Mrs. Marigold's House

By Melissa Yuan-Innes

Every Hallowe'en, Mrs. Marigold invites only six children to her mansion. One boy, Adam, warns Ashley away, but her parents, desperate to get in good with the richest woman in town, force her to go.
Trick or treat?
Trick. Definitely trick.
The question is if Ashley can escape the mansion alive.

"Melissa Yuan-Innes delivers a Bradburyian shocker in 'Mrs. Marigold's House'.....Highly recommended."-- Paul Di Filippo, Asimov's

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olo Books
• Release date: Jul 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986835643

Melissa Yuan-Innes

Melissa Yuan-Innes is an emergency room doctor and writer who lives with her husband, one son, one daughter, two cows, and too many mosquitoes outside of Montreal, Canada. She writes thrillers and science fiction/fantasy under Melissa Yuan-Innes, mysteries under the name Melissa Yi, romance under Melissa Yin, and children's/YA under Melissa Yuan. "Mixing mystery in with sheer humanity and splendid characterization, Yuan-Innes's story is a delight." --Alicia Curtis, A&E Editor, The Stormy Petrel "Melissa Yuan-Innes delivers a Bradburyian shocker" --Paul Di Filippo, Asimov's "Yuan-Innes employs a fresh use of language to spin a storyline that is at once universally familiar and intriguingly original." --Brian Agincourt Massey, judge of the 2008 Innermoonlit Award for Best First Chapter of a Novel, in awarding first prize to _The Popcorn Girl Meets Darwin Jones_

Book preview

The Dormitory of the Friable Little Girls

© 2003, Melissa Yuan-Innes

Smashwords Edition

Cover art © 2007 by Ben Heys Photography

It was hard to believe that skipping school and smoking up had landed me at the Little Flower Preparatory College for Girls, a good two hours away from the civilization known as Toronto, but my mother dropped me off with my luggage, an Opium-perfumed air kiss, and no backward glance.

The main building, at the north end, was a block of stone with a clock tower. The heavy wood door thudded behind me. Stepping inside was like crossing from day to dusk, into the abrupt embrace of dim light and damp air. The entrance was full of statues. Their staring white eyeballs secretly freaked me out. Where the hell was the headmistress? I dropped my luggage--it 'd serve my mother right if she had to buy me new stuff--and started walking down the hallway. My footsteps echoed. This is bullshit, I muttered, but my mouth was dry. I started walking faster, grateful for the occasional vertical slash of a window. The only thing missing was a gargoyle, and