The Night Sister

“Yeah, just like the last.”


“Mmm,” Margot said, playing the skeptic, looking quite grown up with her doubtful eyes and wrinkled nose. Last night, at home, Margot had said she was pretty sure that Amy had written the first note herself.

“But why would she do that?” Piper asked. Sometimes she thought Margot acted like a little old lady, serious and thinking too hard about stuff, which sucked the fun out of everything.

Margot thought for a second. “Because Amy always likes things to be more exciting than they really are.”

Piper had thrown a pillow at her, furious because she knew that, on some level, Margot had it right. Wasn’t that probably why Amy had kissed her? Just to make things more exciting? Because Amy hated anything dull and boring.

“I was even thinking that maybe she put the suitcase there herself, set the whole thing up, so we’d have this fun mystery, this game to play,” Margot said.

“Right,” Piper said. “And planned how I’d fall through the floor right where I did, too, I guess?”

Margot shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe.”

“Well, I think that’s total crap,” Piper had said.

But did she? Did she really? Wasn’t there a chance Amy had written the note from supposedly dead Sylvie herself?

Right now, still feeling the chills that came from having Amy’s mouth on her neck, Piper felt sure that she would believe anything Amy told her.

“Show me the letter!” she asked Amy now.

Amy’s face brightened. She turned and darted down the hall. Piper followed. Her right leg was killing her, but she managed not to limp. The redness and puffiness seemed to be spreading; her skin felt like it was on fire. She knew she should tell her mom, would have to tell her mom if it didn’t get better soon, but she didn’t want to get in trouble, or, worse, to be banned from the motel. She’d have to make up a lie—maybe that she’d hurt herself playing in the woods.

“Hello, girls!” Amy’s grandma called from her usual spot in the kitchen.

“Hello, Grandma Charlotte,” Piper said.

“Sylvie, what are you girls up to?”

“Amy, Gram. My name is Amy. Sylvie’s gone.”

She’s not gone, though, thought Piper. She’s up in Amy’s room, tapping out notes on the typewriter—that’s where she is.

An odd thought occurred to her then: that Sylvie had never really left. She’d been in hiding this whole time, sneaking around the house, tower, and motel. Living in abandoned rooms, hiding in closets, stealing food from the kitchen at night, making friends with the mice in the walls, visiting Amy late at night, when no one else could see. It wasn’t a ghost Amy had seen, but an actual person living the life of a phantom.

“Come on,” Amy urged, taking Piper by the hand and leading her up the steps; Margot followed right behind, taking two steps at a time. Amy’s hand felt cool. Or maybe it was Piper’s hand that was hot. She didn’t feel like herself; her head seemed to be floating up above her body like a balloon.

Amy had hung an old Please Do Not Disturb sign from one of the motel rooms on the door to her room.

“Check this out,” she said, standing over by the typewriter. There was an old sheet of Tower Motel stationery tucked into it:

Find the 29th Room.

Remember, no room is built without a plan. Find the plans, you find the room.

Then you’ll understand.



“Whatever happened to Sylvie, the key is the twenty-ninth room! Like she talked about in that letter to Alfred Hitchcock.”

“But we’ve searched the whole motel!” Piper said, exasperated. “We’ve been in every room. There’s nowhere else to look.”

Amy thumped her fingers down on the typed note. “Find the plans, you find the room. You know, my grandfather designed this whole motel. He must’ve drawn up plans for it, right?”