“Someone who remembers when you used to leave milk and cookies by the furnace for the ‘house mouse.’ You were six. You wore a nightgown with ducks on it.”
“Your uncle lies.” A pause. “Open the door, Lisey. Just a crack. I only want to see if you’ve kept your promise.”
The door swung inward, and the basement wasn’t a basement at all. It was a garden. Moonlit, impossibly deep, full of flowers that bloomed silver and black. And standing among them was a man—or something like a man—with eyes like amber and a smile that knew every lonely hour she had ever spent.
“Someone who remembers when you used to leave milk and cookies by the furnace for the ‘house mouse.’ You were six. You wore a nightgown with ducks on it.”
“Your uncle lies.” A pause. “Open the door, Lisey. Just a crack. I only want to see if you’ve kept your promise.”
The door swung inward, and the basement wasn’t a basement at all. It was a garden. Moonlit, impossibly deep, full of flowers that bloomed silver and black. And standing among them was a man—or something like a man—with eyes like amber and a smile that knew every lonely hour she had ever spent.
