Harry was not a very good clown, but his parents were clowns, and their parents were clowns, and their parents were clowns, too! And that meant Harry had to also be a clown. Like father like son, after all.

  Every day, Harry would step in front of the stands at the Starry Big Top. He would throw pies. He would tell jokes. He would pull long, silly kerchief ropes from the inside of his sleeves. The crowd would give a sensible chuckle, but they were too disconcerted by Harry to really laugh.

  You see, it wasn’t that Harry was stupid. He knew how to be clownish. It was just that he was always sad.

  He could never seem to stop crying. And my dear heart, there is nothing in this world that is less funny than a crying clown. The children in the stands would throw their snacks at him, pummeling poor little Harry with tasty treats, salty popcorn, and goopy ice cream.

  He tried to get help from the other clowns, but they just made fun of him too. They saw no reason for him to be sad. And they were right! Harry had an excellent life! But it didn’t change the fact that he was just always sad, and weepy, and crying.

  One day, Harry decided he had enough.

  He climbed all the way up to the very top of the tightrope tower, and he announced, “If I make it to the other side, I will never be sad again! And if I don’t, well, I still won’t be sad anymore, now will I?”

  And then he took a deep breath and started across. Unfortunately for Harry, big clown shoes aren’t meant for walking on tightropes, and neither are clowns. He wibbled and wobbled and toppled his way over the tightrope, and then…

  He slipped!

  Down went Harry, tumbling and turning and then—splattering straight onto the ground. Splat!

  At least Harry wasn’t sad anymore.

  I swallowed hard, staring down at the pages before me. My own eyes were watering, though I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because during one of my first meetings with Harry, he had been sitting at a TV, crying at the empty screen. Maybe it was because I had made fun of him so much.

  Maybe it was just because it was all a bit overwhelming, looking at these stories and knowing that they must have actually been the people I was thinking about; that this truly must have been the Harry I had met already.

  After all, there were only so many clowns and only so many Harrys, and to have them both be the same thing when there had already been a Tabitha that ran and painted and lived her life oh-so scared.

  It was too much.

  I slammed the book shut, and let out a heavy, trembling exhale. My hands were shaking. I scrubbed at my face, trying to make sense of this.

  These were the dolls that were there already—dolls I’ve walked by, spoken to briefly. Dolls that I’ve seen sitting here; the boy that looked almost like my father, the girl with the yellow dress. They were all in that book.

  I stood up, blew out the candle, and took the book with me as I retreated back to my bedroom. Even though I got back into bed and under the covers, I didn’t bother to even try and get to sleep. My mind spun at a hundred miles per hour, and I was so worried and nervous and confused. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

  It was all related, right?

  The Narrator, that’s who pulled me out of the story somehow. That’s what Molly was trying to say, at least. And then this book—Grandpappy had written it. I would think that they might have been the same person, but there was no way that Grandpappy and my teacher were the same person.

  Mr. Blumshire was old but he sure wasn’t that old. And Gramps would have said something if his grandfather was still alive. So, that couldn’t have been it.

  Right?

  I rolled onto my back, wondering what happened to Grandpappy. Maybe he had written this book, and then those people had appeared. That’s what happened with me, right? I drew something, then the person appeared in my dream world. When they died, they came back into this world as a doll… But they stayed in that dream world too, the way that Dream Trevor had?

  Ugh!

  Groaning, I plastered my hands against my face, fingers digging into the curves of my brows. I didn’t know what I was supposed to even be trying to figure out here! I had no help, no real guide. It was stupid!

  But… It also almost made sense.

  Grand pappy wrote about Tabitha and Harry. Then they died in the dream world, and appeared here, as dolls. And then they stayed in the dream world, too? That’s why Harry talked about missing the circus, right? Because he had been at a circus in Grandpappy's story?

  It was a longshot, but it was better than anything else I had been able to come up with so far.

  Interesting. Could it be that he had been imagined away as well? But if that was the case, why had I never met him there? After all, Molly was still there. Great. So there really weren’t any clear-cut answers to be found in this!

  That was just great!

  And I didn’t even get to really break a sweat while I was over there, either. I had made all those cool people to kill and places to visit, and didn’t get to hardly even scratch the surface of it! What a bummer!

  Rolling over, I pressed my face into the pillow and muffled a second groan. It would be morning soon, and even though it was a weekend, Grandma was going to want me to get up early for breakfast the same way she always did.

  And yep, just as I thought, it was an early morning and a boring day. I spent every chance that I had reading through that book. I only brought it downstairs once—the way Gramps had turned into a hawk watching me had been so unnerving, it had made me shudder. I didn’t want to deal with him eyeing up how careful I was being the whole time I read, so after that, it was a bedroom-only affair.

  Which…meant I actually spent the whole weekend up in my bedroom again, even though I wasn’t drawing this time. Oops.

  I couldn’t help it though. I knew every doll that was spoken about; maybe not by name, but most of them I could pick out based on their outfits, or based on the things the stories were about. I kept an eye out for the mouse, but didn’t see hide nor hair of him in the books.

  A disappointment.

  Almost as big of a disappointment as having to get up and go to school on Monday morning.

