Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from She Knows All the Names by Michelle Jabès Corpora, which releases on May 5th 2026.

Fresh to the throne, the cunning new pharaoh schemes to bring unprecedented power to the Kingdom of Khetara. He commands absolute allegiance, leaving bloodshed in his wake as he searches for the missing Princess Sitamun, and at his side, the young priestess Nefermaat serves as divine counsel. Having witnessed the king’s merciless acts, Neff furtively plots to free the kingdom from his grip, though she knows the heavy price of treason.

Meanwhile, the rebellion in Low Khetara grows, and Raetawy, a courageous farm girl, leads the resistance. Her quest is clear: infiltrate the capital and free the imprisoned rebels—including her beloved father. Yet in her desperation, Rae agrees to a plan that could destroy all she is fighting for….

In the Red Lands, the thief Karim grapples with the new life he’s been given. Is it a blessing or a curse? He fears what lurks within him, yet he and his unlikely companion, Princess Sita, grow ever closer as they search for a lost city believed to harbor the secret to saving Khetara from destruction.

The ancient oracle that once whispered to these four strangers now speaks with an urgency as powerful as the mighty Iteru. The current of destiny is strengthening, but will it bring redemption…or annihilation?

Prologue

WINGS

If only he’d been looking up at the world instead of down at his feet, he’d have seen it coming.

The ibis had been poking about in the dense papyrus thickets, dipping his needle-­sharp beak into the river, quick-­quick, hunting for fish. He was a disheveled bird, his moon-­colored body and jumble of black tail feathers giving the impression that he cared very little about appearances.

But he did preen. Every morning…

They neither heard the rustle of men in the thicket nor felt the water tremble with the men’s approach.

Then: a splash. Close. Very close.

The ibis raised his head, his long, slender neck bending into a question. He murmured, low and wondering, before another splash turned his wonder to alarm.

Fly away! Fly away! the ibis opened his beak to cry.

Too late. A guttural call broke the silence, and as the flock opened its wings in unison to take flight, a net fell upon them, dragging them back down.

Panicked, the ibis flapped and struggled as the net drew tighter and tighter still, until he found himself pressed up against the other birds in a writhing mass of flesh and feathers…

Over the frightened yelps of his brethren, the ibis heard a man speak.

“Did you hear what happened?” the man said. “One of the fishermen told me.”

The other man grunted and spit on the ground. “Better not to speak of it.”

The first man, ignoring his companion’s advice, continued. “He said he’d arrived from south of Bubas and saw something strange flowing downriver. Never would have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. What do you think it means?”

“That’s for the priests to decide. We have our work; they have theirs.”

“I think it means change is coming to Khetara,” the first man said, undeterred. “Just as the pharaoh said it would! Don’t you remember his speech? ‘The forgotten floodgates of power’? ‘The currents of war’?”

There was a pause. “Perhaps.”

The ibis was pressed against one of his flock mates, and felt his heart racing beneath wet plumage. A moment later, the net was set on hard, sandy ground.

“You don’t agree?” the first man asked.

“I agree that the sooner we process these birds, the sooner we can go home.”

With that, the net loosened. There was a cry and flapping of wings as a bird was pulled out, and then a sharp snap.

The ibis’s own heart quickened with horror.

“How can you be so cynical?” the first man asked as another bird was lifted from the net. “Everyone I know is excited about King Meryamun! He has great plans for the kingdom! All of Thonis is suffused with hope!”

“Hope and foolishness are neighbors, my friend,” the second man said. “It is all too easy to enter the wrong house.”

Snap.

Suddenly, the struggle to reach the opening of the net reversed, and the captured birds began fighting to get away from the men’s grasping hands. The ibis found himself being shoved to the top, until he could see the growing pile of limp feathered bodies on the ground nearby.

“Pah!” the first man scoffed, reaching for the bird directly above the ibis and pulling it free. “Our entire business is based on hope! Hope that our mummified ibises will cure our customers’ ills, grant their wishes, and bring Thoth’s favor upon them in the Duat. Without hope, people wouldn’t buy, and we would have nothing.”

“Perhaps the new king will rule as he claims,” the second man said. “Perhaps this omen is a good one. But hope is a poor replacement for preparation. Keep your eyes open, my friend. The gods help those who help themselves.” The ibis watched as the man snapped his flock mate’s neck with one swift motion and tossed its corpse onto the pile.

