“Daddy, can I have this?” Abby waved a picture in his face. Alan squinted at it. “Really?” he asked. “Yes, Daddy. She’s lonely. I said we’d take her home.” Alan shook his head. The picture was creepy. A young girl in an old-fashioned white dress stood barefoot on a waterlogged dirt road, facing away from the viewer toward a dilapidated farmhouse. The colours were all muted browns. “Daaadddy,” Abby whined. “Please. Mummy would get it for me.” Alan felt a stab at that. It probably wasn’t true, but since the split he felt he couldn’t do anything right. “Okay,” he sighed, pulling out his wallet. Abby beamed at him as he stepped back, the picture now hung on the wall beside her bed. “It’s perfect,” she said, giving Alan a big hug. “She can’t wait to play with me.” Alan just nodded, barely listening. His eyes were moving around the room where his daughter now spent every other weekend. They settled briefly on the TV, the games console, and the new clothes. Lucy would say he was spoiling her. Actually, Lucy’s lawyer would say he was spoiling her. Lucy hadn’t spoken to him in over a month. He sighed and swallowed, his throat tightening painfully. He blinked against the tears that were stinging the backs of his eyes. “Why don’t we order pizza for tea?” he said, trying to sound normal. “Maybe we can watch a movie.” “Can I play with Lily for a while?” “Who?” “The girl in the picture.” Abby giggled. “Oh, right. Okay, um, yes. I’ll order the pizza and call you when it arrives. Okay?” “Thanks Daddy.” She hugged him again. He started down the stairs, breathing deeply and willing himself not to cry, at least not until after she’d fallen asleep. The sound of giggling drifted towards him. He paused. He could hear two voices, whispering. He ran back to her room, throwing open the door. She was standing in front of the picture. She turned, slowly. “What’s wrong Daddy?” Alan paused. The girl in the picture seemed to be turned slightly more towards him. He cleared his throat. “Who were you talking to?” “Lily.” Abby smiled. “She says I can come and play with her. Then she won’t be lonely anymore.” “Okay.” Alan closed his eyes. He needed more sleep. As the door clicked closed he heard the voices start up again. Two voices. He opened it. The room was empty. “Abby?” He whispered. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. His eyes found the picture. There were two little girls standing on the wet, muddy road. Abby had her back to him. The other little girl was looking over her shoulder. She was grinning. A faint voice whispered, “Come and play.” A slim white hand extended from the painting. Alan hesitated. Then he took it. He would be able to see Abby every day, and there wouldn’t be any lawyers.

Three pebbles bounced against the glass. The code Clara and I decided on yesterday, in case something happened at the house. I told her where I slept. I opened the window. You could hear it was morning in the silence and the birds, but you couldn’t see it. The clouds made the entire day look the same. ‘Come!’ Clara said. She wore a ridiculous, old-fashioned dress. Probably her pajamas. I put my finger to my mouth. If my mom heard her, she wouldn’t allow me to go. She’d been complaining since we arrived. This is no place for a holiday. Too hot, too wet, too quiet. I tiptoed downstairs. Clara waited for me at the kitchen door. She told me yesterday: on a full moon, something happens at the abandoned house. Strangers had disappeared, so I should be careful. Very careful. ‘Come,’ she said, and ran. I ran after her. She stopped at the open fence, facing the house. I stopped behind her. This couldn’t be. The house had been lifted an entire level. There was a ground floor underneath. In the same style. As if it had always been there. I stepped back. She kept facing the house. ‘You said you weren’t afraid of anything,’ she said. ‘In the city, this house would’ve been demolished and replaced by apartments,’ I said. ‘With AC.’ I’d paid little attention to the house. Maybe it had always been like this. She walked further, and I followed her. There was a freshness in the air, like laundry. Closer up, I saw two front doors, exact copies, one above the other. Clara walked stiffly. Did she limp? I’d never admit to her I was scared. ‘Come,’ she said, and opened the door. The smell of apple pie. I couldn’t see anything, it was pitch dark in there. ‘Tirza!’ Someone called my name. Clara? I turned around. There was someone standing at the gate. Red pants and the red sweater. Clara. ‘Tirza! Come back! Tirza!’ A hand grabbed me. A bony hand, with rings, crushing my fingers. I pulled. The hand tightened, pain pierced through me, but I didn’t want to look up. I didn’t want to see it. ‘Clara!’ The hand shoved me, and I tumbled inside. The door shut without a sound. Darkness. ‘Clara!’ My scream was immediately eaten by the thick space around me. I lay on what felt like wooden boards. Warm and sweaty. I got up and walked, my hands stretched out, but there was no wall. I stopped, but I could no longer feel the floor. I breathed, but I could no longer get air. I closed my eyes, and then I saw. Others. Floating around me with their mouths open and their eyes closed. Hundreds and hundreds.

I was getting frustrated with this awfully cold dusk as I made my way through the trail. It had been raining and I stupidly lost my bearings with my car, nose-diving it into a ditch. I found this trail close by, now trying to find help. My phone and glasses both completely shattered on me, too. My hands felt like icy blocks of meat, and I was struggling to move them. An occasional gust blew around me, sometimes including an icy drizzle for insult. I tried not to tremble as I buried my hands in my pockets to bring some feeling back. A black and white blur ahead of me soon morphed into a lone woman standing in front of me. She had her back facing me, staring at what I strained to determine was a dilapidated house in the distance. I slowly came closer to her. She was wearing a white lacy dress without shoes; very odd for this weather. She probably lives in the home or barn, I thought to myself, inching even closer. I decided to cautiously call out, “…hi?” Nothing. She didn’t even turn around. I was about arms-length to her now. The sound of my footsteps squelching in the ground was all I heard. Squish…squish…squish… I kept my eyes on her, wanting to see her face to get her attention that way… …squish…squish… …but the more I turned to face her front, the more of her hair I saw. “What…?” I said softly, confused at what I was expecting to see, but didn’t. I was now facing her back again but knew I had just made a full circle around her. My heart skipped a beat and full panic soon hit me like a truck at the sudden realization. Where is her face?? She doesn’t have a face. My own face was now pure ice, not just from the windchill. My teeth began to rattle, my jaw aching as I walked slowly backwards away from her and back to where I came from, not taking my eyes off her. Did she just move?? I didn’t want to find out, as pure adrenaline pulsed through my legs, pushing me to turn and run through the muddy path. I slipped and stumbled, my outstretched hands painfully landing on the path. I dared myself to quickly turn around to glance back…and didn’t see her anymore. Only the house stood still in the distance, a silent sentinel on the now-foggy hill. When I got back up, fully covered in mud, a sudden icy pain shot through my wrists. The last thing I saw was clawed, white hands on me and pitch-black hair dragging me into its void.