“It was screaming.” Charlotte rubbed her palms over her cheeks, as if reassuring herself she was still here. “It was screaming, but it wasn’t. It was like it was screaming inside me. I could feel it. It was like it touched me.”
Could it follow us from the house? Could it come out here? Was it still in there, walking the halls?
It had started when I said the name Anne Whitten aloud, as if it had been waiting to hear its name.
“You need an exorcism,” Charlotte said sharply. I turned to see that she had regained most of her composure. Splotches of angry red splashed her cheeks. “Either that, or burn the house down to get rid of that thing.”
I shook my head. I would never burn the house down, no matter what lived inside. Not my little brother’s house, the only place he had ever lived.
“I’ve seen exorcisms work,” Charlotte said as she picked up her briefcase. “You can call it a banishment, if you prefer—it removes the religious aspect. But there’s a ritual.”
“Chants and burning sage?” My tone was harsh. “Ouija boards? Séance circles? You think those things will work onthat?” I gestured to the house, which was unnaturally still now. Silent. The curtains in the upstairs window didn’t move.
I didn’t believe in exorcisms. I didn’t believe in séances, either, or tarot cards, or psychics. Bigfoot or cryptids. After a decade of chasing shadows, I didn’t believe in any of it.
I didn’t even believe in aliens anymore.
With the echoes of that scream in my head, it was all so fucking clear.
My voice was eerily calm when I said to Charlotte, “I think you should go.”
“Youcalledme,” she reminded me, her voice icy. “But don’t worry. I have no desire to go back into that house.”
“Go,” I said again. “Leave Fell. Don’t even stay tonight at the motel. No one stays at that motel.” I had never been to the Sun Down, so I shouldn’t know that—but of course I did, because why would this town ever leave me alone? It was too much to ask. “Drive as far asyou can, then stop and stay somewhere else. Just drive and keep driving.”
“Thank you for the advice,” she clipped out. “I intend to take it.”
“You aren’t much of a ghost hunter,” I pointed out.
Her shoulders straightened. “Vail,” she said, “kindly go fuck yourself.”
I heaved in a breath. “I’m sorry.” Of the people in my life who deserved an apology—and there were many of them—Charlotte topped the list. “You came when I called because you’re a good person. You gave your advice. Now you have to trust that I’ll do what I have to.”
She hesitated, her jaw working. Then she said, “You’re going back in there.”
“No,” I said.
“You’re lying.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You can’t.” There was a final note of pleading in her voice. “You’re a fool.”
“I know. But I’m not running away and leaving my sisters to go in there alone.”
Charlotte’s gaze moved uneasily to the house, then away again. “I can’t help you, Vail. I want to, but I can’t.”
“I know.” My voice was as gentle as I could make it. I was sorry I’d dragged her into this, sorry I’d put her in danger, but I had, and what was done was done.
I watched her get into her car, watched the driver’s door slam, watched her turn the key. Watched her leave the driveway. Watched her lights disappear down the street. And as I watched, I thought over and over,To Edward Whitten, from his sister Anne. To Edward Whitten, from his sister Anne.
I wondered if Edward Whitten had lived long past his fifth birthday, when his sister had given him a book as a gift.
I wondered why Anne Whitten was walking the halls of my family home, screaming when she heard her name. There was one way to find out.
I turned without hesitating and walked back to the house.
34
