There was something unusual about the way Mira fell asleep.

Some people needed silence.

Some needed rain.

Mira needed Braveheart.

She had watched it first as a girl, and somehow Scotland had stayed with her — the mist, the music, the mountains, the impossible stubbornness of everyone involved.

Years later, on difficult nights, she could still put the film on and fall asleep peacefully while medieval Scotland went to war in the background.

Perhaps that was why certain places stayed with Mira long before she ever reached them.

They suggested that somewhere beyond the familiar, the world was still keeping secrets.

So when she finally arrived in Edinburgh, it felt strangely familiar.

Not because she had been there before.

Because she had been imagining it for years.

Edinburgh, however, was not interested in being the Scotland she knew from a film.

It had other plans.

Narrow stone staircases squeezed between buildings.

Tiny passages called closes disappeared beneath arches.

Streets seemed to have streets underneath them.

Every few minutes, Mira stopped in front of something dark and found herself asking the same question.

What’s down there?

It was a dangerous question for Mira.

Because she usually went to find out.

That evening, somebody mentioned old chambers beneath the city.

Naturally, she booked a ghost tour.

The guide carried a lantern and spoke with the calm confidence of a man who enjoyed frightening tourists for a living.

He led them underground.

The sounds of Edinburgh disappeared behind thick stone.

There were stories about people who had lived there.

People who had died there.

And, according to the guide, a few who apparently hadn’t understood that dying was supposed to involve leaving.

Mira listened carefully.

She didn’t necessarily believe in ghosts.

But she was perfectly willing to give them the opportunity to prove her wrong.

Hours later, she was walking back through the Old Town alone.

Rain had polished the cobblestones black.

The crowds had thinned.

Shop lights disappeared behind her one by one.

Then Mira noticed another close.

Narrow.

Unlit.

At the end of it, stone steps disappeared downward.

She stopped.

Her hotel was the other way.

Warm room.

Dry clothes.

Common sense.

Mira looked at the staircase.

What’s down there?

Common sense answered immediately.

Nothing you need to see at this hour.

Mira went down anyway.

Halfway through the passage, she heard it.

Tap.

A footstep behind her.

Then another.

Tap. Tap.

She stopped.

The footsteps stopped.

Mira turned.

Nobody.

Only the narrow strip of street above her and rain falling through yellow lamplight.

She continued.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Closer.

Mira walked faster.

So did they.

She stopped again.

Silence.

Now the evening’s ghost stories began returning with considerably more detail than she had requested.

Something moved above her.

A shadow at the top of the stairs.

It began coming down.

Mira froze.

Closer.

Closer.

For the first time that evening, curiosity and common sense reached complete agreement.

She should not be there.

The shadow reached the light.

And out of several centuries of unfinished Scottish business emerged—

a soaking-wet Scottish terrier.

Mira stared.

The terrier stared back.

Water dripped from its beard.

Then it trotted past her with the complete indifference of someone who had not just removed several years from her life expectancy.

Mira started laughing.

Of course.

She had travelled all the way to Edinburgh, explored chambers beneath the city, listened to stories of the dead and wandered alone into a medieval passage—

only to be haunted by a dog.

The terrier continued toward the street.

Mira followed.

At the top of the steps she looked away for perhaps two seconds.

When she looked back, the dog was gone.

She stopped.

The close was empty.

Mira looked toward the road.

Then down the stairs.

No doorway.

No side passage.

No second exit.

Only wet stone.

She waited.

Nothing.

For once, Mira decided not to ask what was down there.

That night, she put Braveheart on again.

The familiar music filled the hotel room.

But when Mira closed her eyes, Scotland looked different now.

Not like a film.

Wet cobblestones.

Hidden rooms.

Dark staircases.

And somewhere in the rain, perhaps, one very suspicious terrier.

Mira smiled.

Some people see a dark staircase and wonder what’s down there.

Explorers go down.