Book Three: Chapter 15

“Um...” Mike didn’t have any words. Tink noticing his sudden silence, rolled over and sat up.

Tink shook her head in disappointment. “Husband forgot pop-tart in pocket.”

“What?” Mike stuck his hand in his back pocket. Sure enough, he had crushed the pastry into a disgusting mess. Pulling his hand free, he laughed, his fingers covered in brown sugar and cinnamon glaze.

“Husband a mess,” she told him, picking up her dress. She slid it over her head, sitting on her knees in front of him. “And Tink tired.”

“Yeah, me too a bit.” The fire crackled at them from the other side of the table. “Wanna take a break for a bit?”

Tink nodded. The two of them crawled to a spot in front of the fire. Mike laid down in front of it, marveling at how it managed to burn without generating any ash. Tink curled up in his arms, and the two of them quickly fell asleep.

-

Dana rang the bell on the old house, eying the porch swing with some discomfort. It kept swinging