IT WAS MR. NIGHTMARE.

Sophie put one foot on a pedal, ready to push off, and glanced back over her shoulder at him. He was in his front yard, and he looked . . . the word that popped into her head was “silly.” He’d traded his ominous trench coat for baggy sweatpants and a faded T-shirt from some unrecognizable university. His stomach stuck out from under the bottom of it. Without his hat, his hair was a mix of gray and brown that stuck out at odd angles, as if he’d combed it with a broom, and his eyes looked merely old, not bloodshot and sunken. He was carrying two trash bags out of the detached garage. He dumped them into trash cans at the end of the driveway. “Nice to see you, Betty! Did you have a good birthday?”

“Uh, yeah, um, sure.”

He smiled broadly. “Splendid! Did you get my card? Bet you were surprised!”

Sophie stared at him. “Very surprised.”

“Thought you’d like it.” He sounded smug. “Kids love surprises.”

She felt Ethan looking back and forth between her and Mr. Nightmare. She knew what he was seeing: a dumpy man who didn’t look anything like the creepy, shadowy man she’d described. “How did you get the card in her locker?” Ethan asked.

A key question, she thought. She waited for his answer.

“Easy-peasy,” he said. “After I visited with your parents, Sophie, I stopped for a cup of coffee. I saw you get on your bus. Later, I went to your elementary school and talked to your principal about leaving the card for you. He inspected it, of course—cautious one you have there. Anyway, clever of me, huh?”

“You just wanted to give me a birthday card?” Sophie couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. She’d been so afraid . . . and so sure he was the one behind her parents’ disappearance. Even after seeing his house, it was hard to let go of that belief.

“I believe in random acts of kindness. Besides, I wanted your parents to know I appreciated their shop. Independent bookstores are rare these days.” He gave a broad wink, to make it clear he wasn’t talking about the bookstore, and then he put the lids on his trash cans.

“Uh-huh, so . . . my parents.” She continued to stare at him as he puttered through his yard, bending to yank out a few stray weeds. “You met with them this morning. How did that go?”

He smiled again, and his face stretched like putty around his lips. “They sold me three more ‘books.’ Great people, your parents. Family-run stores like theirs make me glad I moved here. You don’t find places like that in the city.”

He’d only bought three? But dozens of bottles were missing. And the distiller. “Oh? You moved recently?”

He wiped his dirt-streaked hands on his sweatpants. A few leaves were stuck in his hair. It made him look as if he’d rolled out of bed and into the garden. “We were supposed to move sooner, but the house had to be remodeled. It was quite the fixer-upper.” Hands on his hips, he regarded it proudly. She had the feeling if she asked, he’d pull out before-and-after photos to show off his renovation. This was not the conversation she’d expected to have. This was pointless. She shouldn’t have come.

“So you just bought three dreams? Not the distiller?”

He blinked. “What would I do with a distiller? It requires expertise and experience . . .” Trailing off, he waved a hand at Ethan. “Oh, does your friend know about you-know-what?”

“She told me about the Dream Shop,” Ethan confirmed.

“Wonderful!” Mr. Nightmare clapped his hands together, as if he was truly delighted. “Good to have friends you can share things with. So many children of dream sellers grow up lonely. Secrets can be hard to bear. Guess you didn’t need my silly card to cheer you up. I thought . . . well, never mind what I thought. I hope you liked it anyway.” He smiled again, and Sophie wondered why she ever thought he was sinister. It must have been bad lighting. And the hat. And her imagination, convincing her that one small mistake was actually a disaster.

“It was very nice,” Sophie said distantly. It was hard not to feel deflated. She’d been so certain he was responsible and that she’d see a clue . . . But he was just a middle-aged man cleaning his garage. And he happened to like nightmares. On her back, she felt Monster shift. “Thank you. Have you talked to my parents since this morning?”

He crinkled his face in concern. “No, why? Is anything wrong?”

For an instant, she was tempted to tell him the truth: that her parents were missing, that she’d suspected him. But even though she knew he was innocent, she still couldn’t bring herself to trust him. “Just curious,” Sophie said.

“Why do you buy nightmares?” Ethan asked.

