I almost didn’t come.
Even with the free champagne, the five-star resort, the promise of closure. Even
though it’s fifteen years since we all finished high school.
But now I’m here. Snowed in.
And someone’s already dead.
It should’ve been a reunion. Laughter. Memories. Old friends — even if they never
really saw me. But our old prom dates are waiting tables. Our teachers are lurking in
corridors. And one by one, the people I once called friends are acting like we’re back
in school. There are eight of us.
There were eight of us then.
But one vanished after prom.
And someone knows what really happened that night. They invited us here for a reason.
And they’re not going to let us leave.
Sonya Bateman is an award-winning copywriter and novelist, a mid-eighties to late-nineties fantasy movie enthusiast, coffee hoarder, and collector of cool rocks who spent a not-insignificant portion of her childhood climbing trees in order to read books in peace. She grew up in Central New York, where the seasons are Winter and Road Construction and “not the city” is officially part of everyone’s address.
Sonya currently lives in a big house in a little city, still in Central New York (not the city), with her husband, son, and feline overlords. She writes twisty, shocking psychological fiction that may leave you suspicious of your friends and neighbors—and sleeping with the lights on.
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