But that wasn’t the point, Brennan. It was the meticulous attention to detail with which they were arranged, the almost loving care taken in their placement, the fresh flowers Mrs. Harlow placed in her carefully placed hands. Someone had cared for these bodies. Someone had treated them like puppets in grotesque costumes.
“We’re taking care of Mom and Dad,” his eldest daughter said after him. “They’re just kids, right? We’re very hardworking kids. We learned by watching. We watched for a long time before we understood.”
Brennan slowly turned around. Seven children stood in the doorway, the gray winter light behind them, and for a moment it seemed to her that their shadows didn’t quite match their bodies. “How long have they been dead?” she asked, her voice hoarse, controlled only by willpower. The children looked at each other, and something sparked between them, a silent communication too quick and complex to be childish telepathy.
The child who spoke first replied, “From the very beginning, from the moment we arrived. Mom and Dad were the first to help us practice. They were very patient teachers. They’re still teaching us. Do you want to learn too?” When the boy asked with genuine curiosity, maybe even excitement, Brennan felt a shiver run down her spine.
She moved toward the door and gestured for Morris to do the same. They had to take these children, get them to a doctor, and figure out what psychological damage the Harlows had done to them before they died. But as she led them to the stroller Morris had brought, trying not to think about how they never blinked at the same time like normal people, Brennan couldn’t shake the feeling that she was seeing things from a different perspective. The Harlows hadn’t done anything to these children. These were the two Harlows he had, and whatever it was, it had happened.
The nation would be profoundly shocked by what followed, but not for any of the reasons Brennan had imagined as she packed seven well-behaved, completely abnormal children into the wagon for the trip to Milbrook. The real horror wasn’t what had already happened at the Harlow estate. The real horror was what was just beginning.
The Harlow family arrives in Milbrook in the fall of 1889, and immediately something doesn’t add up, and that can also bring love back together—they acknowledged this only after everything fell apart. Edgar and Margaret Harlow read “Witmore,” where you can read about it, to learn more about the alarm. In small Pennsylvania towns, if something seemed too good to be true, they knew the land was cursed, the well poisoned, or something had gone wrong. Twenty years earlier, the Witmore family had suddenly vanished in the middle of the night, leaving behind furniture, cattle, and uneaten food, but the estate remains intact to this day. But the Harlows seemed oblivious to local superstitions. They moved with enthusiasm: Edgar talked about starting a farm, and Margaret expressed interest in the small but active women’s circle in the village. They seemed normal, even kind, and people wanted to believe that the oddities that plagued the Witmore family would not affect this new family.
Edgar Harlow was a wealthy and wealthy man who had been a teacher in Philadelphia for a long time but had never been to the city. He spoke precisely, choosing his words with the delicacy of a jeweler selecting precious stones. He also had a habit of staring at people before answering their questions, as if translating their words from a foreign language only he understood. Margaret was a very pretty woman with delicate features and light blond hair that she styled in a style that seemed practical for camping. She smiled often but rarely laughed. Women who tried to befriend her remarked on her eccentricities in conversation, assuming Margaret was playing the role of friendly neighbor, which she wasn’t. But these were minor quirks, typical of almost every woman, and Milbrook was happy to welcome the Harlows into her home.
No one expected children. For the first six months, the Harlows lived alone on their estate and were model citizens. Edgar attended town meetings and expressed thoughtful opinions on local affairs. Margaret joined a women’s association and proved adept at embroidery, though many women noticed that her embroidery depicted strange, unheard-of symbols: geometric motifs that seemed to move and rearrange themselves as you looked at them.
