Ruby's last breath wheezed out around the scissors as her ribcage collapsed.

Martin watched from the window as the old woman's body crumpled and sagged like a rotting pumpkin, her shadow diminishing on the floor beneath her. With one last gasp the black smoke left her body and, like her daughters, dissipated in the breeze fluttering through the shattered window.

The silver shears thumped down on the frilly seat cushion as the flower-printed fabric regained its shape, the woman who'd been sitting there suddenly and inexplicably gone.

Martin stared at the purple flowers for several moments. He felt no remorse. No sadness or pain. Only relief. As if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders.

He'd lived under Ruby Savage's shadow for as long as he could remember. Now was his time to walk in the sun.

Norma laid a hand on his shoulder. Tears spilled down her face. "I'm so sorry, Marty."

"Don't be. You did great. Better than any of us could have."

He hugged her fiercely. Sheila embraced them both.

As they stood in the kitchen, hugging each other, drawing strength from one another, the wallpaper began to peel and curl as if it was burning. The floor tiles shriveled and bubbled and the boards beneath their feet split and charred. The sink fixtures cracked and the pipes groaned.

They stepped out of their embrace and watched the spectacle. No heat accompanied the change, only a strange shimmer that gradually dissipated as the house returned to its true state, the Chadrach's glammer finally fading.

Out in the street, people left their suddenly ramshackle houses in robes and pajamas and winter jackets, blinking and smiling up at the morning sun as if it was the first time it had shone on Barrows Bay since the summer.

Clarabelle rose from the ground, holding her head, looking around in confusion.

Eventually, all eyes settled on the Gingerbread House across the street, the house that had somehow burned without fire.

Throughout the day, dozens of people came with home-cooked food and condolences. Faces from the crowd the night before wore looks of guilt and sorrow. They offered apologies for their behavior, and Sheila and Martin accepted them. They had lived under the sway of the Midwives and the veil had finally lifted. The scales had fallen from their eyes. What happened the night before was no more their fault than the deer that killed Nadine Hinckley, or the pigs that fed on Dr. Mulligan's remains.

Sinjin and Laura offered their apologies with a toast. They told the gatherers they'd decided to try again. They would name the girl Sheila. If it was a boy, they would name him Martin. Theirs wouldn't be the first child in Barrows Bay born without the Midwives: that honor would be bestowed upon Frannie and Nathan O'Neill, who were due at the end of June.

As people came and went from the Gingerbread House word arrived of changes occurring all over town, like they had in the Savage house that morning. The downtown dilapidated. Roads cracked and riddled with potholes. Trees gnarled and craggy.