“Esther,” Nora said, and crossed to the gallery of photographs. She took down the ink drawing representing the family and laid it on the counter ahead of Margot. Six faces looked out at her. Ezra and Louisa stood in the center. Two sons to their right. Two daughters to their left. Margot found her eyes drawn to the youngest. The ink drawing was sparse, implying shapes more than detailing them, but she still found herself fixated by the dark blots used to represent Esther’s eyes.

“She and her family were killed by Ephraim after all.” Margot turned to the journal’s final page and leaned back while Kant and Nora examined the writing. “She wrote about it. And look at this. The final paragraph. I will hide my journal here and pray that someone might discover it. When you do, bring it to the town. Let Uncle Ephraim’s wickedness be known.”

“It may be too late for a formal conviction, but we can grant part of her wish at least,” Nora said. She leaned close over the book, squinting to make out the jagged, scrawled words. “We can show it to the town, so to speak. Scan the pages and put it up on display here. Let visitors read about what happened. If that’s what you want.”

“Yes!” Margot drew a slow, ragged breath. “I think this is why the land’s cursed. Esther lived on it for years and never once mentioned strange happenings in her journal.”

Nora glanced up. “We don’t see the Hulls at night, though. We see the early townspeople who were hanged.”

“I know. But I think…” Margot hesitated, trying to put the disjointed, fragmented idea together in her head. “I think they’re a part of it. If you want to believe that death leaves a bad energy in a place, the hangings did exactly that. They poisoned the land over more than a hundred years. Turned it bad. But that alone wasn’t enough for a curse. That came with the Hull family murders. Because to have a curse, you need someone to curse.”

“The descendants,” Kant murmured.

“Exactly. Until the journal, people suspected Ephraim was responsible for his brother’s disappearance but had no proof. Esther has not only given us the answer, but also told us something else: Ephraim wasn’t alone. He brought his sons.”

Nora turned the book, reading the blotted pages quickly. “Oh. You’re right. Ephraim had a large family. Six sons, four daughters. By the time Ezra’s family vanished, the boys would have been teenagers and young adults.”

“The hangings poisoned the land,” Margot said. “The murders gave that energy a channel to focus on. Ephraim and his children. His descendants. For as many generations as it took to see justice.”

“Eleven generations,” Nora said, one hand over her mouth. “Twelve counting you.”