314 Book 3

PART ONE – A New Game

March 15th, 2012

So you don’t believe in ghosts? asked Wendell.

Pierce groaned and shook his head. Look man, we’ve been through this before. Sorry, but I don’t believe in that sort of thing. Never have, never will.

Even after all the stuff I sent you? Wendell loaded his paper plate with the pizza that had just been delivered. He’d invited his friend over to drink beers and watch a bad movie, a tradition they’d shared ever since they were in high school.

Those videos can be manipulated, bro, said Pierce. He was standing in front of the fridge, grabbing a couple of the beers he’d brought over. You can’t believe everything you see online.

All right, all right, said Wendell as he licked sauce off his thumb after setting his paper plate down beside the pizza box. Then I’ve got another one I want you to see. Wendell was determined to convince his friend. He grabbed his laptop and flipped it open.

Pierce sighed and then laughed as Wendell’s computer booted. There’s no video you’re going to show me that’s going to convince me of anything, man. I mean, come on, that shit’s all fake.

Most of it, said Wendell as he nodded in agreement. But not all of it.

No, all of it is, said Pierce. Those shows they’ve got on TV, with those jackasses running around haunted places, jumping every time the wind blows and saying it’s proof of ghosts – you’re really telling me you believe that shit.

I’m saying there’s more to life than we know, said Wendell. That’s all. You can go around pretending like you know everything, or whatever, but I’m just saying you should keep an open mind.

An open mind’s one thing, said Pierce as he used the bottle opener on his keychain to pop the tops off both beers. Letting yourself get lied to is a whole other story.

Wendell just responded with a half-hearted Sure, as he waited for his computer to boot.

Pierce set Wendell’s beer down beside the computer and then walked around to the other side of the island in the kitchen, opposite his friend. Wendell’s face was illuminated by the computer screen, and was changing color as he navigated the web.

This is the site I wanted you to see, said Wendell.

All right, said Pierce. Let’s get it over with.

They’ve got a video on here where this hot chick is touring this old, abandoned place, and you can totally see a ghost in the background.

Okay, said Pierce as he made his way back around to stand beside Wendell. Let’s see it.

Yeah, hold on a sec, said Wendell, preoccupied as he read something else on the site. He pointed at the screen and said, This is new. This just popped up. They haven’t had anything new on the site in a while, but they just posted this video.

Click it, said Pierce.

Wendell pressed play.

Hi, my name’s Rachel Knight, said the woman in the video.

You were right, said Pierce. She’s hot.

Wendell hushed his friend.

Rachel continued, We’re recording this on March 13th, 2012, in the basement of a facility owned by a company named Cada E.I.B.

CHAPTER 1 – Suffer the Children

Widowsfield

March 14th, 1996

Ben was lost in the fog.

He cried out, but no one answered. He yelled his sister’s name, but she didn’t remember him anymore. He even tried to call for his father, but he knew Michael wouldn’t come looking for him.

There was a constant din of metallic sound, like the grinding of gears as a great machine fell apart somewhere far off. Ben was walking through something wet, but he couldn’t see the ground through the thick, swirling fog. For a moment he thought he saw the glow of a sunrise in the distance, but then, as if in response to his glance, the clamor of machines grew more intense and the fog swelled to block out the light.

The grind of metal revealed a sudden, familiar rhythm that might’ve been words. Ben tried to walk towards the noise, but he never seemed to get any closer. And every time he caught a glimpse of the warm glow of the sunrise, the fog would move to intercept him. He felt like he was tumbling through the ether, despite being able to feel the ground beneath his bare feet.

Again, the metallic grind came in the rhythm of speech, and this time he thought he heard his name. At the same moment, his face began to tingle, as if something wet and warm had fallen on it. He touched his cheek and felt a hot wetness that confused him. When he looked at the tip of his finger, he saw blood there.

I’m hurt? asked Ben, but his confusion quickly turned to fear as the pain came back. It wasn’t just the pain that returned, but also his memory of what had happened. He felt his cheeks burning as blisters formed, and he tasted the caustic soup he’d poured into the tub to try and burn away the corpse of the woman his father told him he’d murdered.

Ben screamed in pain, but his voice was nearly lost, an echo from far off, barely heard through the fog that shrouded everything. His teeth began to chatter from the pain, and his hands were shaking as he watched the blisters form on his arms. As the pain grew worse, he began to see a break in the fog ahead. He ran to it, hoping for any sort of salvation from the agony he was being forced to endure.

