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.
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THERE'S SOMETHING WICKED STALKING WICKFORD HALL...
As war rages on, Mildred Cunningham...
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Fog snaked between the dense rows of headstones that leaned haphazardly in the soft earth. Millie looked down at them as she passed, gravel crunching underfoot, trying to glimpse their names, but most had been worn away by time.
By now, as she reached the churchyard, Millie was freezing. The tips of her fingers had gone numb and pale, and her nails had purpled. The skin on her nose and cheeks burned and itched.
Maybe freezing to death wouldn't be so peaceful after all, Millie thought as she hurried up the stone steps to the chapel doors.
The twin doors were made of solid dark stained wood and rose overhead, double-wide and twice her height, riveted with black iron bars. Its iron handle burned in her frozen hand as she took hold, but Millie kept her grip and pulled. The door rattled but didn't give.
It was locked.
Millie cursed under her breath and struck at the door, which only made her hand burn more. She turned, looking back at the house. Deep in the fog, it was just a large shadow, looming in the distance. A debate raged in her head, arguing whether she should just swallow her pride and return to where it was warm and safe.
But she couldn't do it. She hated that place more than ever. She wished she could just hide out here forever...
Gritting her teeth, she left the chapel steps and turned the corner, travelling alongside the side, in hopes of finding another door that had been left open. There was an exit at the back, but a quick tug on that door told her it was locked, too.
Millie was starting to shake now. The fog had dampened her cardigan, and it hung heavy on her whittled frame. She hurried back around the building, looking for another way in. As she paced, she noticed small, narrow windows along the foot of the stone walls, fenced in by iron gates. The room beyond the window was all stone, but the window's glass was too grimy to see much more.
Millie wondered if she could squeeze past the iron fence, kick in the glass and slither through, but she quickly abandoned the idea. In better times, she might've mustered the brawn, but the cold had sapped her strength. Her muscles had gone stiff and rigid, and it was getting harder to walk. Millie hobbled on, turning now to the churchyard.
There had to be somewhere else for her to hide out for a while. She wove between them, searching for a shed, or even a mausoleum—anything to give her shelter, just for a bit. She headed out into the churchyard, diving deeper into the sea of tombstones.
Soon the fog obscured the church, and Millie was surrounded on all sides by the stone monuments. Millie was shocked by their number. Usually, these private churchyards were small, keeping only the dead of the noble families that occupied the manor, but here there were so many...
Had the nuns kept adding to the number once they took over Wickford?
Whatever the reason, Millie was lost in them now. Wreathed in fog and stone, she had gotten all turned around. Was the shadow behind her the church, or the school? Whenever she headed in one direction, it was as though the fog swallowed up the shapes again, and she was going in the wrong direction.
