This was no longer about who once owned a creepy doll; I now had to satisfy this need to find out more about that necklace and the little boy wearing it in the photograph. Celestine had lived in my parents’ house all those years ago as a “companion” to this Richard Babbington. What did that even mean? Where were his family? How did he end up in Ranklin? How did his necklace end up under the floorboard of the attic? That day I told myself I was going to find out more about Celestine. I wasn’t sure how, I just knew it was something I had to do—as if my life, in some small way, depended on it.
