Page 82 of The Unknown

“Or be taken,” Julianne says.

Ronan backs away from us like we’re the witches inMacbeth. Toil and trouble. “You’re all sounding crazy.”

Oh, I know, even though it’s technically not us. It’s the situation that’s crazy. We’re just trying to make sense of it.

“It’s not Lindy who’s doing this,” I tell him. “Something else is going on here.”

“I get that,” Ronan says. “But just listen to what you’re saying. You—all of you—honestly think there’s a ghost on this island that’s imitating people we know?”

“I don’twantto be thinking that, but here we are,” I say. “In a place where it’s happened before, with no explanation except that something supernatural occurred. Pete thinks so. He told me everyone around here does. And maybe they all think that because it’s true.”

“Butwhydid it happen?” Ronan says. “And why is it happening again? We’re talking about ghosts here. Why would a ghost lure people? Why would it want to ‘take them,’ whatever the fuck that means?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with the history of New Avalon.” I resume circling the oak, wary of it and what it holds in its branches, yet also fascinated. It’s so large, so battered, so old that it might even qualify as ancient. “Not a hundred years ago, but beyond that. All the way back to the island’s beginnings, when it was allegedly inhabited by witches. No one knows where they went or what happened to them.”

“You think that’s when it began?” Julianne says.

“Maybe? Then the island was bought by Roderick Semple, a man who made a fortune off instruments of war. Cannons and cannonballs. God knows how many deaths they caused. He clearly thought something evil lurked here—and tried to protect himself from it. Those daisy wheels are everywhere. We’ve all seen them. And all of that was done yearsbefore Daisy, Mrs. Semple, and the others disappeared, which makes me think Azra isn’t trying to finish what they started a hundred years ago. Yes, what’s happening is the same, but the details are different. What we’ve been experiencing here feels personal. I don’t understand why or how, but Azra knows exactly who we are.”

Julianne, catching on, says, “‘And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.’”

Ronan scrunches his face in confusion. “Did you just quote the Bible?”

“Second Corinthians,” Julianne says. “What we’re trying to say is that Azra might not be a ghost.”

“Then what are they?”

In her diary, Daisy never specified what, exactly, she thought Azra was. It varied between spirit and tormenter and shapeshifter. She had a name for it, though.

The Darkness.

Which means she thought Azra was something worse than a ghost. And far scarier. So scary that I’m afraid to say it out loud, leaving that task to Julianne.

“A demon,” she says.

June 13, 1926—Later

After searching the island all morning, I can only conclude that, like Katrina before her, Jonquil is gone for good. The loss is devastating, for only now do I understand the vital role she played in our little group here on New Avalon. Though it pains me to say so, Katrina isn’t nearly as missed. She was too haughty to truly fit in, too prone to pouting and accusations. But Jonquil, with her high spirits and easy manner, is different. Without her, tension and suspicion now rule.

Or maybe it’s just me who feels this way. Mrs. Minafer has said little since Jonquil vanished. In fact, she remained in her cottage, fearful, as Mrs. Semple and I walked the entire island hoping to find some clue as to her whereabouts.

There was nothing.

Not even in the wretched clearing that I now fear to tread. Still, Mrs. Semple insisted we go there after I told her about parts of my most recent nightmare. Like Jonquil before me, I stood on the cusp of the clearing, watching as Mrs. Semple approached a rock that was clean of blood.

“See?” she said. “It was just a harmless nightmare.”

“It was more than that,” I insisted. “I saw Azra murder Jonquil! Only it wasn’t really them. It was—”

Mrs. Semple looked at me then, almost as if she knew what I was about to say. She asked anyway, forcing me to speak the word I was loath to utter.

“Daddy,” I said, the word bursting out in a blast of grief. “I saw Daddy kill Jonquil.”

“Very interesting,” Mrs. Semple calmly said. “Do you really think it was your father?”

I didn’t when I first remembered that part of my nightmare. I refused to believe it. But time had only sharpened the memory of what I saw, which was Daddy’s dark eyes, his sharp nose, his mouth that always seemed to be curved into a frown. Even his beard was the same. That thatch of dark bristles that scratched when he kissed my cheek. Now I know with certainty it was him, even though he’s passed on to be with Mommy.

“I do,” I told Mrs. Semple. “I–I think we summoned his spirit during the séance. And now he’s haunting New Avalon. Hauntingme!”