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Once the sunlight goes to bed, that's when darkness wakes the dead.
When a series of grisly deaths devastate 19th-century New England, sixteen-year-old farm girl Faith must outsmart the Undead to ke...
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The hours that follow are a blur. Papa and I push through the routine of morning—tending to chores, preparing breakfast, getting ready for the day—careful not to let Honor in on what took place overnight.
When I asked Papa what happened to Ms. White, he told me she was old and it was her time to go.
I grimaced, my brain unable to release the memory. "But what about the blood?" I said. "And why did she look like a skeleton?"
He never answered.
In the hours before daylight, Constable Webster and Pastor Turner transported Ms. White's body to the church. Her husband died many years ago and they'd never had children. In situations like this, the closest neighbors take on the responsibility of watching over the deceased's body until the burial to prevent laying someone to rest who's not actually dead.
But Papa says the ground is only getting colder, and we'll need to add her casket to the cemetery vault alongside Mr. and Mrs. Milton. Come spring, we'll bury them all just as soon as the earth thaws.
It does nothing to quell my unease.
At school, my eyelids stick together, my movements slow and dull. As I practice my penmanship, head bent over my slate, I catch myself slumping to the side. I cover a yawn and sit up straighter, only to repeat the scenario again.
"Faith ..." A hand lands on my shoulder and my entire body jerks. When I look up, Miss Perkins is giving me a tight-lipped smile. "Please grab your coat. I need help bringing in more firewood."
My gaze slides to the heaping pile of timber stacked next to the stove, but I don't question her request. I rise from my seat and stretch, my back achy, and muscles sore. As we step outside, icy air floods my lungs and stings the tip of my nose.
Miss Perkins is still watching me. My face dips into the collar of my coat as I clench against the cold.
She gets right to the point. "It's not like you to doze off in class. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes, ma'am." My skirt whips around my calves. I lift my chin and smile. Pretend that I'm fine.
I'm not fine.
She stops walking and plants her hands on my shoulders, the space between her eyes marked by two vertical lines. "You can talk to me—you know that, don't you? Every girl needs a mother-figure to turn to in times of trouble." Her voice softens. "I'm not trying to take her place. I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me."
It's not easy to consider Miss Perkins a mother-figure. She's too young and inexperienced, barely out of her teens. But it's kind of her to worry.
I fight to keep my voice steady. "Thank you, but I really am fine."
"You're obviously not fine." Her brows arch in a challenge. "Now, please. Tell me what's going on."
My shoulders sag. Before I can stop myself, the events of the evening pour out of my mouth. I tell her everything that happened with Ms. White, but keep the questions and concerns to myself. I'm still trying to make sense of them. To make sense of what I saw.