At first, the only thing he could perceive within the fog was a square of darkness, but as he got closer he began to make out shapes. He was within a massive, rectangular room, but the edges were distorted by the fog. He could feel the cold wood beneath his feet, and he looked down to see that the mist had begun to dissipate. Far in the distance he saw what appeared to be a bed with a young boy sitting at the edge, and in front of him was a man.

The metallic grind finally formed words, Would you bleed the lamb?

A crash of metal silenced the scene and the fog swelled again, blinding Ben as he tried to run forward. It felt like he’d fallen face first into a fire pit and was struggling to push himself free as the flames licked at his eyes. The skin on his arms continued to bubble from the heat and he watched as the boils burst, leaking bloody pus that dripped down to his elbows. He clawed at his face, desperate to peel away the fire, desperate to be free of this agony.

You must bind him, said the voice again, but this time it sounded closer than before.

Ben cried out, Daddy, help!

Ben? asked Michael Harper.

Ben tried again to call out for help, but this time a sudden crash of metal silenced him. The fog swept in and grasped at Ben, like a cold rush of air from a freezer on a scorching, summer day. The fog soothed his pain. It covered his face and pulled away the agony, giving Ben a reprieve from his torture.

Then the fog cleared again, but this time in a new direction. He couldn’t see the bedroom anymore, but was instead staring out at rocky terrain that was dotted with scant, wiry brush. The white fog continued to dominate the area, as if intent on blocking out the sun’s warmth, and as Ben walked, the fog stayed beneath him.

There was a path that led through the brown rocks that dotted the parched earth, and Ben followed it until he caught sight of something moving ahead. There was a lamb cowering in a bush ahead, and it stopped and stared down at Ben. The creature became taut, as if ready to flee, but stayed where it was and waited for Ben to make the first move.

Ben tried to comfort the frightened creature, but his words were lost within the fog.

Then he heard his own voice cry out from far off, Daddy, no! He looked up the hill and saw a man with a knife stabbing down at a bound shape on an altar. The man was at least fifty feet ahead of where the lamb was hiding, but the frightened animal reacted to the thrusts of the knife as if it were the one being stabbed. The creature yelped in pain, but stayed where it was in the bush. The man ahead stabbed back down a second time, and again the lamb reacted as if pained, but didn’t flee. The creature stayed where it was, screaming in pain, and its off-white wool suddenly bloomed with bright red blood.

The lamb quaked where it stood as its body burst blood that quickly streamed across the dusty earth. Ahead, the man on the hill continued his sacrifice to appease his vengeful God.

Ben couldn’t look away. He wanted to turn and flee, but he was trapped within the fog. He was forced to stare at the lamb as it continued to bleed. The creature’s eyes locked on Ben, but then blood began to seep from its nostrils. Its glassy eyes were gushing fluid that started clear, but quickly turned to blood. The lamb’s eyes bulged and popped forth from its skull. The bulbs dangled from the creature’s head by white cords that suddenly snapped and let the eyes plop down into the blood that fed the thirsty dirt.

As if suddenly freed, the lamb finally began to walk. It shambled forth, weak and feeble, and its front legs crumpled, sending the creature’s face slamming to the blood-wet dirt. It let forth a deep howl of pain as it pushed itself back to its knees and then tried to get back to a standing position. Its quivering legs finally found the strength to stand, but Ben noticed that the creature didn’t have hooves; it had human hands. The bloodied hands looked like they belonged to a child. Then the animal collapsed again, but this time with its front legs stretched out in front of it. The tiny hands clawed at the ground and pulled the shambling mass of wool and flesh forward. As it moved, parts of the creature were being torn away and left behind, and as the wool was ripped away, Ben saw a naked, human boy pulling himself away from the corpse.

The child’s head was down, and his dark hair was mopped with the blood of the creature he was crawling free of. Then the boy looked up at Ben, and revealed that his eyes were missing. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but his jaw continued to extend until he was a grotesque impression of a human face that had been warped and broken.

A child’s voice whispered in Ben’s ear, Suffer the children.

The fog released Ben and he turned in shock and fear to try and see who it was that had spoken to him. As he turned, the fog swept back in, blinding him from everything but its presence. He tried to scream out, but his voice was barely audible.

