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“I’m not dead,” I confirmed. “I texted you when I arrived.”

“And for all I know, some redneck axe murderer could’ve taken you out the minute you hit send.”

I smiled. “No axe murderers here. Just regular people. And chickens.”

“You’re taking care of chickens?”

“Well, so far they kind of take care of themselves, but I collect the eggs.”

“Seriously? To do what with them?”

I laughed. “Eat them.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Frida, where do you think eggs come from?”

“The supermarket.”

“Well, that’s half right.”

“What’s the house like?”

I glanced around the bedroom I’d adopted as my own. “It’s big—huge, in fact. And old. But I’m pretty much only living in the kitchen and one of the bedrooms. All the furniture is covered with sheets and for now I’m going to leave it that way.”

“Sounds spooky.”

“It is… a little.”

“Are you scared?”

“I was the first few nights, but now I’m getting used to the quiet.” I hesitated. “The house came with a graveyard.”

“It sounded like you said ‘graveyard.’”

“I did. There’s a private graveyard on the property. I have to unlock the gate every morning and lock it back in the evening.”

“That’s insane!”

“I’m getting used to it.”

“Have you met any of the locals?”

“Um, not really. I had to buy a few supplies.” I pressed my lips together. “And there’s a guy who repairs headstones in the graveyard.”

“Wait—that’s a thing?”

“Apparently it’s a hobby of his.”

“Oh, so you’ve had some conversations with this guy?”

I picked up on the interest in her voice.

“Only because he saved me from a chicken. And because he’s in the graveyard all the time.” I made a face because I realized how next-level crazy that sounded, borne out by the stretch of silence on the other end.

“Do I need to send a rescue team?” Frida asked. “Cough if you’re being held against your will.”

I laughed. “I’m fine, really. How are things on that end?”

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