But there was one weird thing about the property.

In the very back corner of the yard, near the old oak trees, there was a large wooden tool shed. It was painted the same yellow as the house.

Greg had put a heavy brass padlock on the door the day we moved in.

“Don’t go in there, Ellen,” he had told me back then, his voice casual but firm. “I have some old commercial solvents and expensive power saws from my dad. They are dangerous for Toby, and I don’t want anyone messing with my tools.”

I didn’t think twice about it. Greg was a typical Midwestern guy who liked his projects and his privacy. I had my garden, he had his shed. That was our deal.

When I got Toby into the car after school, I tried to keep my voice light. He was kicking his feet against the back of the passenger seat, hum-singing a song from a cartoon. I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see his face.

“Toby, sweetie,” I said, turning onto the main road toward the Meijer grocery store. “Your teacher showed me your drawing today. The yellow house with the black box at the bottom.”

His kicking stopped instantly. He looked out the window, his little fingers gripping the strap of his backpack.

“She wasn’t supposed to see that,” he whispered.

“Why not, buddy?” My heart was starting to thump against my ribs, a dull, heavy rhythm. “Who told you not to show anyone?”

“The floor man,” Toby said. He didn’t sound scared. He sounded like he was explaining something completely ordinary, like what he wanted for dinner. “He talks to me at night through the floor vent. When the house gets really quiet and Dad is sleeping.”

“What does he say, Toby?”

“He asked if I liked my room. He told me he likes my blue pajamas with the spaceships. And he said if I told you about him, he would have to leave and he wouldn’t be able to bring me any more treats.”

Toby reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped peppermint candy. It was a cheap, red-and-white striped disc. The exact kind of bulk candy I kept in the glass jar at the dental office reception desk.

I pulled the Chevy over onto the gravel shoulder of the road. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely put the car in park.

My brain was spinning. My mind kept jumping to terrible, dark places. A stranger. A predator. Someone was getting into my house at night while we slept.

I grabbed my phone and called the local police department. I couldn’t even speak properly. I was rambling, crying, telling the dispatcher that my son was talking to someone through the floorboards.