The farmhouse is huge—it has sixteen rooms in total—but the ceilings are low and my grandma doesn’t clean much, so the house tends to be cluttered and dark. After I wander around the downstairs for a minute, listening, I finally hear snippets of Kimber’s voice coming from somewhere upstairs. I find them standing in the hallway outside the only bathroom in the house. Kimber’s face is pale, her expression horrified, as my grandmother leans against the wall while she pets an enormous Saint Bernard sitting beside the bathroom door. “There she is.” My grandma winks at me. “I was just introducing your friend to the Captain.” She means the dog. I wince, shooting an apologetic glance at Kimber. The Captain belonged to my grandma years ago. After he died, my grandma had him stuffed and placed in the hallway like it was the most normal thing in the world. She still pets him, talks to him, tells him good night and good morning every day. The fur between his shoulder blades is worn thin from so many years of her touch.
