The Doll Maker, #24. Unable to see, I grabbed whatever fabric I could to cover my head.
Where was Red?
Where was Charlie?
Another large dark object broke into the attic as lightning bolted through the sky.
All I could think of was the gods were angry.
Pressing against something soft on the floor, I screamed.
No, it must be Red. Was she dead?
Leaning against something I…
It was a tree. A tree had fallen through the attic window.
“Here I am! I’m over here,” it was Red and Charlie, huddled by the trunk. I tossed blankets over them and felt around for my lantern.
There she was, standing straight up by the trunk, her long hair flowing in the wind.