The hair on your legs stands on end, your throat goes dry. You sense a presence, like a dog smells another dog. There is someone else on the balcony, in the dark corner by the balustrade. A spy? A prowler? But the wall is impossible to climb. Not a person then, but a demon. Baal-Zevuv? It steps out of the dark. A shudder of relief runs along your extremities as you recognise your dead father.