Chapter 3

"Patchwork moon," Ben muttered, rubbing his chin. "Granny Stitch."

We were huddled on the rickety porch of the manor, the lullaby still echoing faintly.

"What about her?" I asked.

"Local folklore," Ben explained, his voice low. "A tale from around these parts. An old woman, driven mad by grief. She lost her family, her home, everything. Started 'mending' things. Anything. With whatever she could find. Bits of cloth, leather, animal skin... even parts of people, some stories say."

A shiver went down Chloe' s spine. "That' s... horrible."

The AM radio on a rusted table nearby crackled to life, its static loud.

"Contestants. Your objective is clear. Help Mother Hemlock find her coverings."

The voice paused. "Thirty-one participants remain."

Thirty-one. We' d lost more already, just getting here.

As the radio went silent, a figure emerged from the manor' s shadowed doorway.

Tall and gaunt.

Dressed in tattered, 19th-century clothing, layers of dark fabric hanging off her like dead leaves.

Her face was obscured by shadow and what looked like a thick, dark veil.

Mother Hemlock.

She moved with a slow, creaking grace that was utterly unnatural.

A large man, Jax, with a biker jacket and a sneer, stepped forward.

"Coverings? What kind of crap is this? I ain't helping no ghost find her damn clothes!"

He lunged at her.

Mother Hemlock didn' t flinch.

She raised a hand, long, skeletal fingers extending.

They weren't aimed at Jax, but at his jacket.

With a sound like tearing canvas, the leather jacket ripped from his body, then his shirt, his jeans.

The fabric flew towards her, seeming to melt into the shadows around her form.

Jax screamed, a raw, terrified sound, as he was left exposed and vulnerable.

Mother Hemlock glided towards him.

He stumbled back, but she was too fast.

Her hand touched his bare shoulder.

He convulsed, then went limp as she dragged him effortlessly into the dark hallway of the manor.

A dark, wet trail marked his path.

Mother Hemlock' s voice, a dry whisper like rustling leaves, drifted back to us.

"My first patch... found."