Book Four: Chapter 50

The ghost let out an eerie, echoing laugh—high and hollow, like sound passing through broken glass—before gripping Beth by the arm and yanking her hard to the side of the house. The motion was abrupt enough to make Beth stumble, her feet skidding across warped boards slick with frost and ash. Behind them, the structure groaned in protest. Wood splintered and crackled as Oliver tore into the wall they’d been standing beside, his rage turning the house into kindling.

Beth didn’t have time to think, let alone argue.

Jenny was already moving. The doll flung herself over the edge of the house with reckless commitment, arms spread wide as if diving into water. Beth felt the briefest spike of panic—an instinctive scream rising in her throat—but she followed anyway, pushing off and letting gravity take her.

They were falling.

The sky