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Oh, thank God.

I give one final burst of speed. Here is my salvation. Get to Patrice.

She isn’t lying on the ground, though. She’s sitting in a chair, head forward as if she’d fallen asleep there.

She lifts her head weakly, her eyes struggling to focus.

“Janica?” she says. “W-what are you—?”

I find one last burst of energy, running full out… and I grab the back of the chair, yank it over, and keep going. Behind me, Roddy snarls in victory and Patrice screams the most bloodcurdling scream and then…

And then I can breathe again.

Roddy is killing Patrice, and I am safe.

TWENTY-SIX

I wake on the bedroom floor, fighting with a sheet I dragged down with me. I struggle free and sit up and lean forward as I catch my breath.

What the hell was that?

A nightmare, Nic. They take little bits of reality, weave them with our doubts and fears, and throw them back at us.

But it felt real. It felt like something I was remembering.

It’s not.

But…

I rub my face, climb back into bed, and wait for my breathing to slow. Then I do what my brain does best. I analyze.

None of that happened. I did not see Anton that night. I certainly did not see Roddy. And I definitely did not sacrifice Patrice so I could escape. And if I want proof of that, well, Patrice didn’t die, did she?

It was a nightmare.

So why does it feel so real?

Because it’s the middle of the night, and you’re in a haunted house. Oh, and the reason it’s haunted? Because you brought your dead husband and all your fucking past baggage with you.

Well, I do always overpack.

I bite my tongue against a hysterical laugh. Then a sound comes. The slow creak of footsteps in the attic. I go still and listen.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I roll over and startle when I nearly fall out of the bed again. I’d forgotten I was in a twin now. Shania is across the room, in the other bed, her back to me as she sleeps soundly.

Seeing her, I have to bite back another laugh.

To sleep soundly in a haunted house because, as far as you know, it’s only haunted by your new friend’s loving husband, and if she ever suspected anything worse, tonight’s séance proved her wrong.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I flip over again, hands to my ears. There’s no one in the attic. It’s locked.

As if in surrender, the sound stops, and I breathe again, sinking into the pillow. Minutes tick past. Shania tosses in her sleep. Did she hear it, too?

Creak. Creak.