I retraced my steps through the house, opening drawers, cabinets, and doors, until a thought popped into my head. Father’s room. He had it propped up on his nightstand. I crept up to his door, which was already ajar, and I peeked in. Relief washed over me, he wasn’t there. Still, I was on high alert. I squeezed into the crack, grabbed the knife, and dashed back to my room. Safe at last. I wrapped the knife in a scrap of fabric and placed it in my waistband at my hip. All that was left to do was wait.

I awoke with a start, my heart pounding and blood rushing. I drifted off only to be interrupted by a falling sensation, but it was only a dream. I wiped the cool sweat from my brow and sat up on the floor. The sky was a deep inky black glittering with stars, the moon’s waxing face almost full. Time to go. I slung the pack over my shoulder and drew the hood of my cloak over my head. The house creaked and sighed like the rhythmic breath of sleep. The blackness of the house at twilight was almost complete, all I could see were outlines, lit by moonlight. I tried the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. I tried the back door, locked as well. My heart raced as I struck a match and lit a lamp, searching every nook and cranny for keys, to no avail. They had to be in Father’s room. I stowed my pack by the door and set my lamp down on the table. God, I hope this works, I thought.

I tapped his door, my voice barely a whisper, “Father?” There was a murmur and shifting of sheets inside. Louder, I repeated: “Father?” Still nothing. I slid the door open just enough that I fit through. Blind, I felt around in his drawers. Canvas, cotton, something hard and cool. No keys. I moved over to his nightstand right next to his sleeping form. I felt like a mouse trying to get cheese from a trap without getting snared. Nothing in the nightstand either, just as I expected. There was one last place I hadn’t checked: under his pillow. Careful as I’ve ever been, I reached underneath his pillow, feeling around for keys -- ah, there they were. My fingertips caught the ring holding many cold, skeletal bodies and their broad elliptical heads. There wasn’t so much as a clink when I removed them from their hiding place.

I darted out on the very tips of my toes, narrowly avoiding various household obstacles in the dark. My hands seemed to turn against me in my quest to hurry because I fumbled the keys in every lock. The dim lamplight didn't help my cause. Each key failed to turn, so I tried them again, and again. Surely, one of them had to work? Tears of frustration clouded my vision, and my hands shook. I wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger. I still have the back door, I thought, there's still a chance. None, not a one, worked. Panic clenched my heart and stole the very breath from my lungs -- that was my last hope. “Looking for this?” came a growl from seemingly thin air. Father. I whipped around and at the sight of his looming figure, my blood ran cold. In his outstretched palm were the missing keys. He closed them in his fist. “Sneaking around, are we?”