It's just a trickle at first, dark hallways, empty rooms, but then Angela sees a face. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, a little girl's mouth covered with taut rope. The room is damp and cold and simple, a chair in the middle of it all. That's where the girl sits in a yellow dress, hands bound, hair wet with sweat and feet dangling off the floor. The chair's much too big for her, and something's coming. Something bad.

E.M. Blomqvist

Mots clés hush

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This is a quiet house. Angela feels it in her bones. This is a quiet house, and singing is not allowed. Rules must be followed.

E.M. Blomqvist

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