Naomi met her great-aunt Vivian once, at a funeral, when she was nine. Thirty years later a lawyer's letter hands her Vivian's house: a tall white Colonial on Miller Road, paid off and empty, four hours from anywhere she has lived. She moves in with her husband, Nate, and their six-week-old son, Theo. She tells herself it's a place to start over after the baby they lost before him. The first night, the crib moves from the inside wall to the window. Nobody admits to moving it. The nursery stays cold when the rest of the house warms, and one floorboard by the window seat dips as if someone has stood on it every night for years. Then one afternoon at the kitchen counter, Naomi notices she is humming. Three notes up, one down. She has never heard the tune before. The next time it runs longer, and she comes to in the nursery doorway with no memory of walking there. Nate keeps bringing up a ninety-day deadline he won't explain. At the market, the woman at the register gets careful when Naomi gives her address. Eventually someone slides a thin folder across a table. Inside is a letter in the same looping hand as the recipe cards in Naomi's kitchen drawer, written by a mother counting her sick son's breaths. The song, Naomi begins to suspect, is the count. A Lullaby for No One is a haunted-house novel told as a true account, pieced together from letters and from the people who lived it.