— Aili’s POVI don’t think I’d ever slammed a door so hard in my life.The three of us just stood there in the hallway, gasping for air like we’d run a marathon instead of twelve steps up from the basement.Brandon was the first to speak.“Okay. Nobody panic—”He glanced at me and Nick and winced. “—actually, yeah, panic a little. That was not just a draft.”“Drafts don’t wail,” I shot back, still clutching the flashlight like a weapon.Nick rested his arm on the stair rail, trying to look calm but his jaw was tight.“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Aili, you should get some rest. We’ll stay down here and keep watch.”“Excuse me?” I blinked at him. “You honestly think I’m going upstairs to sleep—by myself—while that thing is having a basement slumber party? Absolutely not.”Brandon let out a small laugh. “Can’t blame her. I wouldn’t sleep either.”Nick frowned, thinking, then nodded toward the living-room couch.“Alright. Stay down here with us. Couch is all yours. We’ll keep wat

AiliI woke up smiling.For once, there were no screams in my dreams. No banshee whispers tugging me awake. Just the morning sun spilling across my duvet and the memory of last night—our strange little group helping a lost spirit find peace and a family get their home back.I stretched, feeling something I hadn’t in weeks: proud. I’d made real friends. Lisa, Sam, Nick, Brandon… they weren’t just the weird kids I got stuck with; we’d actually done something good.My phone buzzed against the nightstand. Dad’s name flashed on the screen.> Dad: “Hey, Aili-bean. Grandma’s doing better. They’re letting her out tomorrow. We’ll be back by evening.”“Finally,” I breathed. “You’re missing all the fun.”> Dad (laughing): “Fun, huh? Be good while I’m gone. No parties.”“As if,” I said, rolling my eyes, though he couldn’t see it.Hanging up, I felt a little lighter. At least one thing in my life was getting back to normal.---By the time I got to Sherfield High, the morning sky was overcast but

The scent of old paper and dust clung to the library like a ghost that refused to leave. It wasn’t anything like the cozy libraries in TV shows where people fell in love between the shelves. No, this one felt heavier—like the shelves knew secrets they weren’t eager to share.Lisa was in her element, perched at a table already drowning in books. Her glasses slid halfway down her nose, and her short black hair stuck up like she hadn’t brushed it all morning. Sam leaned back in her chair with that effortless posture only she could pull off, spinning a pen between her fingers. Brandon was standing behind me, tall enough that I kept catching his reflection in the library windows, while Nick… Nick was leaning far too close to me over the same book. His golden-brown eyes scanned the words like he’d written them himself.“I don’t get it,” Brandon muttered, flipping the brittle page of a town record book. “Why would anyone write this stuff down in the first place? ‘Beware the well at the north

Morning sunlight streamed through my curtains, soft and golden, making Sherfield look almost deceptively normal. Birds chirped, dew clung to the grass, and for once, there were no whispers, no strange chills—just quiet. Dad and Gran were finally home.The sound of clattering dishes floated up from downstairs, mixed with Dad's cheerful voice. I smiled before even opening my eyes. After everything—the leprechaun, the lost spirit, the creepy well—I deserved one day that felt normal."Morning, sunshine," Dad said as I wandered into the kitchen. He stood by the stove in his worn T-shirt, flipping pancakes that looked slightly too crispy. "Gran's still resting upstairs. Doctor says she just needs to take it easy.""That's good," I said, kissing his cheek before snagging a piece of bacon. "You're cooking? Wow, the world really *is* ending."He laughed. "Don't jinx it, kiddo."I let myself relax just a little, but that spark of unease deep inside me refused to die. All the supernatural chaos

The morning after the festival, Sherfield looked calm—too calm. You'd never guess that the town square had been drenched in chaos, that a flame-shaped spirit had erupted from the bonfire, or that Samantha had controlled an entire wall of water to trap it.But I remembered every detail. The blue glow in her eyes. The heat that had curled through the air. The silence that followed when the spirit vanished.And, most of all, the woman from the portrait.When I'd opened my eyes this morning, that painting hadn't been the same. The woman's expression had changed. Her lips curved slightly—too slightly—to call it a smile, but enough to make my skin prickle. And beneath the frame, carved faintly into the wood, I'd seen new words burned into the grain:**"The sea never forgets its own."**No "debt owed." No cry for revenge. Just that one, haunting sentence.I didn't tell Dad. He'd just think I was overtired again.---At school, everyone was buzzing about the Blood Moon Festival—how the bonfir