To escape the dangers of wartime London, Millie has been sent away to Wickford Hall, but what lurks there is far more sinister than anything war might bring.
---
THERE'S SOMETHING WICKED STALKING WICKFORD HALL...
As war rages on, Mildred Cunningham...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When Millie awoke, she wished she hadn't. Her head was aching as if it was about to split in two. For all she knew, it already had. There was a tender, throbbing line down the side of her face, and as she winced at the pain, she felt the tug of tape and gauze.
She opened her eyes, squinting against the bright lights, and felt a flutter of panic. She didn't recognize the place around her. She was closed in by white curtained dividers, and there were cries of pain coming from every angle. The air was ripe with the stench of festering flesh and something sharper. For a moment, Millie wondered if she had arrived in hell—maybe she hadn't survived the bomb strike after all.
But then she spotted a woman in a white apron hurrying past, and she realised that this was a hospital. The cries were from the others wounded in the bombings, and the stench was the antiseptic on their wounds. She heard voices close by, beyond the curtains—her father's among them.
"Pa...pa..." Millie rasped. Her throat was dry, her voice weak.
He couldn't hear her. She could hear him, though only just.
"What can we do?" he pleaded to someone Millie couldn't see.
"She's fading fast," a stranger's voice replied, low and serious—a doctor, perhaps. "None of our treatments are working, but..."
Millie wondered if they were talking about her. She could see them past the divider, just shadows against the white curtain.
"What is it? An infection? Some kind of parasite?" her father continued.
The doctor seemed to pause and then look around before leaning close to her father. They were whispering now, and Millie couldn't hear what they were saying.
"Pa...pa..." She tried again, but it was no use. Her voice was too weak. Tears rolled down her temples, stinging as they soaked through the gauze at the side of her face.
She wished someone, anyone, was there with her. She needed someone at her side to help her through this pain.
"It's okay Millie," came a soft, sweet voice. "I'm here."
It took all her effort, but Millie turned her aching head.
It was Olivia, her sister. She was as pretty as ever, her dark curls in twists that framed her heart-shaped face. Her smile was soft, her brown eyes tender.
"I'm right here, Millie," she said.
"Liv," Millie gasped. "Oh Liv, you're okay. They said—"
"I'm right here," her sister said again.
She reached over and took her hand, intertwining their fingers. Millie tightened her grip on her, as much as she could. The tears were flowing faster. She was so relieved to see her sister.
"D-Don't," she croaked. "Don't leave me."
Olivia's smile spread to show her pearly teeth. "I'll never leave you."
