They waited.
Morgan hated waiting.
She made coffee.
Mrs. Bell made Kiara something to eat.
Richard sat with DC.
The Thomases avoided each other.
Clara stood at the kitchen window staring toward Bellweather, searching the town outside for pieces of the one she remembered.
Morgan kept reading Evelyn's note.
DO NOT LET MORGAN ENTER.
Not:
Do not open it.
Not:
Do not let anyone enter.
Morgan.
Specifically.
She turned the paper over.
Blank.
Held it toward the window.
Nothing.
Ran her fingers along the edges.
Nothing.
DC watched from across the table.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something she didn't write.”
“That sounds productive.”
Morgan looked at him.
“She hid things.”
“Fair.”
She held the paper closer to the lamp.
Faint marks appeared.
Morgan stopped.
“DC.”
He stood.
“What?”
“Turn that light off.”
He did.
Morgan moved the paper over the warm coffee maker light.
More writing emerged.
Not ink.
Indentations.
Something had been written on another sheet while this one sat underneath.
Morgan angled it.
DC leaned closer.
“Can you read it?”
“Part of it.”
She traced the impressions.
BLACK DOOR
Below that:
THOMAS
Then:
NOT HIS
Morgan frowned.
“Not his what?”
DC looked closer.
“Door?”
“Maybe.”
She adjusted the paper.
Another word.
MINE
Morgan stared.
DC read it too.
“That's not good.”
Morgan looked at him.
“The black door wasn't Thomas'.”
“No.”
“It was Grandma's.”
The younger Thomas entered the kitchen.
“What?”
Morgan showed him.
His face changed.
“I found that door.”
“In the woods?”
“Yes.”
“But it wasn't marked for you.”
“No.”
“Did you know that?”
Thomas shook his head.
Morgan looked at DC.
“So Grandma had a room.”
“Apparently.”
“And Thomas entered it.”
Thomas stared toward the living room.
“Maybe that's where I came from.”
Morgan's stomach tightened.
“What was inside?”
“I don't remember.”
The older Thomas appeared in the doorway.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
Morgan stepped toward him.
“What?”
He looked at the note.
“The black room.”
“You remember it?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
The older Thomas' face had gone pale.
“Evelyn.”
Morgan froze.
“In 1978?”
“No.”
Thomas shook his head.
“She was old.”
Morgan stared.
“That isn't possible.”
DC quietly said, “Retired sentence.”
Morgan ignored him.
“How old?”
“About the age she was when she died.”
Morgan's skin prickled.
“You saw Grandma in 1978 as an old woman?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“She told me I had to leave.”
“Through the black door?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I asked who she was.”
Morgan waited.
“She said…”
Thomas stopped.
“What?”
His eyes opened.
“She said she was sorry.”
Morgan's chest tightened.
“For what?”
“For sending me there.”
Silence.
Morgan looked at the younger Thomas.
He looked just as confused.
“Grandma sent you into the rooms?”
The older Thomas shook his head.
“She hadn't yet.”
Morgan stared.
DC understood first.
“She was apologizing for something she hadn't done.”
Thomas nodded.
Morgan thought of everything Bellweather had already shown her out of order.
Memories. Photographs. People.
Bellweather didn't only forget backward.
Sometimes it remembered forward.
“What else did she say?”
Thomas looked at Morgan.
“She told me not to trust the girl with the purple jacket.”
Morgan went cold.
“No.”
“You.”
“I wasn't alive.”
“I know.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Thomas thought.
Then:
‘When she comes, don't let her remember me.’
Morgan stared.
Her grandmother had spent Morgan's entire childhood protecting her from the rooms.
But somewhere inside them, Evelyn had apparently been trying to protect herself from Morgan.
“Why?”
Thomas shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Morgan looked at the marker.
ONE DOOR CLOSED.
TWELVE REMAIN.
Then at Evelyn's note.
The black door had returned.
And Evelyn had specifically warned Thomas not to let Morgan enter.
Morgan folded the note.
“We're going to the Mercer house.”
DC stared at her.
“You just gave an excellent speech about not going.”
“I changed my mind.”
“In fourteen minutes.”
“I got new information.”
“Your new information literally says not to go.”
Morgan grabbed her coat.
DC stood.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“No.”
Morgan blinked.
DC folded his arms.
“Your grandmother left a note from beyond whatever counts as death around here specifically saying you should not enter that door.”
“I don't plan to enter it.”
“You plan to stand beside it until something happens.”
“Probably.”
“And then?”
“I'll make a decision.”
“That's what concerns me.”
Morgan pulled on her coat.
DC didn't move.
She stared at him.
“You're not stopping me.”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Going with you.”
Morgan paused.
“DC.”
“No.”
“You just said we shouldn't go.”
“I said you shouldn't go.”
“And yet?”
“And yet I'm apparently friends with a woman who treats supernatural warnings like invitations.”
Morgan opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Friends.
The word didn't feel thin.
Not this time.
Morgan noticed.
So did DC.
Neither said anything.
Mrs. Bell appeared in the doorway.
“You two done?”
Morgan looked at her.
“Yes.”
DC answered at the same time.
“No.”
Margaret smiled.
Morgan pointed.
“Whatever you're thinking, stop.”
“I continue to say nothing.”
The Mercer house stood empty at the edge of Bellweather.
Sheriff Hayes waited outside.
He looked at Morgan.
“I thought you weren't coming.”
“I never said that.”
“You closed the window in my face.”
“That was unrelated.”
DC walked past him.
“Don't bother.”
The sheriff stared.
“Why are you here?”
DC looked back.
“Poor judgment.”
Morgan followed him inside.
Thomas came behind her.
Only one Thomas.
The younger one.
The older Thomas had stayed with Richard, Kiara, Clara, and Mrs. Bell.