A black cord pierced the fog ahead and shot out at him. It grasped his wrists and then quickly bound them together. He felt himself being pulled forward rapidly, and the fog zipped past him as he found himself suddenly sitting again on the edge of Terry’s bed as his father wrapped the black wire around Ben’s wrists.

Bind the lamb, said Michael Harper as Ben was hoisted into the air.

All the pain and suffering returned as the fog abated. Ben was left staring at the smiling visage of his father. Ben was the lamb that was sacrificed that day, and Michael was absolved of sin. Ben’s pain was his father’s salvation.

Suffer the children, for they know not yet of fear. We will teach them.

Branson

3:14 am

March 13th, 2012

Ben Harper wanted to boil his father alive. He wanted to peel his skin off and pour bleach in the wounds. He wanted to drown him in a tub of chemicals and blood. Michael Harper would pay for what he did. Through all the years he’d been stuck in The Watcher’s prison, Ben Harper had dreamt of this moment.

You left me to suffer, said Ben as he stood from his wheelchair. He was no longer bound by the frail prison he’d suffered within on the trip here. Michael had made the mistake of stepping into a place where The Skeleton Man held reign. You cast me into Hell so that you could escape. But I’ve come back, and I’ve got so many things to teach you about pain. Before this is over, I’ll murder you in a thousand different ways.

Ben felt his skin shedding as he walked, leaving the husk behind him. He was slick with his own blood, and he looked down in wonder at the musculature that emerged. Parts of him were sliding off, like skin off a boiled chicken. The muscles beneath looked like they were made of white thread, and blue veins snaked along his arm. He pinched one of the veins and pulled it away. When it snapped free, he tossed it to the ground at his father’s feet. The vein writhed like a leech, growing long and suctioning one end to the floor so that it could pull its other half along in a looping motion.

Ben Harper’s skeletal frame, formerly trapped in the wheelchair, too weak to move, now lunged forward. His skin hung from him like wet clothes from a line, and his yellowed teeth were bared as he screamed. His eyes were globes, with lumps of gelatinous pus and Vaseline around the lids. His pupils were pinpricks of black in the center, focused on his father as the wraith stampeded the space between them.

Michael tried to scream, but his voice was muffled.

Ben collided with his father, and he bore a strength that his weak body shouldn’t have afforded. He threw the older man back, causing him to crash against the stove. Then Ben rose taller. He reared back, with his hands splayed like the claws of a beast, and he cried out in fury.

Michael reached back and gripped the handle of the pot of boiling water. He raised the pot, intent on flinging the contents at the monster, but the handle warped as if melting. As his arms swung forward, the pot lost its shape, as if he’d grasped a pot of clay that hadn’t been fired. The boiling contents spilled out onto his arm, searing his flesh as he screamed in agony.

A bubble of air rose from Michael’s mouth, as if they were both stuck at the bottom of pool. Michael stared at the bubble in shock and surprise, and then the sound of rushing water became suddenly louder, as if a flood was moments away from overcoming them both.

No, said Ben as he clawed at his father. Don’t wake up!

Michael burst from the tub, gasping and flailing. The water was still running, and he surged forward to shut it off. Water splashed over the side of the tub and to the towel that he’d spread out for a mat. He coughed up water and pulled himself to a seated position.

Ben was sitting in his wheelchair, still in the same spot where Michael had placed him – still staring in at his father. Michael realized that he’d fallen asleep in the tub, and that the nightmare hadn’t been real. He struggled to erase the sense of fear that had gripped him, and sat heavily on the toilet as he pulled another towel off the rack behind him.

Son of a bitch, he said between gasps as he wiped off his face. I almost drowned. He laughed, more out of embarrassment than humor, and shook his head while looking at his son. Did you see that, kid? Your dad almost drowned and there would’ve been nothing you could’ve done. He blew his nose into the towel. Think of that, kid. You would’ve been fucked for sure. Who’d take care of you if something happened to me? Huh?

Ben’s tongue flopped in his open mouth. His wide eyes stared at Michael, and he was issuing a pained gurgle, as if trying to speak. His hands shook and his fingers tried in vain to grip his armrest.

You all right? asked Michael. Were you scared? He stood, nude and dripping, and tossed the wet towel into his son’s lap. Were you scared you were about to lose the only person in the world that gives a shit about you?

