Page 86 of The Unknown

Julianne isn’t there.

She’s nowhere.

I turn around and head back to the main house, hoping against hope that Julianne did the same, somehow bypassing me in the fog. When I reach the oak, I let out a gasp so loud it sends birds shooting from thetrees and wheeling in the air above the island. I do the opposite, freezing, not daring to move.

Julianne’s dress is already in the upper reaches of the tree.

An impossibility I can’t begin to understand.

All I know—without a single doubt—is that it means she, too, is gone.

June 14, 1926

Phoebe Minafer vanished during the night.

Her cottage is empty, and her dress hangs in the oak, just like the others.

I discovered it early this afternoon after an absurdly long slumber. I slept for hours and hours, which I blame on worry and sheer exhaustion. I’d had another nightmare that I’m now convinced was no such thing. It was the same as the others, seeing the Darkness, looking exactly like Daddy, passing by the cottage. Giving chase into the woods. Seeing Mrs. Minafer on the rock, muttering a prayer as the Darkness, pretending to be Daddy, raised its blade.

Fortunately, I woke up before I could see the rest.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Minafer is now gone.

The only thing I felt as I saw her dress hanging limply in the branches next to the others was relief that mine wasn’t also there. A shameful reaction, I know. I should have felt sadness or anger or fear. And even though I do feel all of those things now, I couldn’t help but be relieved that I had made it through another night.

For that, I thank the daisy wheel. It had done its job protecting me.

Now I am about to do yet another search of the island, just in case this time will yield a different result. Mrs. Semple has insisted on going with me. I suppose she’s worried that I, too, will vanish and that she’ll be left all by herself on New Avalon.

I fear that if we don’t do something soon, that is exactly what will happen.

Twenty-Two

I sit in the parlor, where the afternoon sun streams onto Daisy’s diary placed atop the table. I turn to a page at random, scouring the text, searching for what, I’m not quite sure. Hints, I guess. Now that I’m certain what happened then is happening again, I need to find a way to stop it before it’s too late.

If that’s even possible.

It’s certainly too late for Julianne.

And Heather.

And Susie.

I feel grief bubble up in my chest just thinking how all three might be gone for good. That can’t be possible, can it? That they just ceased to exist? I’m still in denial about it, even after spending the morning circling the entire island, futilely looking for signs of their continued existence. It was a long, exhausting hike that required me to pick my way along the shore, stepping over rocks, ducking trees, making the steep ascent along the cliff on the island’s northern end and then scrambling back down the other side.

Making it worse is that I did it all in my blue dress, which by now smells like an athletic sock that’s endured a marathon. Why I put it on isbeyond me at this point. I assume it’s out of habit. Or maybe an unconscious wish for the situation to return to what was originally intended. An acting exercise. Character building. Group bonding. Instead, the group has been winnowed down to only three of us.

Violet and Ronan reacted just as you’d expect to the sight of Julianne’s dress in the tree. Ronan stayed at a distance, his body coiled and ready to run, like he thought he’d also vanish at any second. And even though Violet remained close, gripping my hand, I could tell she, too, was scared. Her palm was clammy and cold as a corpse. She trembled, too, the jittery motion transferring from her body into mine.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Ronan said.

“In our room.”

Violet let go of my hand. “Why did she leave?”

“She swore Dean was outside. But I looked and there was no one there. Yet she insisted on it. Said she had to talk to him. Then she shoved me, fled the room, and ran outside. I chased after her, but it was too late. She was justgone.”

My voice cracked on that last word, because even though it was the only way to describe what had happened to Julianne, it also felt so inadequate. Four meager letters summing up an entire human being’s erasure.