Page 10 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

I watched him head toward the attic steps, that word still echoing behind him.

“I’m not your sister,” I said. Then I slammed the door shut.

The sound cracked like a whip pushing me back.

Back in the present.

Standing at the edge of the train station, the platform was slick with rain. A gust of wind tugged at my coat. The world felt heavier now as if dragging me backward.

I was never supposed to leave, and he was never supposed to stay. But I left for him, and he stayed for me. And even if that meant never to see him again, I wanted to run away more than I wanted to stay, and he had no choice. He chose to stay so I can ran away.

The train finally arrived, and I boarded, sitting at seat number twenty-one, and I was on my way to where it all began.

I never liked trains. Something about the way they rattled over the tracks, the way the world blurred past the window like it was trying to outrun me.

I sat with my back pressed against the cold seat, hands curled around the strap of my tote bag like it was the only thing holding me to reality. The train was almost empty, except for a man snoring two rows behind me and an elderly woman staring blankly out the window, her reflection fractured by streaks of rain.

I didn’t remember falling asleep. But at some point, my body must have shut down because I woke up to something pressing against my chest.

At first, I thought it was just the heaviness of exhaustion. But then I felt it again.

A pressure.

Like fingers trailing down my sternum.

I gasped, sitting up so fast that my head smacked against the seat behind me. My breath was shallow, my heart slamming against my ribs.

No one was there.

Of course, no one was there.

The train continued like nothing was happening.

I exhaled shakily, running a hand through my hair. It was just a dream. Or maybe just a creeping dread gnawing at me since I left the apartment.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Like something had reached for me in my sleep.

Like something had followed me onto this train.

I turned to the window, watching the darkness shift outside.

Gloomsbury Manor was waiting.

And whether I was ready or not, I was going home.

THREE

LENORE

Thetrainfinallystoppedat the station, and I was the first to step out. I couldn’t stand being inside for another second. I couldn’t stand people, and I couldn’t stand myself enough to stay seated. I hadn’t packed a thing—like I didn’t know whether I was going to stay. But something in me did know. And still, between being stuck with Troy the cheater and a haunted house, I chose the house. Because really, how much worse could it get?

People should be afraid of people—not ghosts. Ghosts can’t hurt us. They’re just restless things, waiting for answers. But people? People carry that quiet evil, the kind that doesn’t show until it does. We don’t truly know people. But ghosts—we know them. We know what it feels like to be unseen.I do.

Maybe I was a ghost all along. Maybe that’s why no one ever really loved me. Maybe I was the poison in the bloodline. Maybe I’ve always been haunting Gloomsbury Manor, even before I came back.

I walked to the end of the station, the Massachusetts air hitting my lungs, different from New York. It wasn’t dry. It was dampand gray. And something about it felt stuck in time, like if I went back a hundred years, nothing would have changed. Not the weather, not the people.

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