Morgan hadn't argued.
Splitting the group wasn't ideal.
Bringing everyone to another supernatural doorway was worse.
The house smelled stale.
Dust.
Old wood.
Cold air.
Thomas led them upstairs.
Morgan's hand rested against the marker in her pocket.
They reached the back bedroom.
The black door stood in the far wall.
No vines.
No roses.
No marker.
Just black wood.
Morgan stopped in the hallway.
DC noticed.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You stopped.”
“I said I wasn't going in.”
“I am experiencing cautious optimism.”
Thomas approached the door.
His face tightened.
“This is it.”
Morgan remained where she was.
“Don't touch it.”
“I wasn't going to.”
DC looked at Morgan.
“Everybody is learning.”
Then Morgan saw the writing.
Tiny letters scratched near the bottom of the frame.
She crouched.
DC immediately said, “That is closer.”
“I am still outside the room.”
“You're negotiating inches with a haunted door.”
Morgan ignored him.
She raised her phone flashlight.
Three words.
EVELYN BENNETT WAS HERE.
Thomas stared.
Morgan's stomach tightened.
Below it was another line.
Fainter.
She leaned closer.
SHE IS STILL HERE.
The black door opened.
Morgan scrambled backward.
DC caught her beneath the arms and pulled her away.
Cold air poured into the hallway.
Nobody spoke.
Inside was not darkness.
It was Morgan's grandmother's kitchen.
Sunlight.
Coffee maker.
Ceramic pumpkin.
Everything exactly as Morgan remembered.
Evelyn stood at the counter.
Alive.
Old.
She turned.
Morgan couldn't breathe.
Her grandmother looked directly at her.
Not through her.
At her.
“Morgan.”
DC's hand tightened around her arm.
Morgan said nothing.
Evelyn smiled.
Not wrong.
Not stretched.
Not copied.
Morgan knew that smile.
She had seen it thousands of times.
Her grandmother reached for the coffee pot.
“Four scoops.”
Morgan's eyes filled.
Evelyn smiled.
“Always four.”
Morgan took one step forward.
DC didn't let go.
“Morgan.”
She stopped.
Evelyn looked at him.
Then back at Morgan.
Her smile disappeared.
“Good.”
Morgan frowned.
Evelyn set down the coffee pot.
“You brought him.”
Morgan's heart pounded.
She wasn't supposed to answer.
Evelyn seemed to know.
“Don't speak.”
Morgan froze.
Evelyn approached the doorway but did not cross it.
“Don't answer me. Don't answer the house. Don't answer anyone once this begins.”
Morgan stared.
Evelyn looked at Thomas.
“You remember the black room.”
Thomas nodded.
Evelyn's eyes filled.
“I'm sorry.”
Thomas didn't speak.
Good.
Then Evelyn looked back at Morgan.
“I don't have much time.”
She reached into her cardigan.
A wooden marker.
Black.
She placed it on the kitchen floor.
Morgan could see the writing.
EVELYN BENNETT
Evelyn stepped away from it.
“The Gathering House wasn't the first.”
Morgan's pulse quickened.
Evelyn continued.
“It was built to contain the first.”
The kitchen lights flickered.
“The rooms aren't doors into the house.”
Another flicker.
“The house is a door.”
Morgan stared.
Evelyn looked frightened.
“The thing beneath Bellweather has been trying to open it for longer than anyone remembers.”
Morgan thought of the staircase.
The Gathering House.
The rules.
The counting.
Evelyn looked at DC.
“When the time comes, don't let her choose alone.”
DC didn't answer.
But Morgan felt his grip tighten.
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“Good boy.”
DC's eyebrows rose.
Even Morgan almost laughed.
Then Evelyn looked at Thomas.
“You were never supposed to find my room.”
Thomas' face tightened.
“You were looking for yours.”
The walls began darkening.
Evelyn looked back at Morgan.
“The doors aren't the twelve you need to fear.”
Morgan's stomach dropped.
Evelyn picked up the black marker.
“The twelve can be closed.”
She pressed it against the wall.
Black lines spread outward.
The room began collapsing into darkness.
Evelyn raised her voice.
“It's the one that doesn't have a door.”
Morgan stepped forward instinctively.
DC held her.
Evelyn stared directly at her.
“Find it before the Gathering.”
Morgan froze.
The Gathering had already happened.
Evelyn's face changed.
She knew.
Morgan could see it.
Her grandmother looked toward something Morgan couldn't see.
Then back at her.
“No.”
Fear crossed Evelyn's face.
“Not yours.”
The room shook.
Evelyn rushed toward the doorway.
“Morgan, listen to me.”
Morgan stayed silent.
“The Gathering I mean hasn't happened yet.”
The black door began closing.
Evelyn shouted the final words through the narrowing gap.
“It happens when all thirteen doors are closed.”
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Morgan stared at it.
DC slowly released her arm.
Thomas looked toward the door.
Morgan pulled the wooden marker from her pocket.
ONE DOOR CLOSED.
TWELVE REMAIN.
She finally understood.
They weren't counting down to freedom.
They were counting down to something else.
Morgan looked at DC.
He already knew.
“The Gathering House wasn't trying to keep the doors open.”
DC nodded.
Thomas went pale.
Morgan looked at the black door.
Her grandmother's warning echoed in her head.
The Gathering I mean hasn't happened yet.
Then the marker in Morgan's hand grew warm.
She looked down.
The words changed.
TWO DOORS CLOSED.
Below them:
ELEVEN REMAIN.
Morgan stared.
She hadn't closed the black door.
It had closed itself.
From somewhere beneath the Mercer house came a low, distant sound.
Not knocking.
Not scratching.
A bell.
And this time, Morgan understood what it meant.
Something wanted every door shut.
