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One. Two. Three.

Silence.

The same fucking rhythm.

What the fuck?

I blink.

Gone.

A barn stands there instead.

Then a church.

Then nothing.

The farm can’t decide what year it is. Neither can the people. A woman in a white dress runs past me screaming.

1791?

A man in a vampire costume follows.

2026.

A child stands beside the bonfire.

I stop.

There are no children here. This event was for adults-only.

The little girl can’t be older than six, standing barefoot in the dirt with a white nightgown hanging loosely around her small frame. Dark hair falls around her face, and clutched tightly between both hands is a tiny doll made from dried corn husks.

“Hey.”

She looks at me.

I should keep running but I don’t.

“Are you okay?”

She tilts her head. “Eleanor?”

My blood freezes.

The child smiles.

Oh.

“Oh my God.”

Mercy’s daughter. Not real.

Memory.

A ghost.

Something.