen, so that, too, must have been. The lounge, then. Or the games room. Or the study or the 'show room', where the nice furniture which was too expensive to actually use was set out. Or the broom closet, utility room... There were so many. I had to start somewhere.

The lounge. It was opposite the hall. I knocked, in case Mr. and Mrs. Denholm were in there, and entered. I liked this room. It was larger than the sitting room but always felt warmer, even on those days when you could see your breath because a frost was on the ground but Mr. Denholm felt the freshness was good for you so refused to turn on the heating. The furniture was very different to the rest of the house. It was inviting rather than regal. Ordinary (in a good way) rather than ornate. I often brought Albert in there for reading time as I felt he'd be comfortable too, and so I'd be more comfortable with him.

I stood in the middle of the central rug, one of the sink-your-toes-into type, without noticing its comfort. A quick glance around told me I was alone, including another look at the bottom of the curtains for a boy's shoes. I sighed.

"Mr. Denholm?" I called, though I could only fill the sound with half of my heart.

I turned, suddenly, as I heard footsteps in the hall. They weren't the heavy, even stride of Mr. Denholm and nor were they the speedy heel strike of his wife. They were the smaller, tappings of a child's shoes. Children. Some kids from the village, bored with the constant lack of something to do and excited by the rumours surrounding the house, had broken in and moved Albert.

Right. I'll have them!

I ran from the lounge, grabbing the door jamb to help me spin into the turn of the hallway.

"Hey!"

Light from the tall window at the far end of the corridor flooded the space, casting odd shadows from the wall lights which reached for me. I ignored them. Let them try. I'd throw those children into their grasp! I walked quickly, feeling empowered by the impending apprehension of intruders. I flung open the first door I came to. The utility room was long and narrow, filled with appliances, with a waist high worktop. There was no place to hide, even for a child. Before I'd managed to close the door, the footsteps sounded behind me. I turned my head, quickly enough to feel a crack in my neck. Ignoring the sharp pain, I looked along the corridor. It was empty.

"Come out!" I shouted. "If you don't and I find you, you'll be sorry!"

Laughter filled the hall, coming from everywhere and nowhere. It surrounded me with its tinkling tease, slapping my face and poking me in the ribs with impossible manifestation. I spun wildly, futilely trying to see in both directions at once. Empty. Empty. EMPTY!

"Where are you?"

Abruptly, the laughter ceased as a loud booming came from the area of the sitting room and lounge. I began to shake, something I only noticed when I made to brush a strand of hair from my eyes and saw the tremble in my hand. I gulped dry air which rasped in my throat. The booming came again. My feet were moving before my mind gave them permission. I slowly walked back to the bottom of the stairs. I could hear faint whispers. The scrape of a shoe on the hard wood of the floors.

There were no children in the house. The Denholms were not home. There was only me. And there was a doll.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!