The words were written on the front door of the new house. Fortunately, they’d been written in charcoal, so they were easy to clean off. There was a piece of burned wood on the front step that had been used to write the message.

Helen worked to scrub the words away before Nate could see. She scrubbed hard and fast, heart pounding, sweat beading on her forehead.

She was running out of time. She could feel it, could feel Hattie whispering to her.

Hurry. You are in danger.

Was the burned wood a warning, too? A reminder of what had happened to Hattie’s mother, to Hattie’s crooked house, to the schoolhouse, to Jane at the mill?

Whoever was leaving the messages wanted her gone.

How far would they go to drive her away?

Would there be another gas leak? A fire next time?

If Helen and Nate stayed, would they wake in the trailer one night to the smell of smoke, to flames licking at the walls?

“What are you doing?” Nate asked when he walked up to the house.

“There’s a smudge on the door,” she said, polishing it with a rag.

“It’s Sunday,” Nate said. “I thought we agreed to take the day off.”

“Definitely,” Helen said. “Just tidying a little.”

“Did you turn off my cameras?” he asked.

“What? No.”

“It’s odd,” Nate said. “They were all switched off. I didn’t get any pictures from about midnight on last night.”

“Strange,” Helen said. Whoever had come and left the message on the door hadn’t wanted to be seen.

“I’m going for a hike,” he said.

Helen nodded. “Great. I think I’ll see if I can get into the historical society to do a little research,” Helen told him.

He frowned but said only, “You’re not going to bring back any more haunted objects, right?”

“Just research, I promise,” she told him. “Enjoy your hike.”

. . .

Helen knew she couldn’t wait. She called Mary Ann Marsden and asked if she could possibly let her into the historical society. She explained that she was a friend of Riley’s.

“I know it’s a Sunday and I hate to ask, but I’m just so eager to get started on my research.”

Mary Ann chuckled and said she’d be glad to open the historical society. “I get out of church at noon and I can meet you there right after. I don’t have anything planned for the afternoon, so I’m more than happy to help.”

. . .

Mary Ann was an elderly woman in a polyester pantsuit the color of lima beans. She wore a huge enameled flower brooch pinned to her lapel, so heavy Helen was amazed its weight didn’t pull the poor woman over. She had on dark red lipstick that had run into the creases of her upper lip, making them look like veins.