Finley had loved being scared. Stephen King. Horror movies. Even in elementary school her favorite books were the Goosebumps series. In middle school, Finley’s dad gave her a book called Weird Ohio, filled with scary urban myths. She wore out the pages—until she was old enough to drag her friends to find the actual places.

“This one time we drove all the way to Cincinnati to see this tombstone.” Taylor rearranges herself on her bunk, trying to get more comfortable. “The story goes that when this man died, he wanted his eyes removed and put into the eye sockets of his bust.”

“That’s . . . not possible.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Urban myths can’t be killed with logic.”

“Right,” Willa says, peeling the seal on a can of Pringles. She tilts it in Taylor’s direction, offering her the first chip. “I forgot you need salt, fire, and your dad’s old Impala.”

Taylor barks a laugh at the reference to Supernatural, another of Finley’s favorite obsessions, along with any TV show about ghost hunters. “Anyway, the bust is supposed to watch you, and some say it will turn its head and even talk.”

“Of course.”

“So we found the grave,” Taylor continues. “The bust was made out of black stone, but the eyes looked super real. They were probably made of glass or something, but I swear to God it seemed like they were following us around the cemetery. It was so creepy.”

“That’s how it was the time I went with her to Hell Town,” Willa says. “I think you were at your grandma’s house for the weekend, but we drove to Boston Mills to see this deserted town surrounded by a whole bunch of ridiculous myths. Like, one of the stories was that there had been a chemical spill and the people who refused to leave turned into mutants. Finley went there expecting to see disfigured people or evidence of a satanic ritual. Instead, it’s a bunch of old houses that were abandoned when they expanded the state park. It was kind of eerie, but that’s all.”

Taylor nods. “Like Gore Orphanage.”

“Or the time she made us wait all night to see the headless motorcyclist.”

A gust of wind grabs the boat and shakes it, making them scream—and then crack up laughing. Outside the wind has started to howl, and it rattles the rigging so hard it sounds like a helicopter is hovering above the boat. As their laughter subsides, Willa’s expression turns serious. “I never believed any of that stuff, but if we make it through a hurricane, I might just believe the unbelievable.”

Taylor’s smile fades and fear creeps back in. “If . . . ?”

“We’ve done everything we can,” Willa says. “But what if it’s not enough? There are lots of things that could go wrong, and I’m afraid of them all.”