Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children(94)

“I can see it!” came the reply, Olive’s voice barely a squeak over the white noise of waves. “Straight ahead!”

“Good enough for me!” Bronwyn said, and while the rest of us clutched our stomachs and slumped uselessly in our seats, she clambered into the lead boat and took the oars and began to row, guided only by Olive’s tiny voice, an unseen angel in the sky.

“Left—more left—not that much!”

And like that we slowly made our way toward land, the fog pursuing us always, its long gray tendrils like the ghostly fingers of some phantom hand, ever trying to draw us back.

As if the island couldn’t quite let us go, either.