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

Tag: 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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