“For the fun of it,” Mr. Nightmare said with a shrug. “Some people like horror movies on the silver screen; I like them in my mind. It’s relaxing, you know?” He sounded so very ordinary. Just like his house. She felt like she should apologize for ever suspecting him. At least he didn’t know why they were really here.

Sophie swallowed a lump in her throat. She had even been willing to let Ethan call the police, if they’d seen anything at all suspicious. That would have been a horrible mistake. The police would have found nothing here and then come back to the shop and begun asking questions that Sophie didn’t want to answer. “Hope you enjoy them.”

“Thanks, Betty! Back to cleaning the garage. Fun times. But maybe I’ll watch one of those nightmares tonight.” Whistling, he headed back into his garage.

Ethan turned to her. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

She nodded. Her eyes felt hot, but she didn’t let herself cry. There wasn’t much to say. She’d been wrong, and now she had no idea what to do. “Guess we go home.”

They got on their bikes and rode away.

Her eyes fixed on the street, Sophie pedaled as hard as she could, keeping ahead of Ethan so she wouldn’t have to talk. She’d been wrong about Mr. Nightmare. He didn’t have anything to do with her parents’ disappearance. He was a “red herring,” as her English teacher would have said. And she was out of ideas. She was stuck with hoping that they’d be home when she arrived. Maybe they’d have some ridiculous explanation, like the distiller broke and they took it to the distiller fix-it shop, if there was such a thing, and they’d be mad at her for taking off without leaving a note. She’d be fine with being punished—no somnium for a week, or even no books—so long as they were there. Please, please, be there! If they weren’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

Within the backpack, Monster moaned. She hoped he was okay. He’d suffered through this for nothing. The entire trip, a waste. She wished she dared let him stick his head out. “Almost there,” she told him. Only a few more streets . . .

Behind them, she heard a siren. She steered onto the sidewalk as the siren grew louder. Oddly, it didn’t pass. Instead, the siren wailed, close and loud, directly behind Sophie and Ethan, as if the police car was following them.

Braking, Sophie twisted in her seat. Beside her, Ethan braked too, and the police car stopped. Its lights flashed red and blue, and the headlights made her eyes water. A policeman stepped out. Frowning at them, he looked serious, as if he’d walked out of a crime show.

Oh no, my parents! She knew it! Something terrible had happened and—

But the policeman smiled and held up his hands as if to calm them. “Don’t worry. You aren’t in trouble. But I do need you to get on home. You probably noticed there aren’t many people out. There’s a town curfew tonight. A couple kids have gone missing, and we’re asking everyone to stay in tonight until the matter is resolved.”

Sophie felt her rib cage loosen as relief washed over her. Not her parents. Of course it’s not, she scolded herself. He didn’t know who she was or who her parents were. She was just a kid on a bike. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed fewer people were out. She looked right and left—there weren’t any cars moving, and this was usually a busy street. It was weirdly quiet.

“We were just heading home, sir,” Ethan said.

“Good,” the policeman said. “Where’s home?”

“Dreamcatcher Bookshop,” Sophie answered. “I live above it.”

He nodded approvingly. “Great store. My wife shops there all time. Constantly hanging those dreamcatcher things all over the house. Your parents own it?” He was chatty now, all smiles.

“Yes.” Her throat felt clogged. She wanted to make herself say more. This was her chance. She could tell this smiling policeman that her parents were missing, explain about the theft, and ask him to help . . . but what if they weren’t missing? And what if the policeman wanted to search their house? What if he saw the dream bottles and the somnium? How would she explain that? The Dream Shop could be exposed, all because she was worried. Really, she didn’t actually know her parents were missing at all. They could simply be at the neighbor’s, trying out more of Ms. Lee’s cupcakes.

“And you?” the policeman asked Ethan.

“I’m going to her house.” Ethan jabbed his thumb toward Sophie. “We’re doing a school project together.”

The policeman nodded. “Make sure you get a ride home. We aren’t allowing kids out without adult supervision tonight. Just a precaution. No need to be alarmed.” He headed back to his car. “I’ll follow you to the shop. Make sure you’re home safely. After that, stay put—we’ll make an announcement on local news when it’s all resolved.”

