When a boy moves into his late grandfather’s mansion, he discovers eerie spell books, creepy dolls, and strange noises. But one doll feels especially off—maybe it’s nothing, or maybe it’s…watching. This creepy middle grade read is perfect for fans of the Goosebumps series. Garrett never met his grandfather, Burke, but he’s heard the stories from his mother. Burke was an enormously successful writer, but he was also notoriously cruel, especially to his family. After he passes away suddenly, Garrett and his mother are told that his enormous fortune is hers…if they agree to spend a week at his estate. The house is a monument to Burke’s obsession with puppet-like dolls, and the attic is packed with cryptic notes and ancient books. It’s clear that his grandfather was up to something, but Garrett can only guess what, and his fear only deepens when he finds a creepily detailed doll with 'Marion' written on the foot. As the week progresses, Garrett realizes that the house isn’t what it seems. An old typewriter clicks away on its own. There are sounds in the night that come from the basement. And strangest of all is Marion, who always seems to be watching... " Plunges right into the heart of the action . Lots of fun ."— Kirkus Reviews " Fun , frightening , and downright fantastic , Gillespie will keep readers turning pages (and away from dolls) with this wonderfully creepy read."—Justine Pucella Winans, award-winning author of The Otherwoods "Gillespie spins a terrifying tale full of nightmarish descriptions, intriguing characters, and hair-raising suspense. I was hooked from page one!"—Wendy Parris, author of Field of Screams Born and raised in Middle Tennessee, D.W. Gillespie wrote his first short story in second grade. It involved (unsurprisingly) monsters wreaking havoc on some unsuspecting victim. Some things never change. He began writing seriously after taking a creative writing class in college, and he’s written steadily ever since. He lives in Tennessee with his wife and two kids, and on dark nights, you might find them huddled around a campfire sharing spooky tales. 1 Let me start by saying this: Impossible things happen to me all the time. I feel like I need to say that out front before we get into this whole thing. You might be the type of person who loves big, crazy stories, who believes in the fantastical and unreal, who spends their days reading old books about UFOs and Bigfoot, who watches grainy YouTube videos about real-life monsters caught on camera. If you’re one of these people, you already understand that some people want to believe in the impossible. The rest . . . well, they need some convincing, and that’s where I come in. My name is Garrett Weathers. As I write this, I’m thirteen years old and I’m constantly being told I’m tall for my age. My mom, June, is only four feet, eight inches tall, but I’m told my dad was over six foot five. I wouldn’t know because I never met the guy. Mom told me, “Some dads aren’t cut out to be dads,” and we just left it at that. Weird things happen to me constantly, so much so that my buddies at school have started giving me nicknames. Mr. Nonsense. Captain Bullcrap. Or the one that seems to have stuck: the Topper, as in, “Don’t tell a story around the Topper because he’ll just tell a bigger one.” It’s quite unfair, especially considering all I’m doing is telling the truth. Sure, I might stretch the truth a smidge because the only thing that makes a good story better is a bit of flair. I’ll admit that I can see why I got the nickname, but I stand firm. This stuff really happened, even the most outlandish parts. So if you’re going to stick with me for this whole story, you’ll have to get on board for some weirdness. How about we start small and work our way up? Let me tell you how I got my cat, Chester. He’s orange, five years old, quite chunky, and only has three legs. It was the middle of summer, and I was outside, standing next to the trampoline, when I heard a screeching sound overhead unlike anything I’d ever heard in my entire life. I looked up just in time to see . . . something blotting out the sun. I squinted, and to my complete surprise, I saw a kitten falling out of the sky. He hit the trampoline, bounced about twenty feet back into the air, and then landed in my arms. His leg was badly broken, his nerves were frayed beyond comprehension, but he was otherwise fine. The best explanation we got was that he probably crawled into the landing gear of a plane and fell out not long after takeoff. If that’s true, he must have fallen thousands of feet, which would make him the luckiest cat in history, except for his leg having to be amputated. To this day, my mom and I don’t know for sure. Or how about the time I found a tooth inside a tree? I know, it’s getting out of hand already, but stick with me ’cause we’re just getting started. I was out in the woods a few blocks away from my house, hacking away at a tree wi