The Night Sister: A Novel by Jennifer McMahon

Author:Jennifer McMahon [Mcmahon, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Genre Fiction, United States, Thriller & Suspense, Women Sleuths, ghosts, Literature & Fiction, Supernatural, Suspense, Horror, Mystery, Thrillers & Suspense
ISBN: 9780385538510
Publisher: Doubleday
Published: 2015-08-04T05:00:00+00:00

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Mr. Alfred Hitchcock

Universal Studios

Hollywood, California

September 16, 1961

Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

I am eighteen today.

And I am a wicked, wicked girl.

Yours, as always,

Miss Sylvia A. Slater

The Tower Motel

328 Route 6

London, Vermont

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Rose

Later that night, Rose found herself back down in the living room, watching Sylvie dance; her sister was doing the twist, pivoting like a screw that couldn’t decide which way to turn, the top half of her body going one way, the bottom the other. Then, as Rose watched, Sylvie’s head turned completely around, so that the back of it faced forward. She reached up and parted her hair to show that her skull had split, forming a second mouth. A grotesque mouth with red lipstick.

“Come dance with me,” the new mouth said, the hair around it writhing like tentacles. Around Sylvie’s neck—twisted like horrid, flesh-colored licorice—was the pearl necklace.

Sylvie took a step toward her, the mouth smiling now, laughing even, the red lips stretched back. It looked obscene, like a lady’s private parts.

Rose screamed. She screamed and screamed, but could not move as Sylvie moved closer, her hair dancing like snakes around Rose’s face. Sylvie put a hand over Rose’s mouth and nose, covering them so tightly, so completely, that Rose could not get any air.

She woke up gasping for breath, again overwhelmed by that now familiar feeling of being paralyzed. She struggled to move, to bring her body back to life. When she was finally able to lift her head and sit up, she found that she was alone in the room and it was morning. The clock said nearly eight. She’d slept in. She took a few gulps of air, tried to still her panic.

A dream. Only a dream.

Downstairs, she heard voices: her father, mother, and Sylvie sitting down to breakfast.

Sylvie’s bed, across the room, was neatly made.

Rose got up and began to make her own: pulling back the covers, smoothing the sheet, and folding the top edge over neatly. As she straightened her pillow, she discovered two short, thick strands of black fur stuck to the cheerful yellow pillowcase. Rose frowned at them curiously for a moment; they hadn’t had a cat or dog since old Ranger had died. She brushed them off, then picked up the pillow. That’s when she found them: Oma’s emerald earrings, left there like a secret gift just waiting to be found.

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