“Uh, thanks.” Sophie got back on her bike. So did Ethan. The police car drove slowly behind them the last half mile to the bookshop. Now that she was paying attention, it was eerie—the town felt too still and quiet, as if everyone were inside peering out through closed curtains. She wobbled at the traffic light, checked in both directions twice, even though there were no cars, and crossed. Beside her, Ethan was just as cautious. He kept pace with her and didn’t zoom ahead. Every few feet, he glanced over his shoulder at the cruiser creeping along behind them. Sophie was very, very conscious of Monster in her backpack. She hoped he’d stay still and silent.

At the Dreamcatcher Bookshop, the policeman waved to them as they dismounted. Robot-like, they waved back. Speeding up, he drove away. “That was the most nerve-racking ride ever,” Ethan said. “I kept worrying I was going to accidentally ride through a stop sign or mow down a little old lady. Not that I saw any. Or anyone.”

“I kept worrying he’d see Monster.”

“Ughhhhh,” Monster moaned from the backpack. Glancing down the street, Sophie saw the policeman turn left at the next light. No other cars moved.

“Let’s get inside,” Ethan suggested. “It’s too quiet out here. Kind of freaking me out.”

“Murrrrrrrrrrrr-ugh,” Monster said. Sophie took that to mean he agreed. Leading the way, she steered her bike onto the walk that led to the shop.

They stowed their bikes in the shed, and then Sophie unlocked the back door. Inside, the lights in the shop were off, and the aisles were filled with layers of shadows. It was silent. They’re not home, she thought.

For an instant, she felt her eyes heat up. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, or run out the door and scream until the policeman came back. But she didn’t. When her parents got home, they were going to see she’d been brave, strong, and resourceful. They were going to see she could be trusted when things went wrong. They were going to be proud of her.

Lowering her backpack to the floor, Sophie unzipped it, and Monster lurched out. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just peachy.” He flopped against a bookshelf. “Worst way to travel ever. Next time we go on a field trip, anything but bikes.”

Sophie nodded, not entirely trusting herself to talk without bursting into tears. Brave and strong, she reminded herself. Like the heroes in her favorite books. She laid her hand on the spines of the nearest books, as if she could suck strength from them.

Ethan wandered between the shelves, peering down the aisles. “I take it your parents aren’t back?” He peeked into the bathroom and tried the basement door—locked. “Why didn’t you tell the policeman—” His phone chirped from his pocket, and he pulled it out. “Huh. My parents.” He sounded surprised. He began texting them back.

“What are you telling them?” Sophie tried to keep the worry out of her voice and was proud when it came out calm. She knew why she hadn’t told the policeman; she wasn’t sure why Ethan hadn’t. He had the perfect opportunity to spill her family’s secrets. If the Watchmen heard and came, he’d be fine.

He didn’t look up from his phone. “Same thing I told the policeman: staying with a friend to do homework. It’s weird, though—they never check on me.”

“Maybe they heard about the missing kids?” She’d been so worried about her parents that she hadn’t spared more than a second to wonder who the kids were or what happened to them.

“Wonder if it’s anyone we know.” Ethan typed more.

The odds that it was anyone she knew were low. It was more likely that Ethan knew them. He knew a lot of kids. Or, more accurately, they knew who he was. Checking Monster, she stroked between his eyes. He was taking deep breaths as if to settle his stomach. He flopped his tentacles over his face. “I have no appetite,” Monster said.

“You’ll feel better soon,” she told him.

“It’s unnatural,” he said. “I’m always hungry. Maybe I should eat a cupcake, just to see.” He placed a tentacle tip on Sophie’s cheek. “Sophie, please don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. We’ll find your parents.”

Before she could reply, Ethan’s phone chirped again. “Girl in seventh grade, they say,” he said. His eyes widened. “Hey, I know her. Madison Moore.”

Sophie gasped.

“You know her too?” Ethan asked. “She’s the one with black hair and a shrill voice, right? You can hear her all the way down the hall.”

Nodding, Sophie thought of how she’d been glad Madison wasn’t on the bus. She hadn’t wanted something bad to happen to her, though. She’d just been relieved to not be teased. “Madison’s memorable.”

“She has a little sister who’s sick. Born sick. The family spends most of their time in the hospital with her. That’s why Madison acts the way she does, like she’s afraid she’ll disappear if everyone doesn’t notice her every second of the day.”

Sophie blinked. “How do you know that?”