  The Invite

  “You seem distracted today,” said Grandma, partway through breakfast on Monday morning.

  I snapped my head up, staring at her. “No.”

  Lie.

  Grandma pursed her lips at me. “Quinn, you’ve hardly eaten anything this morning, and you just keep staring at the wall. What are you thinking about?”

  “A book I’m reading,” I said truthfully.

  Quickly, as though he didn’t want things spoken about, Gramps said, “Let her think, Annie. Do you remember what it was like being a girl her age?”

  Grandma huffed. “I’m not that old, Eddie.”

  “I’m not calling you old, honey. I’m just saying, there’s a lot she’s thinking about, I’m sure of it. And you know, she isn’t going to be here much longer.”

  For some reason, that sentence seemed ultra ominous. I swallowed, hard, and looked down at the runny eggs, greasy sausage, and soft toast with warm gobs of unsalted butter on it. I didn’t think I would be able to eat another bite.

  Grandma chided, “She’s going to school, not to war.”

  “Aren’t they just about the same thing these days? Wilson’s grandson, he’s having one terrible time in first grade,” said Gramps. “You should hear some of the horror stories he shares with me. Like the kid is straight at war.”

  Grandma just hummed.

  “Actually, I think I might just go in now and get a head start on things.” I stood, and several minutes later, I was heading to school, wishing I could have brought Grandpappy's book with me. It was so old though, I was certain it would have just fallen apart at the seams if I took it anywhere!

  It was a long, hot walk, just like always, and school was just as bad as it had been. Halfway through, I ran into Trevor, literally. He spun around, looking surprised. “Are you okay?”

  Flustered, I demanded, “Why’d you run away from me?”

  He was clearly confused. “Run away? I didn’t run away from you. You ran into me, like, just now.”

  Oh crap, that wasn’t this Trevor. That was the Trevor in my dreams. I felt even more flustered at that, scrubbing at my face with both hands to try and wipe away the frustration.

  “Right, sorry. I was—thinking about someone else. But you’re right, that must have been, uh, not you.” I could feel my cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.

  I could not be having a hard time keeping the two Trevors straight. That was just a recipe for disaster, no doubts about it. I needed to be able to just—put things into perspective, and make sure that I didn’t lose track of anything.

  Trevor gave me the same sort of look that my Grandma had given me this morning. “You look like you aren’t feeling good.”

  “I’m just…distracted.”

  “Is it about that fight?”

  My blush got even darker and hotter.

  Trevor leaned closer. “You know, May kind of deserved it.”

  I perked up. “You think so?”

  Trevor nodded. “She and Alice are always giving everyone a hard time. I mean, I’ve heard some of the things they said about you. It’s no wonder that you went off on her.”

  I didn’t defend myself. I did go off on May. And she deserved it. If she ever says anything about my dad again, then I’ll go off a second time!

  Trevor must have seen that this line of conversation wasn’t the most relaxing though, because he was quick to throw an arm over my shoulder. “Hey, maybe it’s time you get away from that creepy house. What do you say? I’m having some people over tonight. Wanna come over, hang out?”

  I almost declined, on pure instinct. After all, these people had been nothing but awful to me. They laughed at me. Made fun of me. Made fun of my dead dad, and my weird grandparents, and spread rumors about the house I lived in.

  Filled up with mice? Yeah, definitely. But not haunted.

  And the last time Trevor had tried to hang out with me, he had just been lying about the why. He had wanted in my house, he had wanted to take pictures and video of my basement, because everyone thinks that’s where some stupid girl died. And he hadn’t actually wanted anything to do with me.

  But—I hesitated.

  In my dream, that fake version of Trevor—it had tried to apologize to me. I mean, yeah, sure, the dreams were what I made them. But… Molly didn’t do what I wanted her to do. She didn’t come out and murder anyone with me. She didn’t come explore the neighborhood, either.

  And I had made it so that Trevor died. I had never intended for him to come back in the dream, but he did. He came back, and then he ran away. And this Trevor, he tried to apologize too, right? At the bus. I was so angry over dealing with May, Alice, and the teachers that I didn’t even want to look at him, let alone hear what he had to say about things. It had made me so mad.

  But…

  He was still looking at me. And the longer I stood there, looking back at him, the more confident and crooked his grin got.

  Trevor interrupted my thoughts. “Come on, you can’t tell me that the thought of getting out of that house doesn’t sound fun.”

  Funny, I thought. You seemed to want to get into that house pretty badly before.

  But the anger drained away almost as quickly as it showed up before, and it left me with nothing but a mass of fluttering butterflies in my belly instead. My lips pursed. The bell for class would ring soon, so whatever decision I was going to make, I was going to need to make it soon.

  I asked him, “You actually want to hang out with me?”

  “Yeah,” said Trevor, without even an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “I know you’ve had a tough time lately but… you know. I like you. You’re my friend.”

  Those fluttering, twisting, shifting butterflies just kept growing in number. It made my mouth water, almost. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had been so nervous, or the last time I had felt shy about something. But there I was, feeling both things at the same time.

