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Things in Doubtful just broke easily.
Don’t travel alone. That was another Jackrabbit rule.
This was how you survived in Doubtful. You watched. You learned. And you figured out the rules that would keep you safe.
Charles Vickers wasn’t an intimidating figure.
Until you saw his smile. It was small, chilling, and full of quiet knowledge. As though he was a part of a joke you didn’t understand. As though he was laughing at you behind his teeth.
Her heart gave the strange, uncomfortable shift it sometimes did around him. Like misjudging how many stairs were ahead and having your foot land in thin air. A drop of the stomach, a catch of breath. The slightly giddy, slightly shocked sensations as your body regained its balance.
It wasn’t one of their official rules, but more of an unspoken agreement. It was dangerous to be isolated in Doubtful. If you saw someone on their own, you were supposed to try to invite them in.
Something long and lanky moved there, its body undulating as it walked past their home.
A sign hung on the door, written in swirling cursive: Back in Five Minutes. The sign had been there for nearly eight months. Its owner, Pat Chandler, had stepped out one day and simply vanished.
If you’re going to break a rule, have a good reason.
Because a jackrabbit never drops its guard, Rhys had said. A jackrabbit runs, and it runs fast, and it survives.
“I want to know the things you’re scared of, that are unique to you. The things that define you.”
That’s why it’s a deep, dark fear, yeah? Because you can’t stop it. Not completely.”
We want to feel that we have control over our destiny, that we wouldn’t ever make the same mistakes that cost someone else everything.
Clocks wind back Windows crack Signals fall Motors stall Long red thread Someone’s dead
Rule #2: Red thread means a stitcher victim is close by.
She’d already seen three body bags carried out, and they still weren’t done.
She screamed her sister’s name until her vocal cords began to burn. And she didn’t stop screaming. Not when her voice began to distort, not when she began to suffocate from lack of air, not when her own ears began to ring from how hard she was running.
Jackrabbit rule: tell someone where you’re going.
the portraits were missing person posters, taken from around town and lovingly framed, each one suspended by a length of red thread.
A game of hide-and-seek in a monster’s house.
But in every case? No one, no matter their personality or temperament, ever made a sound?
The Stitcher waits The Stitcher takes The Stitcher cuts The Stitcher shapes
Rule #3: Stay as far from Charles Vickers as you can.
Sometimes the worst things that happen to you come from the smallest decisions. You lean on the accelerator instead of the break. Or you shift your weight on the ladder. Or you leap into the pool headfirst without checking how deep the water is. Tiny, tiny mistakes that would have been inconsequential any other day. But for some reason, the universe’s gears get jammed at that exact second, and your tiny mistake permanently changes the remainder of your life.
“Don’t go into the mines.” Bridgette took a slow, deep breath, then let it out carefully. “But, if you do, crawl away from the threads. The denser they are, they closer you are to the heart of its lair. And that’s not somewhere you ever want to be.”
It was risky to go out at night. But, then, doing nothing carried a slate of risks of its own. And he knew, from experience, which one would hurt more.
And this is when the central character of our story is introduced. Silas Wright,
Silas’s body was brought out of the mine in pieces. A section of an arm; half of a foot; the scalp from his head. Silas’s wife wailed, but his mother, Florence, voicelessly took the scraps of her son as each was given to her.
Florence brought the pieces of her son back to their family home and laid him on the dining table.
“Charles Vickers is the last descendant of Silas Wright. He has a bond with the monster that defies understanding.
Hide, hide Stay inside Windows blocked Doors all locked Hide, hide Stay inside Footsteps near Stitcher’s here
Hope’s abduction had overwhelmed her so thoroughly that she’d stopped caring about the people she treasured. She’d stopped asking herself what was best for them, what they needed, what they wanted. She’d hurt so badly, she hadn’t seen the wounds she was inflicting on everyone around her.
It turned out a person could make the correct choice, and still feel strangled by regret.
You never know how you’ll act under pressure until you’re forced to find out.