20
" I’m shaking my head rapidly, though I don’t tell her that this is the same thought that I’ve had a hundred times, only about myself, that I’m next, the next one, the next victim. I know that the Whisperers fear it, too. I don’t go outside at night anymore, not even into my backyard, one says in the tenor of a confession, and the others nod yes, yes. So maybe we’re all thinking it: I’m next. Maybe that’s part now, of being . . . what? Young? A girl? "
― Katie Williams , The Space Between Trees