  I ducked my head a little bit, and said, “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Trevor’s smile grew brighter, which also made it look more crooked. It seemed like he was genuinely happy to have me agree to come, which made me feel a bit silly for holding onto my anger for him that long.

  People made mistakes, right? And they messed up, and sometimes, things happened.

  Like Molly staying in the house instead of coming out with me to kill people. That wasn’t enough to make me hate Molly. I was more than happy to give her another chance at being friends! She was just scared, and not sure what she should do.

  And currently lip-less, too. Still trying to figure that one out.

  So Trevor…I should give him another chance, too. He had messed up and made a mistake, but it wasn’t like it was the total end of the world. He hadn’t thrown Molly or broken the doorway to the dream dimension, or anything else that was totally permanent.

  Plus, having people at school think you were cool—who didn’t want that?

  Even I wanted it. It might have been totally out of my reach thanks to Alice and May, but that didn’t mean it was out of everyone’s.

  “I mean, we are friends, right?” Trevor asked.

  I gave a quick nod, realizing the silence had stretched on for too long. That might not have been an issue with Molly, but it was one with people in this world.

  “Yeah, we are. I mean, I want to be,” I told him, honestly. I tucked a pink curl behind my ear, ducking my head a little bit. “I just… You know, last time…”

  “It won’t be like last time,” Trevor promised. “I want to hang out with you. And the party will be really fun, I promise.”

  The bell rang.

  Trevor looked up, then gave me a smile as he started to back up. “I’ve got to go.” He flipped me a finger gun. “But I’ll see you at the party, okay?”

  And then he was gone, darting down the hallway for his next class. I was so busy rolling everything around in my head that I barely made it to my next class before the final bell rang. All day after that, I was mega distracted. Nothing could hold my attention for long.

  My mind kept twisting around back to thoughts about the party, like—what was I going to wear? Should I tell Grandma and Gramps where I was going? Did I have to lie and say it was about school? If I lied and then got all dressed up, would they question it?

  What was the right way to do things? What was going to happen at the party? When was the last time I even went to a party? Ages and ages, it felt like. Could I put a party into my illustrations? No, probably not. Old women didn’t have parties, and there was no way that a ghost could have one either.

  Probably for the best, because Molly didn’t seem to like crowds, even when the crowds were just outside.

  Eventually, the thoughts got me all the way through the school day and back out into the hot summer air. I looked around for Trevor, but didn’t see him. Maybe he hitched a ride home with someone else? I wasn’t sure… But I didn’t want to get on the bus and deal with all of the other kids, so I started the long walk home through the heat.

  I missed Maryland.

  I thought that every single day when I walked home in the afternoon. I missed being able to hear the ocean waves crashing against the coastline. I missed when the fog rolled into our little development early in the mornings, and late at night, and after a heavy rain storm. I missed soft-shell-crab sandwiches, the way the state smelled—I missed all of it.

  Nothing made it more stand-out and more different than when I had to walk home.

  It was hot. I was miserable. There was nothing but the sound of crickets and Johnny Tulali, one of our neighbors, who acted like if he missed mowing his lawn even once in the afternoons, it would sprout up into the jungle. The sound of the mower was loud when I went past his house.

  He waved at me. I waved back, and thought about how satisfying it had been to run his head over with the lawn mower.

  Then I kept going, soaked in sweat by the time Hoggwaller Manor rose into view ahead of me. I brushed the hair out of my face, made note of the fact that if I didn’t get it trimmed down soon, it was going to start looking like Ghost Girl’s, and let myself into the house.

  “I’m home,” I called out. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

  It was part of my back-from-school routine. Shower, then comfy clothes.

  Only this time, after washing away all of the sweat, I didn’t change into comfy clothes. I went into my room and pulled on my favorite pair of leggings ever; they were bright neon green on one side and black on the other, and they went super great with my black and green ooze-design shirt.

  I had a cropped leather jacket that I pulled on too, then instantly took back off because even in a house with the AC running, it was just way too hot.

  “Okay, no jacket. No jacket, that’s fine. I can spice it up some other way,” I said to myself, looking around the room, then rooting through my stuff.

  Problem: a lot of my belongings were burned in the fire.

  For the first time, I was realizing that I didn’t have any jewelry I could wear. I just had my little glittery pouch filled with makeup. Alright, that was fine. I could just do a killer makeup look and it would be good.

  I grabbed my pouch and went into the bathroom.

  There was no Harry. I hadn’t seen Tabitha’s doll lately either, which I thought was pretty weird, but whatever. Not something worth focusing too hard on, at least not at that exact moment. I had a party that I needed to get ready for, and that meant, you know, not paying attention to the dolls.

  I wasn’t allowed to use too much eye shadow or anything like that when my dad was around, so I kept to the same rules today. He always said, you want to look like a pretty young lady, not a beautiful adult, and then told me to use bright fun colors because that’s what young ladies did.

  So I put on my makeup like I was a young lady, all sharp neon-green cat-eye dressing ups, and silver-glitter mascara. And at the last second, I decided to use purple eyeliner to add stars to the side of my face—but these stars aren’t scary, they’re more like what a pop star might wear on stage.