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EPILOGUE

Four years later

Freya is in her bedroom, playing with the LEGO sets her mum bought her for her fifth birthday. She’s got a massive box of pieces, and now that she has her own bedroom she can tip the whole thing on the floor and build a castle, if she likes, or a spaceship.

So she does just that—she turns the box over and lets the pieces rush out.

But she’s surprised to find something amidst the pile. It’s an old book, with a tree-bark cover, and strange, black pages.

She looks it over, at once repulsed by the rough binding and drawn to it. The room is silent, but as she sits quietly, trying to work out how such an object ended up in her new box of LEGOs, she hears what sounds at first like the rustle of leaves. It graduates to whispering, and she looks around, expecting to find her mother or grandmother there.

But she is alone, and the whispers are soft and vaguely familiar. It says , Hello Freya .

She giggles. How does it know her name? Is it like her Alexa device?

Open me , it says, and she hesitates before reaching out to peel open the cover.

Now scream.