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gone.”
    “Gone?”
    “Yes, disappeared without a trace.”
    I laughed. “Maybe she forgot to put the doll on the windowsill. Is that possible?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe the dolls fell with the wind?”
    “Doubtful.”
    I could tell he wanted to tell me more, but was sworn to some kind of secrecy. “Uncle, what happened? Please tell me. I sleep in that room and I don’t want to worry each night that I might disappear.” I sort of dramatized my fear to get him to talk, giving him my sweetest puppy face.
    Uncle Ernie leaned forward, smacking and swallowing his last bite of cereal. “We put a camera in the room.”
    I narrowed my eyes. What the heck?
    “It’s not there anymore, don’t worry. But we put a camera in the room and placed a doll on the windowsill. Precisely at 7:00 a.m., 2:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m., whatever doll was on the window that day would disappear before our very eyes.”
    “Where did they go?”
    He shrugged, taking one last swig of his coffee before moving his saucer and mug into the sink. “No one knows. We stopped putting things on that windowsill, though, and her dolls have never disappeared since.”
    “How does that not creep you out?”
    “Who said it didn’t?”
    I shook my head. “Was that window always a part of the house or was it added on at some point?”
    He shrugged, running his fingers over his mouth. “No idea, my dear. You’ll have to ask your aunt about that. I’m going to be late for work. Enjoy your first day of winter break,” he said on his way out the door.
    I glanced at the clock. It read: 6:50. My mind raced. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I wondered if I should sit on the windowsill and see if I disappeared—take my chances and see where that possible anomaly would take me. The attempt was risky. What if it only took small things and crushed me when it pulled me under? What if it only worked on plastic dolls? A million thoughts went through my head, but within two minutes, I had decided that I would risk it all to find out. Taking the stairs two at a time, I ran toward my bedroom.
    At first, I paced, watching the clock. Should I? Where would it take me? What if I can’t get back? My thoughts circled back to how stupid I sounded. Things don’t just disappear, Beth. Stop being a scared child and prove your aunt and uncle wrong.
    With three minutes to spare, I sat on the windowsill with my back against the part of the wall that stuck out. I turned my head to the left and stared out at the snow-covered mountain. With my cell phone in my hand, I dialed Logan’s number, but reached his voicemail. So I left a quick, probably strange message: “Logan, it’s Beth. I think it might be my windowsill. I’ll let you know when I get back.”
    I was about to press the hashtag symbol on my phone to get the prompt to mark the call “urgent” when I noticed I could see through my hand. My heart raced, my trembling hand dropped the phone, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a heap of body parts.

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    Okay, so they weren’t body parts, thank goodness. Once I realized that the arms and legs tugging at my sleeves and pants were actually baby dolls, I sighed my relief. They’d inadvertently wrapped into the material of my clothes and tugged on me like desperate babies trying to get back to my aunt.
    “Where in the heck am I?” The sound of a waterfall echoed in the distance. An abnormally large tree stood in front of me, its roots sticking out of the ground by at least fifteen inches. A shrub with small glowing white flowers shone like tiny stars in a darkened sky. No longer was there any snow, but instead, the beauty of a mythical land. Enchanted, even.
    I stood still, taking in everything about my new surroundings, including the minute details—the way the air smelled like apple pie and how the butterflies danced in the sky like colors of the rainbow. This place was a stark contrast to the winter weather of Castleborough and yet, wasn’t it