Ben quivered. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as his tongue flicked in his parched mouth. His gaze followed Michael as the meth addict walked past.

That sure was a hell of a dream, said Michael as he fell heavily upon the bed, near the entrance to their suite. He perched himself up against the pillows and picked up the television remote to turn on the set on the dresser that faced the bed. His gun was also on the dresser, with the barrel pointed his way.

Ben turned his head and stared at his father, still clicking his tongue in a desperate attempt to speak.

Oh, I’m sorry kid. You probably don’t want to sit there staring at me all night. Michael got up and jiggled his exposed genitals. I like to air dry. He laughed as if the two of them had shared a joke. Michael had found a nurse’s smock in the back of the car he’d stolen from the lady in Widowsfield and was planning on wearing it once dry. The smock had a faint odor of gasoline on it, as if the nurse had an accident while filling her gas tank, but he didn’t let that bother him. It would be nice to wear something clean instead of the dingy t-shirt he’d had on for days already.

Ben watched as his father came over to reposition the wheelchair. Michael wheeled his son so that the chair was beside the bed, with Ben facing the television. Then Michael flopped back down on the bed and started to click through the channels.

Ben stared at his father, ignoring the television. His right hand moved weakly to the side, and fell off the armrest of his chair to the bed beside him. He groaned as he reached out to his father.

Michael felt his son’s fingertips brush against his arm and he looked over at the invalid. Hey there, pal. He brushed his boy’s hand away after giving him a smile.

Ben continued to try and grasp his father’s arm.

Ben, quit it, said Michael before moving further away, out of his son’s reach. Don’t worry kiddo, I’m fine. I just fell asleep in the tub is all. Gave us both a good scare, didn’t I? But I’m fine.

Ben grit his teeth and scowled as best he could. His fingers still reached out to touch his father, but Michael was too far away.

Inside Cada E.I.B.’s Compound

March 13th, 2012

2:30 AM

I forgot you, said Alma. Her eyes were smeared with a mix of tears and the salve that the nurses put over the sleepers’ eyes to keep them from drying out. She wiped away the sludge and blinked rapidly. Then she reached out and pulled Paul closer to the gurney she was laying on. I lost you.

I’m right here, babe, said Paul as he embraced her.

Wait, said Rachel as she wiped her eyes. Was that real? Was I dreaming?

We were in Widowsfield, in 1996, said Alma.

Right, said Jacker as the group tried to get their bearings. So we all had the same dream? How’d we end up here?

It wasn’t a dream, said Alma.

Some of it had to be, said Stephen. I dreamed about some of you dying.

Did we really drive off that cliff? asked Rachel.

No, said Paul. We were in the cabin when some guards brought Jacker and Aubrey back. They had shotguns loaded with salt pellets, and hit us with them. I’m not sure what happened after that, but there was something in the cabin with us – it said it was Ben, but the guy here called him something different. He called him…

The Skeleton Man, said a stranger’s voice. Paul turned to see that the door was open and a tall, black woman was watching them. Her hair was in dreadlocks, with what looked like twine interlaced within, and a purple handkerchief around her neck that covered several beaded necklaces. Her clothes looked handmade out of simple, one-color fabrics and thick thread. She was carrying a satchel that was partially open, revealing a thick pad of paper and several paintbrushes within. She had on black, leather gloves and was holding a Glock with both hands that she was pointing down at the ground. Her wrists were adorned with a plethora of beaded bracelets that were the same style as the necklaces she wore.

Who are you? asked Paul as he set his hand on the grip of the pistol tucked in his waistband.

The woman eased her stance, and holstered her weapon. I’m a friend.

Not my friend, said Paul, suspicious.

The woman ignored Paul and looked to Alma. Did you meet the younger version of yourself? Is she the one that told you to drive off the cliff? The stranger had obviously been eavesdropping.

Yes, said Alma. How do you know about the witch?

The witch? asked the stranger.

That’s what the children called her, said Alma. She said she created a lie about me dying.

Yes, that was me. I didn’t know the children had started calling me a witch though. She smirked. I guess that’s appropriate.

Wait, said Paul as he began to understand who he was speaking with. Are you Oliver’s assistant? The one that drew the pictures in his book?

Yes. My real name’s Rosemary, and I’m here to help put an end to what Oliver’s done here.

One of the nurses in the other room, where the awakened sleepers were writhing, screamed, We need help. Please!

