The answer came from the mannequin. Ellie had dressed it in a replica of Sandie’s vinyl coat. Now, in the dark, its head turned. Its painted mouth opened.
Because Sandie wasn’t haunting Soho anymore. Last Night in Soho
Ellie tried to leave. Packed her bag. But every time she reached the front door, Mrs. Bunting was there, smiling too wide. “Going so soon? But the room suits you.” The answer came from the mannequin
She smashed the mannequin over the sealed brick wall. It shattered. And behind the bricks—not a skeleton, but a mirror. Its painted mouth opened
The last night in Soho, Ellie didn’t sleep. She stayed awake, scissors in hand, watching the room shift. The wallpaper bled. The mirror fogged with old screams. And then the men came—not just Jack, but every man who had ever hurt a woman in that building. Gray-faced, silent, crawling from the floorboards.