He felt the shadow of death fall over him.

Then a new scent met his nostrils, riding the wind. It was bitter and strange—­and it gave the ibis courage.

The man reached back into the net, groping for a throat to squeeze.

Not today! the ibis crowed with a surge of ferocity. I will not die today!

He stabbed his beak into the flesh of the man’s palm—­once, twice, quick-­quick. Blood fountained from the wound, and the hand jerked away. The man loosed a string of curses, and before his companion could close the net, the ibis launched himself into the air.

The strange-­smelling wind lifted him up, away from angry words and reaching hands, away from his doomed brethren. He wheeled south, the mouth of the river and the green sea at his back, flying past farms and villages until he reached a great white city.

The ordeal transformed the ibis’s hunger into near starvation, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fly much longer without stopping for food. Below, he saw a lush walled garden with a pond at its center. The garden lay in the shadow of a massive structure, and although the ibis could see many people flowing in and out of it, the garden itself appeared to be deserted.

Even better, he could see the silvery flash of scales beneath the pond’s surface.

When he got closer, however, the ibis saw that he’d been mistaken. There was someone in the garden.

A girl and a cat were hidden among the rosebushes by the pond. The girl was reedy, hairless, and plumed in blue. Her bare feet were in the water, and she was muttering quietly to herself, over and over, like birdsong. Powerful energy emanated from her. Dangerous energy. It didn’t carry the lethal intent of the men who had captured the ibis’s flock, but it held dark portents. As if sensing the bird’s presence, the girl looked up. Surprisingly, her face was kind.

The striped cat looked up at him too, the pupils of her golden eyes widening. And although she looked old, the ibis could see the cat’s teeth were still as sharp as ever.

Death had nearly gotten him once already. It would be foolish to tempt fate a second time. The ibis clacked his beak in frustration and turned away.

He sailed past the garden and the buildings teeming with life and crossed to the other side of the river, the quiet side, where stone giants rose from an ocean of sand. The ibis had no strength left to hunt. He needed to eat and not become food for another. But where could he find an easy meal?

Movement attracted his attention. A single line of men, laden with goods, marched from a sailboat down into a valley inland from the river. The salty smell of fish wafted up from them, so the ibis decided to follow. With any luck, he could snatch up a bite or two without being noticed.

Sailing past the line of men, the ibis dipped down into the valley and alighted on a flat-­topped acacia tree. From that vantage point, he could see many people at work, talking among themselves, piling food and all manner of strange things, and going in and out of a hole in the valley wall like ants. Strangest of all were the bald men huddling over a great many human corpses, efficiently disemboweling them one by one before filling them with white sand.

One of the men overseeing the gruesome work caught the ibis’s eye. He was birdlike himself, his nose beakish, his plumage as dingy and plain as the ibis’s own. Even his nest of black hair was reminiscent of the ibis’s tangle of tail feathers. The birdlike man walked to one of the bald-­headed ones and said, “How much longer? We must get through the mummification rituals today, or these people will not be ready for the funeral. My father will be laid to rest in fewer than seventy days; his court must be prepared to join him in the tomb.”

The bald man wiped perspiration from his brow. “Apologies, Prince Bakenamun. We were not expecting these…” He paused. “These sacred dead. There are so many of them, and you know the rituals take time. We are going as quickly as we can.”

The birdlike man blinked, his irritation changing to remorse. “Of course, of course. It is I who should apologize. You and the other priests are doing your best; I should not have addressed you so sharply. We are all…adjusting to the new king’s doctrine.” He frowned. “But where is Montuhotep? Should he not be here supervising your work? I have been busy inside the tomb, directing the painters and engravers.”

The bald man cleared his throat. “The master says he is ill. He has taken to his bed, and I do not know when he will be well enough to attend to his duties here.”

The birdlike man ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it even messier. “For the love of Amun, must I do everything?” he muttered.

While they spoke, the ibis noted the other men had lain down their burdens and were returning to the boat, leaving the food unattended. This was his chance!

Fluttering down from his perch, the ibis landed before a delicious-­smelling package tied with twine. He deftly untied the rope with his beak and pulled back a corner of the fabric to reveal a treasure trove of dried fish. He was about to grab as many as he could carry when he was startled by a voice behind him.