Rosemary looked back into the other room as Paul turned to Alma and said, Stay here. I’ll go see what they need.

Rosemary and Paul headed back into the large area where the female sleepers had suddenly and violently awoken. The women had been in a near-coma state for sixteen years, and their muscles had atrophied to the point of uselessness. When they’d rolled off their beds, they smashed onto the unforgiving floor, cracking their brittle bones and leaving them helpless and in pain. The women’s faces lay against the tile, their mouths opening and closing as vomit and spittle leaked forth – all of their eyes were open and searching.

Only the girls, said Rosemary as she walked to stand beside a male sleeper that still stared helplessly at the ceiling, lying on his bed and not writhing like his female counterparts.

The two nurses, Helen and Rachel, were hoisting a woman off the floor and onto one of the gurneys. The frail, thin sleeper’s head rolled back and forth as she moaned. Help us get them back on the beds, said Helen.

Paul and Rosemary went to the nearest fallen sleeper and began to gingerly lift her. As Paul situated himself at the fallen woman’s upper half, he asked, Why is it that only the girls woke up?

The Skeleton Man would use the boys in the town to help him create his lies, said Rosemary before they lifted the quivering sleeper to her bed. Then they latched her down with restraints that hadn’t been used to hold the sleepers down in quite some time. When I created a lie about…

Wait, said Paul as he shook his head in disbelief. Sorry, but this is all a bit confusing. You created a lie?

They moved to the next fallen sleeper and Rosemary tried to explain. I don’t understand all of it either, but I’ve spent the last five years trying to sort through the things I saw in this town.

Oliver said you were a psychic of some sort, said Paul.

Where is he? Is he still in the facility?

Paul looked over at Helen and Rachel and asked, Where did Oliver go?

The two nurses looked puzzled and then Helen answered, I’m not sure. He couldn’t have gotten far.

Paul grumbled and looked at Rosemary. He was here. I put a bullet in his foot, so he shouldn’t be hard to find.

I can find him easily enough, said Rosemary, unconcerned. I have a feeling I know where he went.

They moved to the next sleeper as Paul pressed the stranger for more information. You still haven’t explained what you meant by ‘creating lies.’

This will be a bit hard to believe, said Rosemary.

I’ve given up on disbelief, at least as far as this crazy fucking town goes.

I think Oliver and his company discovered another dimension, and there’s intelligent life there.

You mean like aliens? asked Paul, absently allowing a skeptical tone to infect his words.

No green guys in flying saucers or anything, said Rosemary. They’re all around us, inside of inorganic objects. She rattled the edge of a sleeper’s gurney. Like this bed. They don’t exist like you and I; they don’t eat and breathe. They’re entities that normally can’t interact with us.

And Cada E.I.B. figured out a way to talk to them?

No. Rosemary shook her head as the two of them walked over to another woman that was writhing on the floor. Oliver and his company just discovered that they existed. I don’t know how, or why, but they did something here sixteen years ago that brought the creature closer to us. It took control of the town, and the people in it.

Is that The Skeleton Man?

I don’t think so, said Rosemary. I think The Skeleton Man was created by the other one, the one they call The Watcher.

Why do they call it that? asked Paul.

Because it’s always watching. Rosemary tapped another of the beds, clicking her nail on the metal railing. The Watchers are in everything. They’re in the walls, watching us, studying us. And Oliver figured out a way to bring them closer. I’m fairly certain of that part, but the rest is more conjecture than anything else.

Well, clue me in, said Paul. Because I haven’t got even the slightest clue as to what the fuck is going on.

I think The Watchers speak to us through dreams. When we’re awake, we have no knowledge of their presence, but when we’re asleep they can reach out to us. I don’t think they have much of an influence over most of us, but whatever Oliver did here in Widowsfield gave one of The Watchers a tighter grip. All of the people in the town on March 14th, 1996 fell unconscious, and they were put into The Watcher’s version of reality.

Into his dream?

Yes, said Rosemary as the two paused. Although, he was careful to trick them into thinking it was real. The dream only lasts about fifteen minutes, and it always starts just before 3:14 on March 14th, 1996. When he first started creating these dreams, he made them similar to how life would’ve normally played out for the people that lived here. Then he started changing things, just slightly, and turning the dream into a nightmare. With each new change he was able to twist their recollection, just like I did with Oliver’s book. And that’s where The Skeleton Man came in.

