“I haven’t even scratched the surface, but thank you.” All my decorations from Alice’s shed were currently in a heap in our sitting room. It looked like a crime scene in there. But my plan was starting to shape up. I’d found a giant plastic alligator online and plastic jail bars that I fashioned into a sewer grate. I’d repurposed one zombie with a hook hand and was finishing up on a girl with baby spiders bursting from her face.

It was going to be epic, indeed.

I had a right to be proud. I was a good party planner—not to mention a damn good mother, too. I worked hard, made dinner, raised my kids to be good people. I was there for them when they needed me. For everyone. And here we were, in a beautiful home, in a great neighborhood, our contented dog under the table waiting for scraps. Cole’s friend was comfortable enough to eat with us—comfortable enough, even, to just assume she was welcome.

I’m a better mother than Jackie ever was.

It was satisfying to know that. To know that I would never end up like her.

When Theresa had asked about Jackie in the storage barn, I’d wanted to tell her all about our old friend. About her “career,” about her failures. She deserved everything that had happened to her. She was weak. She was not cut out to be a wife. To be a mother. She’d fucked all that up. All she ever wanted was to be a “star.”

And now she was. A fading, dying star, somewhere out there. A nothing.

She couldn’t touch us. She wouldn’t dare.

“Cole, please say grace,” I said, and while he mumbled it, I bowed my head. Yes, thank you, god, thank you, fate, for all you’ve done to keep us safe.

I’d made an easy favorite—a ravioli bake that looked fancy but took five minutes to prep. Cole and Paul ate quickly, like wolves, but Ellen took her time, cutting each ravioli with a knife and chewing thoughtfully.

“I’m putting up our decorations this weekend,” Ellen said. “Lily’s coming over to help me.”

“Lily Pressley?”

Ellen nodded. “We’re dressing up like the Ghost Girl this year. It’s going to be amazing.”

Here we go. That absurd urban legend again. I thought about that damn doll in the tree. Had Cole told Ellen about it? Was she the one who’d left it for him in the first place? Seemed right in her wheelhouse.

“If by amazing you mean stupid, then yeah,” Cole said.

Ellen smacked him. “You’re so boring,” she said. “I’ve been sensing a lot of energy out there. It’s like the woods are getting ready for all the souls to return.”