Cecily rolls her eyes. “You two are awful.” She turns her head upward and shouts, voice echoing across the house: “If there are any ghosts lurking around here—go after these two, not me! Leave the makeup girl alone!”
CHAPTER 9
Cecily
The camera flashes. The triplets smile so wide that Cecily feels the sides of her mouth begin to wobble.
“Is that the last one?” she asks, stepping down from a stool and tossing a screwdriver onto the kitchen floor. Today, they’re playing renovation. Perfect and fake. Right on-brand. “These overalls are killing me. So not flattering. Don’t even pretend that Mom didn’t pick out this outfit,” she says.
“That obvious?” Amber asks, but she looks pleased.
“You’re the fashion guru! Are you sure you can’t convince Mom that this look is just not working?”
“What do they think we do, renovate dressed like farmers?” Rudy’s tone is wry.
Amber laughs. “Hey, if one of you wants to pick a fight with Mom about overalls, be my guest,” she says, checking the readout and giving them a thumbs-up. “But that will mean retaking all these photos in new outfits,” she adds with an evil grin.
Rudy makes a face. Amber checks the readout and mimes a high-five.
“Next time, then,” Cecily says, unbuttoning the overalls and letting them fall to the floor. She straightens the gym shorts and designer T-shirt she was wearing underneath and steps out of the overalls, reaching into the fridge for a Diet Coke. “How much longer are Mom and Dad going to make us pretend to renovate houses with them?”
“That’s what we do,” Amber says.
“That’s what our parents do,” Cecily replies. She watches Amber’s face, hoping for a reaction. Even just a little smile like the one she got before. Anything to let her know she’s not the only one who’s pretty much had it today.
Amber switches the camera off. Cecily sighs as she looks at her brother and sister, still decked out in spotless “paint clothes” their mom chose for them, which cost more than an average seventeen-year-old’s entire wardrobe. They’d spent the past several hours posing with various power tools, “concentrating” on renovation-related content.
Cecily glances at the clock and realizes the end is in sight. They’re supposed to be done with this photo shoot and gone within the next fifteen minutes, when Joseph and the real crew will arrive to demo the rotting kitchen cabinets and knock down a wall or two to make it a true open-concept, per Mrs. Cole’s vision.
Just then Mrs. Cole appears in the kitchen hall and asks to see the fruits of their labor. She frowns a bit as she looks through the photos. “Cecily—try to smile as much with your eyes as your mouth. Otherwise, gorgeous. We need more of you—we’re going to try and reel in some more sponsors; maybe we can do some concept shoots later today.”
Cecily stiffens. Of course. She doesn’t know if she can handle any more sponsors, any more perfect. Her mom continues. “The real crew will be here in ten. Amber, want to give me some of the best stats from this week? Did you all make it on trending?”
“I’ll check.” Amber whips out her phone. As Cecily watches, Amber scowls. But only for a moment. Then Amber rattles off the usual report about engagement and increased follower count in a stiff, far-off voice, throwing in a few words about how the deaths and Rudy’s brief livestream mention of ghosts have dominated the comments. Mrs. Cole nods, seemingly placated. Amber shoots her siblings a look. “I forgot something,” she says. “In my bedroom.”
That’s all she has to say. Rudy and Cecily follow her upstairs and into her room, where she locks the door after they all settle in. She’s only just begun to unpack; clothes and various electronics are spread throughout the room. Rudy sits on her bed next to a couple of their external hard drives, which contain archives of old content. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“That account is back,” Amber says solemnly. Cecily feels her stomach twist. “The . . . follower.” Cecily lets out a slow, shaky breath. She hasn’t been able to get the image of the turret out of her head. Streaked with blood. So far, every time she’s sat at her desk to work on makeup in the turret room, all she’s been able to think about is the dead girl—the dead girl who Rudy likes to pretend is a ghost, whose name someone is using as an account handle to mess with them. And it’s working.
Amber slides her phone toward her siblings.
Rudy lets out a low whistle. “Man, Alex is not happy.”
Cecily’s mind flashes back to the turret room, the window, the girl. She feels sick. “Rudy—”
Her brother rolls his eyes. “Fine. This follower, then. They’ve commented on all our posts now. At least, all the ones about the house.”
Cecily scrolls through the account history. After the Titanic photos yesterday, they had added updated shots of every room affected by the renovation. The knot in her stomach tightens.
Even as Cecily scrolls through the pictures, her phone lights up with a flood of notifications. She’d had her phone on silent, so she hadn’t seen the sheer volume of notifications that clued Amber into the account until now. People are sending her messages, tagging her—because the follower is leaving more comments. Some on every photo.
Leave This House Alone.
You touch those walls, I touch you.
Get out.
Get out.
Getoutgetoutgetout.
GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.
Cecily shivers. Rudy laughs, but it sounds forced. “Can ghosts even make Instagram accounts?”
Cecily gapes at her brother, trying to figure out if his bravado is real or not. Why isn’t he stressed out? How can he be so . . . cavalier about this? “This is creepy. We need to talk to Mom.”
“As if she’ll do anything about it,” Amber