“Lost your flock, have you, Sacred One?” the birdlike man asked, having left the bald-­headed men to their work.

The ibis froze on the brink of flight, his hunger battling with his fear. But the man didn’t lunge or try to kick him away. Instead, he said, “Go ahead. Take the fish.” A sad smile touched his lips. “I know it’s not easy being alone.”

Unable to believe his luck, the ibis scooped four fish into his mouth and launched into the air, his wings beating hard to accommodate the extra weight. Once he cleared the valley wall, he found a safe place to land and gobbled up the fish, quick-­quick, before another animal could get a whiff of them.

He felt better almost immediately.

But in place of his hunger came sorrow. The birdlike man was right. He was alone.

What was the ibis without his brethren? They had acted as one organism, moving in a comfortable ritual that repeated over and over, day after day. He had no idea what to do or where to go now that his flock was gone.

His sorrow sharpened into despair.

Perhaps it would have been better to die with them.

Not true. Not true. If he was his flock, and his flock was him, then within himself the ibis held all that remained of his brethren. He must live on, so that they too could live. He would find a new flock—­yes, yes. Then all would be right again.

With this in mind, he took to the air once more, heading for the river, scanning the skies for birds in flight. I am alone now, but it will not always be so, not always, the ibis assured himself.

As he traveled south, he glanced down at the river and saw an unusual sight. Men, women, and children had gathered along its banks and were staring at the water. Some were silent. Others exclaimed in wonder and dismay. It was only when the ibis coasted out of the glare of the sun that he saw what they were seeing.

Usually blue-­green in color, the river was turning crimson. The red waters flowed north, powerful, ominous, and very, very wrong.

A whisper of the ibis’s earlier terror returned.

Over the amalgamated shouts of the people, one woman’s voice climbed the western wind and reached him.

“Beware!” the woman cried. “The Great River of Khetara has turned to blood!”

Excerpted from She Knows All the Names by Michelle Jabès Corpora, Copyright © 2026 by Michelle Jabès Corpora LLC Published by Sourcebooks Fire

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘She Knows All the Names’ by Michelle Jabès Corpora appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

About His Face Is The Sun (out May 6th 2025): A new reign is coming…Romance, magic, adventure, and horror collide in the start to this lush, epic, Ancient Egyptian inspired trilogy perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo and Sarah J. Maas.

Growing up, nothing fascinated me more than mythology. Who doesn’t love reading about creation stories, gods, monsters, and the heroes that face them? For me, Ancient Egyptian mythology was the most captivating, and led me all these years later to create the first book in my Throne of Khetara trilogy, His Face Is the Sun, which launches on May 6. In it, we follow four different characters in an Ancient Egyptian-inspired fantasy world: a princess, a priestess, a rebel, and a tomb robber, as they are ripped from their lives and intertwined in a tale of magic, murder, war, and monsters by an ancient, forgotten oracle. If you like Game of Thrones, The Mummy, and The Kane Chronicles—then this one is for you!

While Ancient Egypt has always been my favorite mythology to read about and study, there are so many absolutely incredible mythologies to enjoy from all around the globe—and so many captivating books out there that explore those stories. Be sure to add these fabulous entries to your TBR!

The City of Brass by S.A. Chakraborty

This lush and magical adventure sweeps readers away to the world of 18^th century Cairo, where we follow a powerful con woman who summons a djinn warrior. An immersive series that includes mythical creatures and a magic system based on Middle Eastern mythology. Definitely a must-read!

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Inspired by Mexican folklore, this is a gorgeous fairy tale is set in 1920s Mexico. In it, a young woman unwittingly releases the Mayan god of death, who asks for her help on a divine mission that takes her across jungles, cities, and all the way to the underworld!

Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko

Full of music, magic, and many twists and turns, this is a story about a powerful heroine faced with an impossible task: win a place on the Crown Prince’s council, then after she’s gained his trust—kill him. A wildly original Young Adult duology inspired by West African myth and legend.

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

A captive princess and a maidservant-turned-priestess find their destinies entangled in this enchanting, action-packed trilogy inspired by the epics of India. There’s forbidden magic, quests for revenge, steamy romance—I mean, what more does one need?

