My Evil Stepmother, The Comedic Terror

Previously

…Mr. Abernathy looked at me, his expression a mixture of relief and bewilderment. He reached up and gently removed the colander from my head. “You know, Alex,” he said, his voice soft, “I think those spirits have found their quiet place. And it’s not in your stepmother’s house, is it?” I met his kindly gaze, a genuine smile finally gracing my lips. “I think you might be right, Mr. Abernathy,” I replied, the secret weight of the diary a little lighter, the path ahead a little clearer. The game of mirrors was far from over, but for the first time, I felt I was holding the reflections in my own hands.