Then . . . One night, Annie went missing. Disappeared from her own bed. There were searches, appeals. Everyone thought the worst. And then, miraculously, after forty-eight hours, she came back. Though she couldn't, or wouldn't, say what had happened to her. But something happened to my sister. I can't explain what. I just know that when she came back, she wasn't the same. She wasn't my Annie. I didn't want to admit, even to myself, that sometimes I was scared to death of my own little sister. Now . . . The email arrived in my inbox nearly two months ago. I almost deleted it straight away - but I clicked Open: I know what happened to your sister. It's happening again . . .