The parallels to my family were inescapable…mother, father, three kids…a cat that acted possessed. I tried not to think about it.

The horror that lived in the library was how we afforded this renovated monstrosity of a home in excellent condition on six private acres. When no one else would touch it, we stole it. You folks got the deal of a lifetime, our agent congratulated us. Under Pennsylvania law, he was under no obligation to divulge that a death had occurred in the house, much less a mass murder. But he didn’t need to; just about everyone in Pennsylvania—Pittsburgh especially—of a certain age was aware, at least to some degree, of the horror that had transpired. Oliver and I certainly knew from the umpteen stories we’d heard since our youth, and we weren’t about to pass up this opportunity of a lifetime. We should have known that living in the Execution Estate would have its downside. Like the ever-present sense of watchful eyes beyond the grave. Or the rooms we gave extra distance to. Rooms like the library.

The two flights of stairs moaned as I mounted each step slowly, stealthily, on high alert for any ghosts wandering the hall. Inching down the hallway with Vera’s journal tucked under my arm, I thought I saw a stooped, wizened figure in a drab olive-green wrap creeping toward me. I gasped and took a cautious step backward before I realized it was only my reflection in the full-length mirror on the far wall. I didn’t like the woman I saw, old and worn—resembling more a slovenly maid than the grand lady of the house. A woman with arms thickened from carrying three babies, hands chapped from endless chores. My brown flap of hair, striped with gray, desperately needed a trim as it limply framed my face, curled around my ears. Not that I had ever been a beauty queen, but the lines spoking my eyes hid any vestige of my youth.

Wasting no more time than necessary, I speed-walked to the bookshelf where we kept the yearbooks dating back from kindergarten onward, organized by year. While Vera hadn’t officially finished tenth grade, the school mailed me the yearbook, with a kind note that the whole school was praying for her safe return home. The administration had even passed the yearbook along to Vera’s classmates for her friends to sign. I appreciated the kind words and thoughts and prayers back then, back when I still had faith that God answered prayers.