After the woman left, I set my coffee down and opened the bag. Two muffins-double-chocolate and blueberry bran. I texted Adam a thank-you. I’d just started eating the chocolate muffin when he texted backPut that one down and eat the bran. It’s better foryou.

I'd like to see a world where, if a teenager fears she's seeing/hearing things, she feels as comfortable seeking help as she would if she found a lump on her leg.

Derek? Derek!-Chole Chole! what are you doing out here? i said we will check it out later. key word WE-Derek oh, yeah I decided to come out on my own. thats why i was calling your name repeatively- Chole

He bent, lips coming to mine and — 'Derek? Chloe?' It was Kit, opening the back door. Derek let out a low growl. 'Never fails.' I turned to Kit. 'How is she?' 'We’re going to take her back to the house now. She’s unconscious again.' 'Then we’ll walk back,' Derek said. 'Give you room in the van to lay her down.' His dad agreed and went back inside. As we walked toward the steps, I looked down at Derek’s hand, holding mine. 'No one’s around,' he said. 'And we can take the back way.' 'Good,' I said, and entwined my fingers with his.

There are lots of things in the folklore, like they can only be killed by a silver bullet, that don't realistically work, if you're trying to say they have existed for hundreds of years, unknown.

I could shave my head and wear a sackcloth and still get a whole lot of ghostly wrong numbers. Makes me wonder if there’s some kind of ghost-necro porn industry down there. ~Jaime Vegas

She's useful to me, I'm useful to her. As long as that continues, Rowan Street is safe from an old-lady smack down of epic proportions.