The Accident

Two days later, the house tried to kill him.

Ezra was on the second-floor landing, heading toward the elevator. The landing was a floating glass platform that overlooked the marble foyer twenty feet below.

He approached the elevator doors.

Suddenly, his wheelchair jerked. The motor engaged without him touching the joystick.

"Stop," Ezra said.

The chair didn't stop. It reversed.

It spun him around, facing the stairs. The brakes disengaged with a mechanical *clack*.

Gravity took over. The chair began to roll toward the edge of the stairs.

"House! Brake!" Ezra screamed. "Emergency stop!"

The smart system remained silent.

Ezra clawed at the wheels, the rubber burning his palms. He was gaining speed. Five feet from the edge. Three feet.

He braced himself for the fall, closing his eyes.

* SCREECH.*

The chair slammed to a halt inches from the top step. It didn't stop because of the brakes. It stopped because something had jammed the wheel.

Ezra opened his eyes. He looked down.

There was nothing there. But the air around the wheel was freezing cold. And on the glass floor, right next to the tire, was a single, wet footprint. A bare foot.

"Ezra?"

Julian appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. His face was pale.

"What happened?" Julian called out. "I heard a scream."

"The chair," Ezra gasped, his heart trying to escape his chest. "It moved on its own. It tried to throw me down the stairs."

Julian ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He inspected the chair. He looked at the controls.

"A glitch," Julian muttered, his jaw tight. "The firmware must have updated. I'll disable the remote access."

"It wasn't a glitch, Julian! Someone was here!"

"We are alone, Ezra," Julian said, gripping the armrests. "We are miles from anyone. You panicked. It happens."

He wheeled Ezra away from the stairs.

But Ezra looked back. The wet footprint was fading, evaporating into the dry air.

Later that night, Ezra lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He realized something terrifying.

The footprint hadn't been behind the chair, pushing him. It had been in front of the wheel, *stopping* him.

The ghost hadn't tried to kill him. It had saved him.