Chapter 1

My name is Iris Hollow, and I'm five years old. I live in our family's funeral home.

Most people think that's weird, but to me, it's just home. Downstairs is where Daddy works, upstairs is where we live. Sometimes it gets really quiet at night, but I'm never scared. Dead people are a lot quieter than living people.

This afternoon, Tommy Peterson's funeral is being held in the main hall. It's raining outside, and the drops hitting the windows sound like little pebbles. I'm supposed to be upstairs with my stepmother Delilah, but she's crying in her room again, so I snuck down here.

I like attending funerals. Not because I like death, but because I like helping people.

Tommy was only eight years old, three years older than me. He had leukemia and spent a long time in the hospital. Now he's wearing his favorite Superman T-shirt, lying peacefully in that beautiful box.

Mrs. Peterson, Tommy's mom, is kneeling in front of the casket crying her heart out. Her voice echoes through the hall, making everyone feel terrible. The pastor is saying a lot of words, but she's not listening to any of them.

'Tommy wants to talk,' I think to myself. 'He wants to tell her to stop crying.'

I know I shouldn't think things like that. Grandma Evelyn always says my "intuition" is special, but I shouldn't speak up during funerals. But seeing Mrs. Peterson in so much pain, I can't help myself.

I quietly walk over to her and gently touch her arm.

"Mrs. Peterson?" I whisper.

She turns to look at me, tears still streaming. "Oh, Iris sweetie..."

"Tommy says he doesn't hurt anymore," I tell her. "He wants me to tell you he's safe."

The entire hall suddenly goes quiet. Everyone is staring at us. Mrs. Peterson's eyes go wide.

"He also says," I continue, "he loves the chocolate chip cookies you make the most. Heaven has kitchens too, and he wants you to make cookies for the other kids there."

Mrs. Peterson covers her mouth with her hand. "How... how do you know about the cookies?"

I don't know how to explain it. I just... know. "He told me."

She suddenly hugs me, holding me tight. "Thank you, baby. Thank you."

I can hear people around us whispering:

"She's like a little angel..."

"I've never seen anything like this..."

After the funeral ends, everyone slowly starts to leave. Mrs. Peterson hugs me again, calling me "God's little angel." Daddy Marcus looks proud but also confused.

I follow him toward the backyard, where Delilah is already waiting for us.

"Marcus!" She rushes over as soon as she sees us. "Did you see that? Did you see what just happened?"

"Delilah, calm down," Daddy says. "Iris was just comforting—"

"Comforting?" Delilah interrupts him, her voice getting higher. "She knows secrets about dead people! That's evil!"

I look at her, and there's something in her eyes I don't like. It's not anger—it's fear. She's scared of me.

"She's not a normal child!" Delilah points at me. "Marcus, can't you see? She brings death! This house has become a haunted house because of her!"

"Delilah!" Daddy's voice is stern. "She's my daughter!"

"I'm sick of living with dead people!" Delilah screams. "Sick of this creepy place, sick of her horrible words!"

Daddy tries to hug her, but she pushes him away and runs back into the house.

Daddy and I stand in the backyard while the rain continues to fall.

"Iris," Daddy kneels down and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Mommy is just... she's a little tired. You didn't do anything wrong."

I nod, but I know it's not just tiredness. Delilah is scared of me, scared of what I know, scared of what I can do.

That night, I lie in bed with moonlight streaming through the curtains. I think about Tommy, about Mrs. Peterson's tears, and about the fear in Delilah's eyes.

Then, suddenly, I see something.

Not with my eyes, but in my mind. Clear as a movie.

I see myself standing at the top of the basement stairs. There are lots of people there, music playing, cake and streamers. It's my birthday party. My sixth birthday party.

Then I see Delilah coming up from behind. Her face is twisted, her eyes full of madness. She reaches out her hands to push me, and I fall down the stairs, hitting the cold embalming table.

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding.

'This isn't a dream,' I think. 'This is really going to happen.'

I get out of bed and walk to the mirror. In the moonlight, I look older than a five-year-old should.

I turn to look at the family photos on the wall. Daddy, Grandma, and Delilah holding baby me. Back then she still loved me, or at least pretended to.

The next morning, I come downstairs for breakfast. Delilah is already sitting at the table, but she looks like she didn't sleep all night. Her eyes are red and her hands are shaking.

Daddy is making coffee in the kitchen.

I sit across from Delilah and pour myself a glass of milk. She stares at me like I'm something dangerous.

"Good morning, Mommy," I say sweetly.

She doesn't answer.

"Mommy, did you know that dead children really like talking to me?" I continue while drinking my milk.

"Don't... don't say that..." her voice is small.

"Tommy visited me last night," I lie, but I say it naturally. "He said he's very happy in the other place. There are lots of friends there."

Delilah's face turns even whiter.

"They say this place is safe," I continue innocently, "because I'm here protecting it. They say some people want to hurt our family, but they'll tell me about it."

"Stop it!" Delilah suddenly stands up, her chair scraping loudly. "I don't want to hear this!"

She runs toward the stairs, and Daddy rushes out of the kitchen.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"She... she's saying those horrible things!" Delilah points at me. "Marcus, I can't keep doing this!"

Daddy looks at me confused, then follows Delilah upstairs.

I sit alone at the table, slowly finishing my milk.

I'm only five years old, but I already know a lot of things that adults don't know. I know death isn't the end, I know love is stronger than fear, and I also know that sometimes you have to fight to protect yourself.

Delilah wants to hurt me and destroy our family. But what she doesn't know is that I've already seen the ending.