Chapter One CHAPTER ONE Thirteen Bly Street was an old house. The haunted ones usually are. It sat across from Flora's home, looking terribly large and unfriendly. Thick ivy and shadows hung from the wraparound porch, and the turret loomed over the neighborhood like something out of a fairy tale--the old kind, from before happy endings. A wrought iron fence encircled the house, conjuring images of cemeteries in Flora's mind. Tangles of roses twined between the bars, dotted with delicate yellow blooms. The spookiest part of the house was the attic window. It was round like an eye and peered out over the neighborhood, as if keeping watch. Flora often imagined the house was on the lookout for someone who might come inside and call it home once more. Because no one lived in a house like Thirteen Bly. At least, not for long. People had tried. They usually lasted just long enough to mow back the unruly lawn and mend a porch step or two. Some had even attempted to trim the overgrown rosebushes (but ultimately decided against it after their first encounter with the sizeable thorns hidden among the dark leaves). In the end, it didn't matter how long the people stayed; they always left. Thirteen Bly remained. Excerpted from Remember Me, Daphne by Celia Krampien All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
