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Then he said, very softly, “I’m ready to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?”
He opened his backpack and took out a rusted tin box.
“I found this under the attic floorboards.”
He set it on the table between us. Inside was a silver necklace I had given Alice years ago, a faded photograph, and several letters tied together with blue ribbon.
There was a second note, shorter.
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If you are reading this, something happened, and I could not come back when I promised. I hid this before I left because I was already afraid. Someone has been watching me. If one of the children finds this when they are old enough to understand, go to Blackwood Chapel. If I am not there, wait until nightfall.
There was a second note, shorter.
Do not trust everyone who mourned me.
He looked ashamed. “A week.”
“What kind of messages?”