The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh

In this beautiful Young Adult retelling of a Korean folktale, a girl sacrifices herself to the Sea God to save her brother’s beloved. But instead of drowning in the sea, she is swept away to a magical realm filled with gods and beasts and spirits of all kinds. If you liked Spirited Away, you’ll love this!

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole

In this Jamaican-inspired Young Adult duology, two sisters with an unbreakable bond uncover long-buried secrets about their world and the empire that once ruled over it. Gods-given powers, political intrigue, and—oh yes!—dragons make this series about loyalty and leadership unmissable.

The post Fantasies With Fascinating Mythologies From Around The World appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

After her parents’ painful divorce, Evie Archer hopes that moving to Ravenglass, Massachusetts, is the fresh start that her family needs. But Evie quickly realizes that her new home—known by locals as the Horror House—carries its own dark past after learning about Holly Hobbie, who mysteriously vanished in her bedroom one night.

But traces of Holly linger in the Horror House and slowly begin to take over Evie’s life. A strange shadow follows her everywhere she goes, and Evie starts to lose sight of what’s real and what isn’t the more she learns about The Lost Girl.

Can Evie find out what happened the night of Holly’s disappearance? Or is history doomed to repeat itself in the Horror House?

Chapter 2

Holly Hobbie. The Lost Girl of Ravenglass.

Evie had first heard the story when she was a little girl, just old enough to be curious about the things her mother talked about behind closed doors. Holly was Mom’s and Aunt Martha’s cousin—​her mother, Elizabeth Hobbie, was their aunt, and Holly her only child. When they were young, Martha and Lynne had sometimes come to Ravenglass for Christmas. Aunt Martha was older by five years, but Lynne and Holly had been close in age.

But that all ended forty years ago, when Holly was just fifteen years old.

Since then, Mom had never returned to this place. Not once.

Eventually, after Great-​Aunt Elizabeth and Great-​Uncle Dan moved away, Aunt Martha came and never left.

Evie looked at the room with new eyes.

In all the years of her life, the few times Holly had come up in conversation between Aunt Martha and her mother, or anyone else, no one ever referred to Holly in the past tense. Since she was never found, and a body never recovered, Holly seemed to exist in a nebulous place between life and death.

Like Schrödinger’s cat, she thought. It was something that her science teacher had told her about once—​a thought experiment about a cat inside a box that is simultaneously alive and dead.

She set her duffel down on the bed and was about to head back downstairs when she heard something.

A soft, rhythmic sound.

It was coming from the closet.

Evie’s heart thrummed, but she moved toward the door. It was already ajar. She pulled it open with a jerk and stepped back. A pair of flashing eyes looked out at her from the darkness within.
Evie sighed with relief. It was just a cat.

“Hello, you. Come on out now. Oh, what have you got there?”

After a moment, the cat padded out of the closet. It was an orange tabby, its long fur matted in parts, a notch missing from one ear. When it saw Evie, it dropped something small and wet at her feet.

It was a dead mole, eyeless and torn almost in two. The cat, its mouth covered in blood, sat with its tail curled primly, and began to bathe itself with its neat pink tongue.

Evie drew back, repulsed. But the cat only purred, winding around her ankles. “Gross,” she said, looking around for something to pick up the bloody bundle. But all the cleaning supplies were still packed. “Don’t go anywhere,” she told the cat.

Downstairs, Mom had finished wiping down the table and countertops and had started to separate the boxes into piles for each room. “These are yours,” she told Evie, pointing to a small mountain. “You can start taking them up.”

Evie opened her mouth to say that there was a stray cat living in her room but decided against it. Her mother had never let them have pets in New York, and Evie wasn’t about to let her kick this one out on day one. “Okay,” Evie said, reaching for a roll of paper towels. “I just need to—”

“On second thought, don’t worry about the boxes right now. The sun’s going down and none of us have eaten dinner yet. Can you pick something up for us from that little place down the street? I think it’s only, like, half a mile away or so.”

Evie shrugged. “Sure,” she said. The best thing about growing up in New York was that parents got used to the idea of sending their kids out into the world without supervision. Evie had started riding the subway alone when she was only twelve. Walking down the street in a small town was nothing compared with downtown Manhattan during rush hour.

