The Three

Anya

Twelve years old. Lives in her grandmother’s house in Woodbrook. Keeps a notebook for everything — the blue one for school, the green one for cases. Anya documents. She underlines twice when she’s certain and once when she isn’t. She holds her pen when she’s thinking even when she isn’t writing. Anya was the one who heard about Mrs. Harrinarine’s ring first. She was the one who said: call Simone back. Tell her we’re coming.

Simone

Twelve years old. Quiet. The one who watches. Simone does not need a notebook — she remembers. She counted fifty-three people walking past the roti stand in twenty-seven minutes and noticed that Mrs. Harrinarine had not moved from her stool, not once, in all that time. Her mother says Simone was born watching. Her father says she was born judging. Both of them are probably right.

Reyah

Twelve years old. Always arrives first. Always already talking. Reyah’s voice arrives before Reyah does — Anya has timed it. Seven seconds between the gate and the room. Reyah’s superpower is that adults talk to her like she’s just curious, when she is, in fact, paying very close attention. Untied sneakers. Faded shorts. Pholourie sauce on her chin, often.

Grandmother

Anya’s grandmother. From San Fernando, from a family that knew about the old things — the things that lived in the dark between houses and the deep parts of the forest. She has stories. She does not believe in poltergeists. She does believe in Her. And she has been waiting.