The ghost of Cally Frasier peered out of an attic window. A shadow floating in shadows, she stared down at the front yard and watched as the new family started to move into the house.
My house, Cally thought.
99 Fear Street.
The house where I lived. And where I died.
“You will be sorry,” Cally’s ghost murmured bitterly. “I promise you will be sorry.”
No one heard Cally’s bitter promise. That didn’t matter.
She would make it come true.