SwordStitcher-She didn't even get that. To my knowledge, she's still out here. She was the last time I checked, anyway. As for Batman...once he was babbling about his father. I have to wonder. Perhaps Freud was right, after all.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-I'm smarter than you think I am. What, did you think I was going to come flying out of the closet wearing a sheet and try to give her a heart attack? That would have been funny, but suicidal. No, no, it came about in a very different manner.

Jasmine Scarthing-I've always been there, watching. Waiting. Rolling my eyes at Jonny's stupidity. Hey! It's true. You were always oblivious...remember when Kitty finally had to come downstairs in a towel because you weren't looking? I was busy. Whatever.

This time wasn't intentional either, but it was no less satisfying.

He'd been upstairs, cleaning his room-he'd pulled one of the floorboards loose to make a hiding place. Under the bed wasn't suitable anymore. Granny had found the book and he had paid dearly for it.

But not this time. This time it would be hidden away from glaring eyes and grasping claws.

He shoved the board back into place and stood up. No one would be the wiser, especially not Granny. Her eyesight was going a little, he knew, even though she tried not to show it.

Now, which board was it? Third from the window? Third from the window. He would have to remember that. The third board from the window was his hiding place. Still under the bed, just in case she did…notice something.

Dinner would be ready soon-he could smell it. It didn't smell very good, but it would be the only thing he'd had all day.

He went out into the hall, intending to set the table, and tripped over the rug at the head of the stairs.

It was a narrow miss-if he hadn't grabbed onto the railing he might have fallen. As it happened, he'd made a fair amount of noise-noise that brought a scream to his ears.

Granny.

"Jonny!"

Jonny? She never called him…oh. That Jonny, the one she may have pushed down this very staircase as a little girl.

Guilty conscience?

She rushed into the room, cleaver held firmly in her boney hand, and stared at him. Oh, yes, she did have a guilty conscience. It was written all over her face, along with a healthy dose of terror. Did she think that her brother was going to come back for her?

"Jonathan." her voice was hoarse. "What was that racket?"

"I tripped." He swallowed, realizing that he would be lying down there with a broken neck if not for the railing that he was clutching.

"Be careful next time." she snapped. "You about gave this old woman a heart attack."

It was a shame that he hadn't.

"Sorry."

"You should be." The terror was quickly replacing itself with irritation. "Watch where you're going."

He swallowed hard and stood up to straighten out the rug. She leaves the room, shaking her head.

Well, he wouldn't be doing that again on purpose, but that had been a very interesting thing to see. Granny, frightened of something! He'd be honest with himself, he hadn't believed she was frightened of anything.

He made his way downstairs, still clinging to the railing, and went to set the table.

THE END