“Take your phone with you,” her mother said, pressing two twenty-​dollar bills into her hand. “And don’t get me anything spicy.”

The neon sign for Birdie’s Diner glowed like a beacon at the edge of town. Above the name, written in curling red letters, the outline of a yellow bird flicked back and forth—​first at rest, and then with its wings outstretched, ready to fly.

The diner reminded Evie of a boxcar, abandoned by some old freight train, left to sink its wheels into the earth and never move again. The golden stripes above and below its windows were freshly painted, but its silver roof was tarnished like an old spoon. Half a dozen cars were parked in front, and Evie was greeted by a wave of heat and friendly noise as she walked inside.

Above the red vinyl booths brimming with customers, a froth of multicolored paper lanterns hung, illuminating the diner with a warm, muted light. A long white counter dominated the place, with little silver-​and-​red stools lined up in front of it. Alongside the chatter, an oldies radio station played on unseen speakers, adding to the sense of bygone nostalgia. Behind the counter, a stout, pink-​cheeked woman in a sauce-​spattered apron bustled about, calling out orders to the cooks in the kitchen and the waitresses flitting from table to table in canary-​yellow uniforms. Her raven-​black hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck with a pencil stuck in it. The little name tag pinned to her apron said BIRDIE.

“Order up!” Birdie called, slinging two bowls of steaming food onto a tray. “Two kimchi bokkeumbap for table four!”

The savory, spicy smell that wafted past Evie’s nose as the waitress carried it away made her mouth water. She walked up to the woman a little timidly, and said, “Excuse me.”

Birdie turned her dark eyes on Evie and cocked her head to the side. “You’re new,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, yes. I’m Evelyn Archer—​Evie. My family just moved into Hobbie House this afternoon. We’re starved, so we thought—”

“Hobbie House?” Birdie said, her eyebrows rising. She turned toward the end of the counter, where Evie realized an elderly woman was sitting at a small table next to the kitchen. She wore a floral housedress and cardigan, and looked like a smaller, older version of Birdie herself. “Umma!” Birdie shouted, followed by a string of Korean that Evie didn’t understand.

The elderly woman glanced over somewhat vaguely and nodded before turning back to stare out the window in front of her.

“Mama Bird used to know the people who lived there,” Birdie said to Evie. “They would come here to eat back when she ran this place.” A pained look passed over her face. “She won’t remember that, though. Dementia.” The clatter of a plate landing behind her on the pass broke her out of her thoughts. “So, you want to eat? How many people?”

“Three . . .”

“Ten minutes,” Birdie said. She scribbled something on a little notepad and slapped it on the pass between her and the kitchen.

“B­but don’t I have to order?” Evie stammered. “Isn’t there a menu?”

“No menu,” Birdie said, waving her hand as if swatting a fly. “I’ll give you something, you’ll like it. Okay?” Before Evie could reply, Birdie had already turned away to grab takeout bags for another customer who had just walked in.

“Um . . . okay,” Evie said to no one in particular, and moved over to lean against one of the stools at the counter. She looked around. Most of the customers were couples or families, all except for one girl who sat in a booth by herself, typing furiously on her laptop. She looked about Evie’s age and was the kind of girl she expected to see back in New York, not here. She wore a black knitted cap, and the short, curly hair that spilled out from under it was seafoam green. She seemed to be oblivious to everything around her. After a moment, she stopped and turned her face until she was looking straight at Evie with large, round eyes.

Evie looked away quickly—​she’d been staring. She was studying some interesting-​looking wooden masks on the wall when she felt someone slip next to her.

“Hey,” a voice said. “Farmgirl.”

Evie turned to see the girl standing next to her, sipping at a glass of some kind of pink milkshake from a straw. “What?” Evie said.

“New here, huh?” the girl said.

Evie rolled her eyes. “I know this is a small town, but you’ve got to have some random people show up sometimes, don’t you?”

The girl shook her head. “Not in the fall. Summer people, yes. But they stop coming after Labor Day.”

“Well, I’m not a farmgirl, anyway. We just moved here from New York City.”

“Nah,” the girl replied. “You look like you should be holding a newborn lamb or standing in a field of wheat.”

Evie glanced down at her chunky brown sweater and floral blouse and sighed. “It’s the freckles, isn’t it?”

