The scream ended as abruptly as it began. I looked down the hallway toward my office and ran in that direction. Entering my office I noticed a chair turned on its side—the chair in which Mrs. Schmeister-Hausen had been sitting. She was gone. The papers on the desk were scattered throughout the room. A lamp was broken, its shade crumbled in a heap, the bulb shattered.

I fumbled around in the darkness looking for the phone. It was under my desk, the receiver’s cord having been cut. I was going to call Bill downtown, but decided to wait. What good would the cops be anyway?

* * * * * *

The next morning was a Saturday, so the Sweet Feet Daycare was closed. Good timing, since the lights were still out when I left the building after midnight. I woke early to call Bertha, the owner of the place I’d been working security part-time for the last seven years.

“Bertha? Blaze. Sorry for the early call on a Saturday. We have a problem.”

“Don’t you worry about thing, hun. Whatever it is Bertha can handle it.”