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Nash never returned to school after five of our classmates were slaughtered by his dad, a man who made me hot chocolate with a mountain of marshmallows whenever I came over.
Jackson Whitmore was two people: the welcoming dad and the cold-blooded killer.
I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to trap my emotions inside.
Usually I can convince almost anyone of anything—you’ve just got to say whatever the lie is with conviction—but
but we never got to wear them because trick-or-treating was canceled, and his dad was arrested. We were going to be prisoners. Ironic.
Adi only likes drama that she’s not involved in.
It used to be my favorite holiday.
But he was kind to me, and you can hardly hold it against someone for being a private person. That is, until they start murdering kids.
But I was always met with a smile and a hot chocolate.
Her bad for trusting him, really. I wouldn’t trust him to babysit an egg.
“No,” I breathe. Straightening my back, I say, “No. Jackson’s serving a life sentence in a federal prison in Pennsylvania. He’s locked up and two states away.”
That’s when I see him. Between the little bookstore and the pharmacy, facing Party Town and staring straight at me. Nash.
Or maybe I’m being paranoid and reading too much into it.
As soon as I manage to ditch Adi, I’m heading straight out to Nash’s farm.
As soon as we’re allowed to leave, I think I’ll go home and take a shower.”
How do you go from watering sunflowers to stabbing high school seniors?
I’m left with my imagination, which seems to always veer to the negative side.
I want to be gentle with him, but I also want to whack him with something hard.
Last year, there were two more murders in the week leading to Halloween: a double murder on Devil’s Night and, finally, an arrest in the early hours of Halloween.
just disappearing around the side of the launderette, is a hooded figure with a white mask.