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing. Who doesn’t love lambs?” She took a long sip from her drink.

“What are you drinking?”

“It’s Korean strawberry milk. Want some?” She held it out for Evie.

Evie laughed awkwardly. “You don’t even know me.”

The girl shrugged and stuck out her hand. “Tina Sànchez, and you?”

Evie shook it. “Evie Archer. Nice to meet you.”

Tina pointed the drink toward her again. “How about now?”

Who is this girl? Evie thought, but she couldn’t help but smile. She leaned forward and took a sip of the drink. It was sweet and creamy, touched with the tartness of fresh strawberries. “Wow, it’s really good,” she said.

“I’m addicted to them,” Tina said, staring into the glass. “Be careful or you will be, too. So, where’s your new place? Edgewood? The Glade?”

“No,” Evie said, still relishing the taste in her mouth. “We just moved into Hobbie House.”

Tina froze midsip. She set the glass down on the counter and stared at Evie in a way that made her squirm. “No way,” she breathed. “You moved into Horror House?”

Evie winced.

“Wait—​the psychic, right? Madame Martha. Are you her niece?”

“I am,” Evie said warily. “You know Aunt Martha?”

Tina raised an eyebrow. “I’m the police chief’s daughter. I know everybody. And all their skeletons.” She took Evie by the wrist and pulled her back to the empty booth.

“But, I have to—” Evie protested.

“Sit,” Tina commanded.

Evie sat.

“You know about that house, right?” Tina asked in a low voice.

“About Holly? Yeah, I mean, I know what my mom told me, which isn’t much. Just that Holly disappeared from her bedroom back in the eighties and was never found.”

Tina’s jaw dropped. “Are you seriously telling me you never did a deep internet search on this? You are a farmgirl.” She pulled her laptop toward her.

What if I don’t want to know? Evie thought, but she said nothing.

A minute later, Tina turned the laptop to face Evie. “There, it was right in the Boston Globe archives.”

Warily, Evie lowered her eyes to the screen and began to read. It was a scanned copy of the front page of the paper from December 19, 1982. A single headline dominated the front page: “Hope Fades as Months Pass since Teen’s Mysterious Disappearance.”

Ravenglass, Mass. It has been more than eight weeks since fifteen­year-​old Holly Hobbie—​known by many as the Lost Girl of Ravenglass—​vanished from inside her home, a story that has captivated the nation ever since. What could have been a standard missing-​person case quickly garnered national attention when details of Holly’s disappearance and the history surrounding her house were revealed.

Holly’s parents, Elizabeth and Daniel Hobbie, who had reported a disturbance in their home that evening, told authorities that their daughter had been in her bedroom when she screamed. When they reached the bedroom, they added, Holly was not there, nor was she anywhere in the house. Despite claims from Mr. and Mrs. Hobbie that Holly could not have left the house without their knowledge, Ravenglass police chief Richard Dixon told reporters at the time that they were exploring all possible avenues, including the possibility that Holly ran away from home. Many expected her to reappear within twenty-​four hours. However, those hopes faded quickly as days passed with no sign of the missing girl.

Holly’s parents were under investigation for a brief time, dragging the two into the national spotlight, but without evidence, the investigation was dropped.

Holly Hobbie’s disappearance raised suspicions, and a touch of fear, for some residents of Ravenglass who are familiar with the local legend tied to that very house. First built in the mid-nineteenth century, the house is a historic landmark that had a story of its own long before the Hobbies lived there.

According to legend, the original occupant of the home in the 1850s was discovered inside the home, dead from a shotgun wound. His murder was never solved, and his only child—​a young girl colloquially called the Patchwork Girl for the dress she had always worn—​disappeared the same day, never to be found.

There has been no further investigation into Holly’s whereabouts. She is remembered by her family and friends as an Honor Roll student who loved animals and considered herself an amateur local historian . . .

“Order up for Evie Archer!” Birdie called from the counter.

“I’ve got to go,” Evie said to Tina, standing. “My mom is waiting.”

Tina sighed. “Fine, but you’re not getting away from me that easily. Will you be going to RHS on Monday?”

“Yeah, sophomore year.” Evie wasn’t thrilled to be starting at Ravenglass High nearly a month after the school year had started—​being the “new girl” was hard enough without it being so obvious.

