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far off in the woods—distinctly horselike, but just as distinctly predatory.
    Twig had never heard a horse sound described as a howl, but howl was the only word for the noise coming from the woods. Then came a whole chorus of the same sounds. Twig yelped, and Ghost Boy jumped and looked right at her. His cloak flapped in the wind with a sharp snap, and he looked as though he wanted to say something just as sharp, but he leaped onto the horse’s back instead.
    Torn-up earth flew with the horse’s every bounding step. The gate was open, but the boy and his horse jumped the fence instead, and they disappeared into the mist and the shadows, where, in the distance, wild things whinny-howled. The warmth and safety of the house beckoned Twig, begged her to lock herself in, away from the island’s secrets—secrets that were no longer content to be left alone. Secrets that were also searching.
    Twig wanted to run in and bolt the door, but the gate at the end of the driveway, the only entrance to the safe little bubble of house and stable and paddocks, was standing wide open. Ghost Boy must’ve opened it to bring the other horse in—the horse that was now unaccounted for. Twig squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and ran for the gate. The wind and the whinny-howls in her ears nearly drove her to scream.
    The steel gate was cold and night-wet in her hands. She banged it shut and latched it. But as soon as she did, she realized how stupid that was. If Ghost Boy could jump the fence, who was to say that whatever was out there couldn’t too?
    And what if she hadn’t shut it out at all? What if she’d just shut it in ? What had happened to the other horse? Twig took a few steps toward the stable. The ponies were making quiet, unhappy noises—not desperate noises, but still, something wasn’t right. Something was different. Did she dare find out what?

Chapter 10
    Twig?” a voice called into the night.
    Twig jolted and spun around. Mrs. Murley’s silhouette was framed in the doorway. Twig didn’t know whether to feel relieved or to wish Mrs. Murley would go away. She’d never know now if she had the guts to go into that stable.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Twig glanced at the stable, then back at Mrs. Murley.
    â€œI don’t suppose you’re planning on running away, barefoot and in your pajamas?”
    Running away? Twig’s mini-backpack rubbed against her hips. Oh. She shook her head.
    â€œWell, your stepmom will be here tomorrow if you want to talk about going home.”
    Twig just shook her head again. Her head was full of half-formed sentences, attempts to say something, to do something about what she’d just seen. Mrs. Murley, there was a ghost boy in the yard. Mrs. Murley, I think there might be a ghost horse in the stable. Mrs. Murley, you need a higher fence. Mrs. Murley, didn’t you hear those cries in the woods? There’s something out there—a pack of them, a herd. And rattling around those thoughts was the name Caper along with Casey’s words, The wild horses ate him , and He’s a good pony, not like those things in the woods .
    The ponies were just innocent animals, and the girls loved them. Twig shook her head again, this time at herself.
    â€œWell, then, why don’t you come back in, and I’ll make you some tea. Or,” Mrs. Murley said with a new spark of hope and enthusiasm, “hot chocolate?”
    So she’d noticed how much Twig had liked that particular part of breakfast.
    Twig let out one last shudder as Mrs. Murley bolted the door behind them.
    â€œDon’t even know why we lock it,” Mrs. Murley said absently. “Just a habit I guess. There’s no one else on this island.”
    â€œYou should lock it,” Twig said firmly.
    Mrs. Murley let out a little, “Oh.” But then she smiled. “There are some throw blankets on the couch. Why don’t you grab one and come in