Sarah rubbed her finger over the mantle. Not a speck of dust. It was like there was no wind to deposit it, no circulation, as though the two of them had been perfectly encapsulated. Her doorbell rang. She hadn't buzzed anyone in.

"Who is it?" she asked loudly through the door.

"I got your mail, honey. By mistake."

Sarah looked through the peephole at a little old lady with thick glasses. She'd never seen her before, but she could hardly account for everyone in the building. So she opened the door, at which point a big man in a suit rushed in.

"Who are you?" she almost asked, or tried to ask. She couldn't see or talk. There was cloth covering her head. She smelled something pungent, unpleasant. She felt herself being lifted off her feet. There was something pushing her now. She was in a big box, like a coffin. Her head hurt. She couldn't stink thraight.

And she was gone.