“Now run,” whispered Stacey before she darted into her home. What I thought was a goodnight, maybe a third-date kiss, became a wholly unromantic sprint. I stumbled through rooms with no lights on, with her screaming at the top of her lungs about how I had to run faster and faster. Before I knew it we were panting and laughing, sitting against the locked bedroom door. She was so glad we made it that we had sex for the first time. Even with the delight of fresh fingers and lips I could not focus. Instead what I felt as we cuddled, naked and nested in sheets, was fear; I wondered what was in her head, or perhaps, what was in her house. She didn’t let me leave until dawn.