You mean Ben, right? asked Paul.

Not exactly, said Rosemary. But, speaking of Ben, we need to hurry up and find him. Hopefully he’s here, with the other sleepers somewhere.

No, he’s not, said Paul.

Rosemary became concerned as she asked, Do you know where he is? Is he dead?

No, Alma’s dad showed up and took him.

Rosemary walked away from him, and headed back towards the room where Alma and the others were. She was clearly upset by Paul’s revelation. He followed behind and asked, What’s wrong?

I’m not sure, said Rosemary as they made their way through the maze of gurneys and crying women. I have to find out more about what happened to your friends.

They got back to the other room where Alma, Stephen, Rachel, and Jacker were standing by the bed that Aubrey was laying on. Alma looked up at Paul as they came back in the room and said, She’s gone. Aubrey’s dead.

Paul nodded, having already come to the realization that Aubrey was gone. He didn’t know the girl very well, but she didn’t deserve to die in Widowsfield this way. No one did.

Rosemary was undeterred by Aubrey’s death. Alma, you need to tell me what happened to you. I need you to try and remember everything you can.

It’s… Alma struggled to remember, and closed her eyes to try and bring the dreams back, but she shook her head and said, It’s all a jumble.

Try harder, said Rosemary impatiently.

Alma appeared offended, but did what she could to recount what had happened while she was unconscious. We kept appearing in the van, on our way into Widowsfield. Sometimes we would make it into town, but it was always in 1996, like we’d traveled back in time. She looked at Rosemary for approval.

Go on, said Rosemary while motioning for Alma to continue.

After being in the town for a few minutes, fog would roll in. It was thick, and slid across the ground like it was heavy.

Rachel interrupted, And there were green lights flashing inside of the fog, almost like there was a storm in it.

Right, said Alma in agreement. And I think the children were in there too. They went in there to die.

Rosemary shook her head in disagreement. No. The Skeleton Man tricked them into thinking he cared about them. They would go to him, hoping that he’d protect them from the red-haired woman.

Terry, said Alma. The red-haired woman was my father’s girlfriend, a meth-addict named Terry. She owned the cabin, and she had a dog named Killer that she used to tell us was a werewolf.

She’s the one that died there? Rosemary asked Alma, who nodded in response. She got trapped while she was dying.

What do you mean? asked Jacker. Like her soul got trapped?

Rosemary nodded and said. Yes. There was another woman that died right when the fog first swept over the town. Her name was Amelia Reven, but The Watcher and The Skeleton Man didn’t trap her. She died before the fog got to her, before it blotted out the light. Terry, on the other hand, was stuck in the town with everyone else, but she wasn’t controlled by The Watcher.

Who’s The Watcher? asked Stephen.

He’s the one that controls everything that happened in your dreams, said Rosemary.

I thought The Skeleton Man was, said Alma.

Rosemary shook her head. No. He was just a guardian. I think The Watcher used your brother’s experience at the cabin to create the nightmares that you saw, but then he kept changing things to make the dreams worse. I’m not sure I’m right, but I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’m a psychic, or more specifically I’m a psychometric. That means that I can pull memories out of physical objects, but I was never able to do it consistently until I came here to work with Oliver.

Who’s that? asked Rachel.

He’s the one in charge of this place, said Paul.

In the real world, right? asked Jacker, which at first came off as a bizarre question, but which Paul then realized was astonishingly cogent.

Yes, answered Rosemary, relieving Paul of the responsibility of discerning what was and wasn’t real anymore. She continued, I helped him recreate what happened here leading up to March 14th, 1996.

So you’re the reason there were mannequins everywhere, said Rachel as the rest of the group also began to understand Rosemary’s role in what had happened in the town.

Yes. He wanted my help putting the town back together, like the whole place was just a puzzle waiting to be finished.

What happens when he finishes it? asked Rachel.

Let’s hope we never find out, said Rosemary. I did what I could to make sure he never put everything back together exactly as it was, but I don’t think the inanimate things matter as much as… she looked at Alma and added, the living things.

My brother and I? asked Alma.

Rosemary nodded. When I was at the house on Sycamore, I realized that The Skeleton Man was fixated on you. You distracted him, and you’re the reason he started changing the dreams.

How did I do that? asked Alma.

When your mother brought you back here, when you were ten; not long before she tried to kill you.