“Do you think you could help me cover it up?” I ask the officer. He agrees and I run back inside and find two old bedsheets and some tape. Together, we begin to cover the graffiti and by the time we’re pressing the final corners into place Max is pulling up in front of the house.

The officer gives me an encouraging smile and hands me the roll of duct tape. “I’ll drive around the neighborhood and then swing by the Phelps place to see if anything suspicious is going on,” he says. “In the meantime, make sure you lock your doors and call us if you need anything at all.”

I thank the officer and say goodbye as Max joins me by the door. By the look on Max’s face I’m sure that Nikki’s mom has given him hell. “What’s the matter, Max?” I ask. “Did something happen?”

He waits until the police car pulls away and then tilts his phone toward me. “Look what’s going around.” A horrific image looks up at me from the screen. Someone has Photoshopped Violet’s and Jordyn’s faces on two blood-splattered figures wielding knives, and the number of likes on Instagram is nearing three hundred. I feel sick.

“It’s probably the same idiots who spray-painted the house,” I tell him, my stomach churning. “Try not to worry about it.”

Max lets out a long breath. “Except for Nikki, I hate it here.”

“Me, too,” I say. “But we have each other and that’s going to have to be enough for now.”

We go inside. I lock the front door and then go around to each window making sure they are secured, too. I say good-night to Max and then go upstairs to peek in on Violet. She is sleeping soundly. I sit on the edge of her bed for a long time watching her chest rise and fall.

Case #92-10945

Case #92-10945

Excerpt from the journal of Cora E. Landry

Nov. 22, 2017

I know that JW44 isn’t really Joseph Wither. It’s probably some random person who saw my post on DarkestDoor and thought it would be funny to pretend to be Wither. Ha ha. I don’t plan on talking to him anymore. I mean, I did pay attention during Digital Literacy class. I’ve seen the news. I’ve heard all about stranger danger since I was in kindergarten.

And the way he asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. That is just strange. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to kiss someone. It used to be Gabe I’d think about, but now it’s Joseph. For some reason I feel guilty if I imagine myself kissing Gabe—like Joseph could look into my head and see what I’m thinking. I wonder if Joseph thinks about kissing me, too.