. . .
Katie looked up at Holly, confusion furrowing her little brow. “You don’t see her, Mommy?”
Holly squatted just outside the closet. “No, baby, only you can see the friends you make up.”
“But I didn’t make her up.”
“Sweetie—”
“She said she’s been here for almost a hundred years.”
That caused Holly pause. A chill crept under her skin, and the weird neighbor appeared in her memory to say, “I warned you.”
“Sweetie,” Holly said, forcing the semblance of nonchalance into her voice, “can you ask Lucy if she loves Jesus?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She left.”
“Where?”
“Sometimes she lives in the walls.”