I started writing this book in 2014. It has found homes at two different publishing houses before Blackstone, and both fell through. It has broken my heart and mended it back together in too many ways to count.
I’ve written this book in three different houses while pregnant with three different kids. I’ve written in my parents’ kitchen in the middle of the night, coffee shops, parking lots, airport lounges, on set while filming in London. It’s been edited halfway to shit, torn apart by editors who didn’t like it, printed and sticking out of my bag while I taught classes and dropped kids off at daycare . . . It stuck to me like a dream I wasn’t giving up on.
And I’m not strong enough to do that kind of journey alone. Stephen King says writing can be a lonely pursuit, but I wasn’t lonely at all.
So, I have some people to thank for ten years of support, even if that word isn’t enough to capture what they’ve done for me.
I want to thank Ross, my husband. The man who woke up before me to make sure the vibes were right for my 5:00 a.m. writing session, even though I know he was exhausted. The man who took me out for a cupcake when I hit worldbuilding snags and talked through them with me. Not every writer gets a Ross, but it’s my deep hope that every writer finds one. I would not be here without him, and I mean that literally. I would have starved eons ago.
My parents. My mom, who would routinely take all my kids from me and wave me off to go write and has never doubted that this day would come. More than that—thank you for loving a kid who couldn’t have been more different from you and not trying to change her. Thank you for your love of dark stories and for telling me it was okay to love them, too.
Dad—when I was thirteen, we went and saw Spider-Man at the Edwards Theater. We were standing by the pinball machine after, waiting for someone to use the bathroom, and you talked to me about the movie like I wasn’t a mentally ill thirteen-year-old. You told me sometimes movies like that ask questions of life that you can’t put into words, and I never forgot that. And thank you for being a steady crash-landing pad for us. I couldn’t have made it this far without it—and I don’t think you get paid enough for that.
Ash. This book is dedicated to the weird blond chick who walked into my classroom when I was a young adjunct and then just decided to never fucking leave. It’s not often you meet one of the most important people in your life after falling off a bike and limping into a lecture hall, but God is funny, sometimes. Thank you for keeping Haunt alive, even when I thought it was dead. Thank you for the “omg this song” texts, the “is this unhinged” questions, tequila and New Girl sessions (and understanding why we gotta rewind the first Nick and Jess kiss three times), helping me pick the right outfits, talking me out of bad piercings but into bangs, and marrying my brother. You’re such a lightweight; I feel fine.
Isaac: for having a huge brain and even bigger heart and somehow always finding time to show up and cheer for the freak who writes for a living. You’re saving the world but still answer my FaceTime calls when I need someone to vent to. I’ll never say this to your face but you’re a wonderful person and a gifted scientist.
Sue and Ross: Thank you for every read-through, every article about writing, every “you go girl” text. I won the in-law game, and I’m so grateful for you.
To Brittany Sawrey-Coulson. For being a safe place to land, a shoulder to cry on, and the one who wipes the mascara from under my eyes and reminds me who I am. Thank you for your story heart, your words of wisdom, and your love.
Anna Bright—my mu’fuckin bes fran—for the slightly psychotic texts about our slightly psychotic children, and for being a badass writer mama who understands the stress of being on sub while dealing with hand/foot/mouth. Love you.
To Landon, Alanna, Hil, Jill, Lee, Kate . . . thank you for being on this journey with me. Michael Robin, you weirdo. Thank you for texts about pie and calling me to talk me through a mental breakdown. A deep bow to my sisters—Hannah, Rachel, and Becca, for walking through the weirdest years with me and knowing there are more to come. Marie, Stu, David, Bri, Victoria, Elaina, Jack, Remi, and Cami . . . thank you for the text hype, the hilarious reels, and the love. To my cousins who are ride-or-dies from states away: Heidi, Amber, Seth, Jesse, AJ, Sami, Mitchell—love you. The Dubach/Rutherford clan—for early reads and being the best cheerleaders a girl could ask for. Stephen and Allison, for being a safe haven. Alan and Erika, for the same reason. Dr. Arai and Luke, for keeping it weird. Kathy Gruber . . . for being the president of my Ohio pep squad. You’re magic.
My Beechwoodians: You make living here feel like home. I love you all.
And to Loue, who has been with me from the start. You showed me what enduring love looks like. So many of the beautiful moments of Eerie and Rory’s friendship are based on ours. Not many people get to have a ride-or-die for over half their life. Thank you for being mine. 1-2-3. 1-2-3-4.
And to my kids. Aryn Lee, Liam Robin, River Grace, and Benjamin Isaac—and for nieces and nephew who do life with us: Emilia, Sophia, and Eli. For the notes slid under the door while I’m writing, for the Post-its under my desk. For the snuggles after a long day. I love you guys.
And of course, the team who brought The Hushed to life, and believed in it for so long:
The inimitable Gwen Beal and the lovely team at UTA who saw the merit in this story and fought for it. Mary Pender, who has been with me since 2016 and never once doubted what this story could be. Echo Matthews, Daniel Vang, and Jonathan Rosenthal, for always having my back.
My wonderful team at Blackstone: Daniel Ehrenhaft, William Boggess, Linley Delucchi, Levi Coren, Nicole Sklitsis, Tatiana Radujkovic . . . the whole publishing journey was worth it to wind up with you guys. Thank you for loving this story and giving it the perfect home.
A special thank you to Lana Harper and Kathryn Purdie, who read the book early and gave blurbs before it was even officially sold. You are both the definition of writers helping writers, and I cannot thank you enough for helping make my dreams come true.
And finally, thank you to God. The Storyteller, the one made me to do this job that brings me untold joy. May I stay directly behind You as You cut the path before me, and may we all rest in knowing no secrets we bear could separate us from Your love.