Lisey Sweet Pure Taboo File
“Uncle said—”
Lisey flinched back. “Who’s there?”
The basement door clicked shut behind her.
“I’m good,” she whispered. “I’ve been good.”
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
She was seventeen, pure in the way only someone sheltered could be—hair in a braid, cheeks dusted with faint freckles, a collection of pressed flowers hidden inside a dictionary. She believed in good manners and quiet evenings. She believed her uncle when he said the basement was unsafe.
But one August night, with rain hammering the roof and the house groaning like an old animal, she heard the sound. A soft, rhythmic tap-tap-tapping coming from behind the basement door.
“Uncle said—”
Lisey flinched back. “Who’s there?”
The basement door clicked shut behind her.
“I’m good,” she whispered. “I’ve been good.”
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
She was seventeen, pure in the way only someone sheltered could be—hair in a braid, cheeks dusted with faint freckles, a collection of pressed flowers hidden inside a dictionary. She believed in good manners and quiet evenings. She believed her uncle when he said the basement was unsafe.
But one August night, with rain hammering the roof and the house groaning like an old animal, she heard the sound. A soft, rhythmic tap-tap-tapping coming from behind the basement door.
