She didn’t run. Her legs refused. Instead, she turned her head just enough to see past the hedge.

From the ditch, the twins scrambled out, muddy and terrified. Leo dropped from the slide, skinning his knee. Ellie’s feet clanged down the fire escape. They all ran toward Maya, and Maya ran toward the one lit window in the cul-de-sac—her kitchen, where her mom was making hot chocolate.

It was the summer the streetlights flickered and died for good, and the cul-de-sac at the end of Holly Molly Lane became a kingdom of shadows.

Behind them, the whisper laughed. It wasn’t a mean sound. It was worse: it was lonely , as if the darkness had been waiting for children to play with for a very long time.

Maya’s mom looked up from the stove. "You kids look like you’ve seen a ghost."