“My mom’s her sister’s doctor.” The phone chirped again. “Oh, the other one I don’t know. First-grader, named Lucy Snyder. The police don’t know any connection between them, which is why everyone’s so freaked out.”

The name hit Sophie like a punch.

“Sophie?” Ethan touched her arm, but Sophie barely felt it. She knew both of them. She’d talked to them yesterday, taken their old dreamcatchers and given them new ones.

She sank to the floor next to Monster and told herself it was all a coincidence: her missing parents, the missing dreamers, the missing dreamcatchers, the missing dreams and the distiller . . . Just a coincidence.

“Sophie?” Monster echoed Ethan.

She felt as if her thoughts were swirling, bashing into one another. “I’m the connection.”

“What do you mean?” Ethan asked.

“They’re both dreamers. Nightmares. Bad ones. Like you. Madison dreams about fire and bugs. Lucy dreams about alligator people, ninjas that vanish into smoke, pit bulls that can fly . . .”

“Lots of people have dreams. Me, for instance.” His phone beeped again. “Dad wants to know if I can stay here for dinner. Mom has to work late tonight, and he has meetings.” Ethan gave a humorless laugh. “And there ends the extent of their concern.” After texting back once more, he shoved the phone into his pocket. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Sophie felt as if every vein in her body suddenly ran with ice water. She couldn’t move. She felt the blood drain out of her face.

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Ethan said.

She shook her head. “I know where I’ve seen that backpack.”

“What backpack?”

Sophie jumped to her feet. “The one on the kitchen table, in Mr. Nightmare’s house. I have to go back.” She spun and headed for the back door.

Ethan caught her arm. “Whoa, hold on. You can’t. Curfew, remember? What do you mean you’ve seen that backpack?”

“It’s Lucy’s.” She was sure of it. Mostly sure. Maybe sure. “Or at least it could be.”

“But you aren’t positive?” He didn’t release her arm. Trotting to her, Monster weaved between her ankles, as if to calm her.

Sophie shook her head. Lots of kids could have a pink and purple backpack. But she thought she remembered Lucy carrying one . . . “I’m not positive.” She sagged against the shelves. It could be her imagination. She wanted so desperately to find clues and connect the dots. Rubbing her forehead, Sophie tried telling her shrieking brain to quit overreacting. She didn’t know it was Lucy’s. It was far more likely it belonged to whatever little girl lived there.

“Sophie, we looked in every window,” Ethan said. “Monster even looked in the upstairs windows. Right, Monster?”

“There could be a basement,” Monster said. “Also, closets. Take it from me: You can hide anyone in a closet.” He was right. Plus she’d seen cellar doors on the back of the house.

Maybe they’d all missed something. Maybe they simply hadn’t explored enough. Maybe she’d been right to suspect him, even though she hadn’t known about Lucy and Madison.

“We all agreed it looked normal,” Ethan said.

“If you wanted to hide that you were a thief and a kidnapper, you’d make your house look normal too,” Monster pointed out. “Lull people into thinking you’ve nothing to hide.”

Sophie nodded. “Mr. Nightmare could have pretended to be cleaning out his garage like a normal person. He could have lied to us so we’d think he was innocent and go away.”

“No one’s that good an actor,” Ethan objected.

Monster rolled his lemur-wide eyes. “Tons of people are great actors. Haven’t you ever seen a movie? All actors. TV shows, actors. Broadway. Community theater. Every commercial ever made.”

Sophie began to pace between the shelves. Her footsteps were loud on the wooden floor, and she was conscious of how quiet the house was. Her parents were always playing music somewhere, or talking, or making some kind of noise. She felt as if she could hear the emptiness. “I should have looked harder. Found a way to get inside. They could have been there, and we just left and rode away!”

Monster trailed after her as she zigzagged. “We’ll go back.”

“How? There’s the curfew . . .” Stopping, Sophie faced Ethan. “Can you text your parents again? Ask them to drive us?”

Ethan snorted. “When I was six years old, my parents sat down with me and explained that if I wanted to do extracurricular activities, I’d have to arrange my own rides. Said they were teaching me self-reliance. When I asked what self-reliance meant, they said to look it up myself. So, short answer: no, they won’t drive us.”

She couldn’t imagine her parents giving her that kind of speech. She’d had it drilled into her to never, ever get into a car with anyone but them.

