Someone was in the house.

Eric Ravensmith opened his eyes and sat up, wide awake. He glanced at the Sony digital on the bedside table, the glowing blue numbers the only thing visible in the dark room. 3:18 A.M.

Annie stirred next to him, scooting her naked backside under the covers until she touched his hip. Then she settled with a comforted sigh, still asleep. She often claimed that unless some part of her was touching him, she couldn't sleep. That's why she insisted they always sleep naked, no matter how cold it got. Skin touching skin, she said, that's what's important. But sometimes Eric suspected her real reason for wanting such close contact was so she could monitor his nightmares which, for some unexplainable reason, were lately coming with greater frequency. Yet, whenever he bolted awake from one, his skin cold and clammy, his mouth panting wildly, she'd be next to him, making soothing noises and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the corner of the sheet.

For a moment, Eric wondered if this was just another of his nightmares.

He remained motionless, his eyes adjusting to the dark, his ears straining for another sound. Anything that would determine whether someone was really in the house, or if he'd just slipped out of a groggy dream.

There it was again!

A faint creak on the stairs. A heavy shoe brushing plush carpet.

Eric's heart banged against hard ribs. An icy gush of adrenalin spurted through his stomach like a burst waterline. The sudden rush of energy made him nauseous. It had been too many years since he'd slept with one eye open, his ear suctioned to the ground, his hand clutching a.45 automatic with the safety latch permanently filed off. Those were the things he'd been trying to forget.