“What truth?”
He opened his backpack and took out a rusted tin box.
“I found this under the attic floorboards.”
He set it on the table between us. Inside was a silver necklace I had given Alice years ago, a faded photograph, and several letters tied together with blue ribbon.
There was a second note, shorter.
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If you are reading this, something happened, and I could not come back when I promised. I hid this before I left because I was already afraid. Someone has been watching me. If one of the children finds this when they are old enough to understand, go to Blackwood Chapel. If I am not there, wait until nightfall.
There was a second note, shorter.
Do not trust everyone who mourned me.
He looked ashamed. “A week.”
“What kind of messages?”
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“A week?”
“I read one of the letters first. Then I got scared.”
“Scared of what?”
He swallowed. “Someone’s been messaging me.”
“What kind of messages?”
“Anonymous account. No picture. No name. Stuff like, ‘Some graves should stay closed.’ And, ‘Dead women should stay dead.’ I thought it was a prank. Then I found the box.”
Then a voice came from the far corner.
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That night, after the other kids were asleep, Daniel and I drove to Blackwood Chapel.
Behind the broken altar was a narrow wooden door.
We went down.
My flashlight landed on an old coat hanging from a nail.
Alice’s coat.
Then a voice came from the far corner.
