Over and over again, Erica told herself that she was crazy. There was nobody watching her at cheerleading practice. Or as she walked home. Or when she was stopping her handsy boyfriend at second base. It was just her overactive imagination, that was all.

Or was it?

She had heard the stories about what went on in her house generations before her family took up residence. But that was all they were—just stories, tall tales told and retold for the singular purpose of giving gullible young girls goosebumps.

Right?

They had to be. If they weren’t, what could she do? Who could she tell? Where could she hide? If even half of what she had heard was true… God. The thought alone made her sick. And, scarier still, it also made her home sick!