Sixteen years ago, Brigit and her older sister played a game in the woods. One came home. The other didn’t. Now Brigit pays the bills as a fake medium “investigating the paranormal,” but when two teenagers vanish into those same woods, she must face her buried past to save them—except unlike Brigit’s powers, what lurks in the forest is very real. Paul Tremblay meets Magic for Liars.
Brigit Weylan slid her fingers across the tape recorder in her lap, the plastic warm as living skin.
“Are you picking anything up?” Ian asked, snaking a hand beneath the camera on his shoulder to massage his trapezius. He caught her watching and she cut her eyes away, thumbing off her mic.
“Nothing but your breathing.”
“It’s ambiance. And we’re stalling because?”
She shifted on the pine floor. Pinkish clouds of insulation erupted from the walls on either side. It was a delicate maneuver to stretch out her legs, but if she didn’t reposition she was going to tear a meniscus. Brigit switched her mic back on.
“Sorry for the technical difficulties. We’re getting a little interference, which is a good sign—”
At the far end of the attic, a cardboard box fell off its stack. Papers spilled across the plywood in a plume of dust that brought with it the moldering scent of mouse droppings. Ian coughed but kept the camera level. In the living room downstairs, the baby goth who’d hired them would have a perfect view.
“Hello?” Brigit asked. “Logan, is that you?”
Logan Messer, struck down by a heart attack in 1998, had glared up from his obituary like a nineteenth-century oil magnate. Definitely the most likely of several spirits that could be haunting Haletown House. At least that’s what Brigit and Ian had told its newest occupant.