Monster was studying Ethan. “So your alone-in-an-ocean dream is directly metaphorical. How disappointing.”

Ethan shot him a look. “What’s wrong with my dream?”

“Much more interesting if it’s random,” Monster said. “Like the little kid who dreams about robot Muppets that shoot M&M’s out of their Gonzo noses. Or the fifty-year-old businessman who dreams about chickens that transform into pigs for no apparent reason. There isn’t as much demand for classic lonely dreams.”

“Sorry my dreams are too boring for you.” Ethan turned back to Sophie. “Anyway, I think you’re jumping to conclusions. Just because you know the missing kids, and just because you think the backpack looks familiar . . . And because Mr. Nightmare left you that birthday card and we never asked him about the missing dreamcatchers. And because he was supposed to meet with your parents, and you came home to a mess upstairs and stuff stolen downstairs . . . Okay, maybe you have a point. Maybe we missed something.”

“Exactly. You see why I have to go back,” Sophie said. “And this time, I have to get inside.” She turned to Monster. “Do you think you could open a window lock?”

“I know I could,” Monster said, flexing his tentacles.

“Wait a minute. Calm down. Let’s talk about this,” Ethan said. “I admit, it’s possible we were wrong. Possible. But you want to break into this guy’s house? You know that’s illegal, right?”

Sophie didn’t want to calm down. She paced between the shelves again. Outside in the distance, a dog barked. She didn’t hear any cars. She imagined people home, glued to their TVs, wondering what had happened to the two missing kids. “I know Mr. Nightmare loves nightmares. He admitted as much. And I also know that both people I talked to yesterday have nightmares and are now missing.”

“So? You talked to me, too—”

“And you were attacked by a gray giraffe,” Monster finished.

Ethan’s jaw dropped open. “You think . . .”

“I think you were next.” In the shadows, Monster’s eyes glowed bright. Sophie couldn’t see his soft fur. All that was visible were his eyes and teeth. “It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. Two people who talked to Sophie about dreams are missing, and the third—you—was attacked.”

Ethan closed his mouth but didn’t speak.

It made a horrible kind of sense, Sophie thought. That gray creature . . . It could have kidnapped the other two and been trying to kidnap Ethan when Monster spotted it. It could work for Mr. Nightmare.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Monster said. “Except when they happen, which they do—coincidences aren’t statistically improbable. But I don’t think this is a coincidence.”

Ethan’s eyes were wide, rivaling Monster’s. “You think he’s not innocent, and we just rode away.”

“I think I have to go back and at least see,” Sophie said. “If I don’t and I’m right and they’re there . . .” She trailed off. She knew it was a stretch. She didn’t have any proof, and everything they’d seen said she was wrong. But if she was right and she didn’t go back . . . she’d never forgive herself. Ever. “He said he likes nightmares. If he did kidnap them, then he has his own personal supply—dreamers and people who can distill their dreams. I know you don’t believe me . . .”

He swallowed hard. “I’m beginning to.”

She turned to him. “Really?” He looked pale, as if he wanted to scream, flee, or faint, and she realized he must be thinking about how close he’d come to being one of the missing kids. He must want to run. In his shoes, she’d be out of here and home so fast . . .

“I’m coming with you.”

Sophie blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he said.

Monster looked at him piercingly. “Of course you do. You’re the boy with boring, lonely dreams. Your parents taught you no one would save you. So you have to save yourself. If we’re correct and that gray giraffe was really coming for you, then you believe you have to be the one to stop it.”

Ethan looked uncomfortable. Watching him, Sophie wondered if Monster was right. It was hard to imagine her school’s star basketball player—the new kid that everyone instantly befriended—as lonely, but he did have the Nothing dream . . .

“Besides,” Monster continued, “if you’re a hero, maybe your parents will finally notice you.”

Without responding, Ethan walked toward the front of the store. He stopped next to the cash register and looked out the window at the street. “So how do we get back to Mr. Nightmare’s?”

Sophie joined him at the window. “I don’t know.”

Keeping to the shadows between the shelves, Monster said hesitantly, “Sophie, I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.”

She’d like any idea that wasn’t them standing here, worrying about whether she was right or wrong, worrying about whether her parents and Madison and Lucy were trapped in that house and she’d ridden away without knowing . . .

“We could fly,” Monster said.