About five minutes after the parents had left, Turner, Ford, Adde, and I were seated at the dining room table--home alone in my grandparent’s big house--eating pasta for dinner.

We had spent all day in town: laughing, window shopping in clothing and surf and candy stores. I was so excited to have visitors to show Nantucket to. I know the island by heart. I know the shops that line the cobblestone streets, I know the food trucks out at the brewery (Millie’s and a raw oyster bar), I know the bike trails to every beach and I know the name of each boat down by the docks.

We were talking about the day’s events when the kitchen fan suddenly started shuddering like some lady’s fat pug when a street dog growls at him. Creepy, right? I know, but get this.

Then the upstairs bathroom door started creaking open and then slamming shut. A cold draft tickled the back of our necks. Turner turned toward me with a worried expression on her face. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” said Ford, laughing it off like someone awkwardly trying to make a joke, “stop psyching yourself out.” He tried to act like he was all tough. I could tell that he was still the slightest bit nervous, though. But I mean, weren’t we all?

I had my phone by my side all night in case something were to happen. We decided to facetime our friend, Grace, because isn’t that what you do when you think there’s a murderer on the loose? Grace made us feel better, but not entirely.

We were still afraid to go down to the basement to finish watching Jaws. So instead we stayed upstairs and played card games until we got bored.

After we finished the last round of presidents, we finally decided to go downstairs to finish our movie. And guess what…everything was completely fine.

About halfway through Jaws I remembered that when it’s windy on Nantucket, like it was that night, the bathroom door opens and closes by itself.

So long(ish) story short, nobody died from the mystery murderer. (But we still don’t get what was up with the kitchen fan).