Author's Note: Yay! More updates!

As promised, it'll start getting a bit more interesting from here on out, but it won't get to the real good stuff for another while. See if you can see what Chihiro isn't able to spot for herself in the next few chapters—and in the last few, if you like. She's being given hints, but she doesn't know what they mean yet. Doesn't mean you won't.

Enjoy, and please R&R!

—Koru-chan

Chapter Three

When I opened my eyes the next morning, for some reason I thought for a moment that I was back in my old house. But then I recognized my new room and knew where I was. I suppose it was the rain that made me think of my old home.

Yawning and stretching, I pulled myself lazily out of bed. I tried to remember what I was dreaming about—I knew I'd had one—but couldn't hold onto it. It simply slipped into the back of my mind, and refused to come back, so I let it drop.

Still sitting on my bed, I turned to my pillow and patted it affectionately.

"Good job," I told it, then got up to change.

When I came downstairs, I found that I was alone in the house. Mom had left a note for me saying that Dad would be at the office all day, and she would be back in time to help make dinner, and that lunch was in the fridge.

Groaning audibly, I wandered to the living room and flopped onto the couch, switching on the TV.

"Why's it gotta rain on the one day there's nothing else to do than go outside?" I grumbled.

It felt ironic to me that every time I was left home alone it was raining. My parents often told me not to go outside when I was alone; it made me wonder if somehow they had set it all up that way.

"You and your imagination," I scolded myself. "Like they could really make it rain."

I flipped through a couple channels, catching snippets of news, soaps, sitcoms and cartoons before stopping at a movie that had a scene with a train in it. The tracks were covered with water, and it sped along, leaving waves in its wake.

I had a sudden vision of myself giving a handful of tickets to a faceless conductor and stepping onto a train with a shadow behind me.

Blinking rapidly to clear my mind, I tried to focus on the thought and solidify it, but to no avail. It slipped away as quickly as my dreams.

Switching off the TV, I grabbed one of the couch pillows and threw it over my face. Maybe it would be easier to remember if I wasn't being distracted.

There was a sudden noise from upstairs. I pulled the pillow away from my face and listened carefully.

There it was again—like the creak of something wooden. Was someone upstairs?

But I'm alone, I thought. Oh, no! What if it's a burglar?

Creeping silently off of the couch and over to the closet beneath the stairs, I grabbed a broom as quietly as I could; knocking over the dustpan and zipping back behind the wall of the living room in case someone came down the stairs. I held my breath in wait, but no one came. I began to feel very foolish.

This is stupid, I chided. How could a burglar have gotten upstairs without me noticing? All the upstairs windows are locked!

What if he's a really good burglar?

I swallowed hard and clutched at the broom. I heard the wooden sound again.

I tiptoed around the wall I was hiding against and out into the hall, keeping my eyes on the stairs as I made my way towards them. I made it up the stairs without making a sound, but the wooden sound was getting louder. It was coming from my room.

At least I don't have anything worth stealing, I tried to think optimistically.

I crept up to my door and clutched the doorknob.

Here goes nothing…

"HAA!"

I tore the door open and dashed inside, brandishing the broomstick every which way, only to find no one there.

Panting hard and looking around, I suddenly felt very foolish, and was glad that no one else was in the house to see the ridiculousness of all that.

I've REALLY gotta stop overreacting all the time, I thought, sighing and sitting on my bed. Stupid imagination.

I started when I heard the wooden noise again. It was coming from my dresser.

Mice, maybe? I wondered. Yeah; that's a nice, normal idea.

I got up and started opening drawers. The noise seemed to be coming from my top right drawer—the one where I kept all of my knickknacks. Pawing through pencils, electronics and various tiny boxes, my hand brushed my jewelry box, and the sound stopped.

"Here?" I asked of no one in particular.

Picking up the box, I took it out of the drawer and set it on top of the dresser, then unlatched the lid and opened the box. It started to play a music box lullaby as a tiny ballerina spun around in front of a plastic mirror. The song was familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on where I'd heard it before. It was nice to listen to, though.

I just stood there and listened to the music for a while. It had been a long time since I'd last heard the song—I rarely wore any of the few pieces of jewelry I owned, if they could even be called that. I had a couple bracelets of glass beads I had made with my friends in elementary school back in my old town, a necklace with a plastic butterfly on the end that my aunt had given me for Christmas when I was 8, and a handful of metal rings with glass stones.

Then a small shine caught my eye, and I tipped the box up to get a better look. Beneath the lid of the box was a small space between the actual lid and a mock lid that had been placed there. I remembered putting it there almost a year ago, but couldn't remember why. I pried it open, and out fell a thin hair tie that sparkled with some shining thread.

"Wow," I said aloud. "Why was this there?"

Looking at it my hand, I was suddenly swept away in a flood of memories.

I could remember the dream I had last night—it was like the one that I'd been having for the past week, but not scary or anything. I had been standing at the edge of a village, on a small staircase that descended into a grassy field. A boy had been there with me, and I was talking to him. I couldn't remember what I said, but I was worried, and he was trying comfort me.

When I finally let go of his hand, I turned and didn't look back. I found myself in the tunnel again, with my parents on the other end. I stopped suddenly. I wanted to turn around, I really did. But something stopped me. What was it?

My hand clutched over the hair tie in my hand. It felt as though I was squeezing the answer from it. I looked at it in wonder.

"A promise?"