“Oh, awesome!” Tina replied. “I’ll see you there. We have a lot to talk about.”

Evie turned away, her happiness at already having a friend in Ravenglass tempered by what she’d read about Hobbie House. Does it really matter what happened there forty years ago? she wondered. Evie didn’t think so. The past was dead and gone. Evie had no interest in looking back.

She was making her way to the counter when a hand grabbed her by the arm. Evie turned to see Birdie’s elderly mother looking up at her from her chair, her eyes cloudy with cataracts.

“Holly,” she said, her voice a harsh rasp. “I haven’t seen you in so long.” Her grip was remarkably strong.

Evie blinked down at her. “What? No, I’m not—”

“Come closer,” Mama Bird said, motioning.

Evie swallowed and bent down until her ear was next to the old woman’s lips. “I want to tell you a secret, Holly. Can you keep a secret?”

Suddenly the air inside the diner felt hot and close, the friendly chatter too loud. “Yes,” Evie whispered, despite herself.

“Evie Archer!” Birdie’s voice cut through the moment, and Evie stood up straight, her heart pounding.

“I’m sorry,” Evie said to the older woman, pulling away. But Mama Bird would not let go. Her gnarled fingers dug into the meat of Evie’s arm.

“Oh, Umma . . . ,” Birdie said when she caught sight of them. She hurried out from behind the counter and laid a smooth white hand over her mother’s wizened one, whispering in Mama Bird’s ear until the grip on Evie’s arm relaxed. “She doesn’t mean any harm,” Birdie said, patting her mother on the shoulder. “Just gets confused sometimes.” She walked back to the front counter and grabbed a bulging yellow plastic bag. “Better take your food before it gets cold. Gamja hot dogs are best piping hot!”

“Gamja—?” Evie started to say.

“Hot dogs on sticks covered in French fries.” She handed the bag to Evie. “I dare you to eat just one.”

Evie took the bag with a smile. The smell coming from it was making her mouth water. “Thanks,” she said, paying the bill. “I can’t wait to try it.”

“Hurry home now,” Birdie said. “I don’t know what it’s like where you came from, but here in Ravenglass, when night falls—​it falls fast.”

Outside, the day was dying. The last few rays of light burned like embers on the horizon, and a chill wind blew through the trees, making Evie quickly regret leaving the warmth of the diner. She walked briskly back up the street toward the narrow lane to Hobbie House, the heavy bag of food bouncing against her leg.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out quickly, hoping it was a message from one of her friends. But it was just her mother, texting to ask if Evie was on her way home. Evie replied, stuck the phone back in her pocket, and sighed.

She could hardly believe that just this morning, she had been saying goodbye to her home in New York, her voice echoing in the once cluttered apartment that was now empty. It was as if a knife had come down and severed her old life, leaving her to stumble into this new one.

Tina’s reaction to the fact that she’d moved into Hobbie House worried her. She’d thought that after forty years, no one would care about the checkered history of the house, but clearly at least some people still did.

More than anything, Evie wanted to be anonymous. To dive under the surface of the world, let the waves pass over her and crash against someone else’s shore. She didn’t want to be that girl.

The girl who lives in the Horror House.

The wind picked up, rushing through the trees like a roll of thunder, sending a maelstrom of leaves across her path, along with the heavy smell of flowers and rot. The night had deepened so softly that Evie hadn’t noticed how dark it had become. In New York, it was never dark or quiet. There were always the sounds of cars passing, of people in the street, and the low rumble of the subway passing deep beneath the earth. But here, the darkness was so thick she could almost touch it, the shadows so impenetrable that they could hide almost anything within them. Here, she could hear her every breath, and every snapping twig made her wonder what might be out there, watching her.

She started to walk a little faster.

Finally, she reached the end of the lane and saw Hobbie House, lights blazing in every window. It looked so different lit up in the night, like some ancient creature awoken after a century of slumber.

I’m home, she thought, and the word was strange, like an ill-​fitting coat. Her mother opened the kitchen door, and light spilled out from inside to meet her.

© Michelle Jabes Corpora, 2023. Used with permission of Penguin Workshop, an imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Holly Horror’ by Michelle Jabès Corpora appeared first on The Nerd Daily.