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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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As the golden glow from the fireplace dances across the floor, Mr. Baptiste returns to his chair. Once he's comfortable, his eyes find mine and hold. "Have you ever heard of consumption?"
The word hangs in the air. I sit up in bed, my heart pounding as though it wants to break out of my chest. I glance at Thomas first then shake my head.
"It's a disease that, once contracted, mainly settles in the lungs, but can attack other parts of the body too, such as the brain. The bacteria travels on the air, making the likelihood of exposure extremely high. Fever. Night sweats, coughing up blood. Confusion. These are all common symptoms. Victims tend to grow weak and simply...waste away. It's what took the lives of my late wife and son."
My brain works at his words, coaxing them together, prodding them to make sense. I search for the garlic pendant around my neck and grip it between my fingers. "Do you mean that Andrew and Agnes—and everyone else—were never attacked by the Undead? They had consumption?"
Mr. Baptiste nods. "Monsters do not exist except in the actions of others."
The weight of his sentence steals my breath. It's true—an undeniable evil has found it's way to South Harbor. The townspeople's willingness to believe in the Undead with little more to go on than Mrs. Lloyd's farfetched allegations. The mutilation of our deceased friends, and taking the life of a woman who'd done nothing wrong. This town has committed unspeakable acts.
But then, so have I. If what he says is real, my father was truly sick. And I—
My eyes pinch close as wind whistles through the window. We know nothing about this man. He could fill our heads with lies and we would never know the difference. Maybe this is a trap? A way for him to lure us here so he can do whatever he wants.
My fist clenches so tightly, when I open my fingers, a series of half moons line my palm, each one glistening with blood. "Why should we believe you?"
Thomas clears his throat. "Faith, it's true. Last night when I came here looking for Honor, Dr. Baptiste showed me his medical degrees, and the articles he'd written on the disease. I watched him give you medicine and bandage your arm." He nods at something next to the bed.
A black leather bag sits atop a bedside table. Lying next to it is a glass syringe, a spool of gauze, and a device I recognize from last spring. The doctor used it to listen to Mama's chest, searching for a heartbeat that wasn't there.
My stomach twists in knots as I turn back to him. "So, maybe you are a doctor. But that doesn't explain everything. There is so much that doesn't make sense."
Mr. Baptiste blinks. "If you have questions, I'll do my best to answer them."
My thoughts reel over recent events, and the words tumble from my mouth before I can slow them. "After Andrew died, his sister Agnes told me he came to visit her every night."
