Winner of the Edgar Award for Young Adult Fiction!
The other orphans say Margot is lucky.
Lucky to survive the horrible accident that killed her family.
Lucky to have her own room because she wakes up screaming every night.
And finally, lucky to be chosen by a prestigious family to live at their remote country estate.
But it wasn't luck that made the Suttons rescue Margot from her bleak existence at the group home. Margot was handpicked to be a companion to their silent, mysterious daughter, Agatha. At first, helping with Agatha--and getting to know her handsome younger brother--seems much better than the group home. But soon, the isolated house begins playing tricks on Margot’s mind, making her question everything she believes about the Suttons . . . and herself.
Margot’s bad dreams may have stopped when she came to live with Agatha – but the real nightmare has just begun.
From School Library Journal
Gr 8 Up-If an orphan can be considered lucky, then maybe Margot is. After being the sole survivor of a car accident that wipes out her entire family, then getting her own room in the foster home, Margot has now been placed with a wealthy family who has a tenuous connection to her father. The Suttons' home is enormous but also straight out of the 1900s-there's no internet, no television, no popular fiction in the huge library; nothing but relics from a puritan past. Then there's Agatha. Margot has been brought to the Suttons to be a "companion" to their teenage daughter. While on the outside Agatha looks perfectly normal-totally gorgeous, actually-something is wrong. Very wrong. And the longer Margot is there, the more she learns that Agatha isn't the only Sutton who has something off about them. The suspense and chills are there, and the plot advances the story to a dramatic conclusion that, even if readers can see it coming, is still startling. This book hits all the notes of a solid thriller-creepy mansion, dark family secrets, a little romance, and a plucky heroine. VERDICT Fans of suspense will enjoy this outing. Alender creates another tingly tale just right for escaping into this summer.-Elaine Baran Black, Georgia P.L. Svc., Atlantaα(c) Copyright 2011. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review
**Winner of the Edgar Award for Young Adult Fiction GoodReads Top Horror Novels of 2020
**“[A] new life comes with a new home, where there are many things that go bump in the night.” —Bustle
“The best part about The Companion is the story’s ability to surprise you. Most Gothic horror tales, generally, tend to follow certain formats and include certain tropes. This novel definitely features all those elements but deploys them in such a way that you’re never quite sure what you’re looking at. It constantly shifting plot makes The Companion difficult to put down, and will likely leave you reading long into the night.” — Culturess
“Katie Alender delivers a suspenseful story in her latest novel that will make you never want to trust a stranger ever again… Katie Alender knows how to write and she knows how to give you suspense. I would read this in the dead of night and would find my heart pounding.” — The Fandom
“Margot’s narration feels intimate, especially when she reflects on her potent grief, and Agatha is never used as a prop: She and Margot develop a silent communication that transcends speech. The palpable and steadily building sense of dread throughout is enhanced by a whisper of the supernatural. A pitch-perfect contemporary gothic.” — Kirkus Reviews
“The suspense and chills are there, and the plot advances the story to a dramatic conclusion that, even if readers can see it coming, is still startling. This book hits all the notes of a solid thriller—creepy mansion, dark family secrets, a little romance, and a plucky heroine. Fans of suspense will enjoy this outing. Alender creates another tingly tale just right for escaping into this summer.” — School Library Journal
About the Author
Katie Alender (rhymes with "calendar"!) grew up in South Florida, and studied film at the Florida State University Film School. She then moved to Los Angeles, where she worked in TV development and production for several years, including a long stint producing dog shows for Animal Planet. She penned Bad Girls Don't Die and two sequels, as well as M arie Antoinette, Serial Killer , Famous Last Words , and The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall. In her spare time, she enjoys writing, reading, sewing (especially quilts), practicing yoga, photography, visiting friends' blogs, and hanging out with her family.
While she was gone, I hurriedly dumped the contents of my bags into the top two drawers of the dresser. After that, which had taken maybe fourteen seconds, I wandered back out into the main part of the room and stopped short.
Agatha’s chair was empty.
The whispery silence of the room turned to a roar in my ears.
I looked around but didn’t see her anywhere. And there was nowhere for her to hide.
She was gone.
The door to the hall was closed—I would have heard it open, right? And the bathroom door was wide open, the light on. There was no one in there.
Oh, God, I’d lost her already. They were going to kick me out.
Deep breath. First of all, I didn’t lose her. She lost herself. Second of all, it wasn’t my job to keep her in one place, was it? What should I have done, commanded her to stay still? Wrestled her to the ground? This wasn’t my fault. Of course it wasn’t.
But I knew I needed to find her before Laura came back.
Could she be hiding under one of the beds?
I stared at the nearest one warily, half expecting Agatha to be hiding underneath, waiting to jump out at me when I leaned close. I crossed the room, steeled myself, and knelt down to push away the white bed- skirt and look under the bed frame.
Empty. Not so much as a single dust bunny.
I went to the second bed, knelt, and lifted the bed- spread. This time, I had no doubt that when I bent down and got my face near the floor, Agatha would come flying at me like a bat out of a cave.
Nope.
Some companion I turned out to be. I surveyed the room, wondering if Laura and John would simply send for the car and load me right back up.
I walked over to the open bathroom door and looked inside. The walls were tiled with shining squares of pale blue, the floor a spotless retro checkerboard of white and black. The toilet squatted in the corner by the bathtub—
And as I looked at it, the shower curtain rustled.
Okay, I told myself. This is good. She’s in the tub. She’s waiting there for you to find her. This might even be her idea of a joke—like she’s hazing you. If she was capable of playing a joke, maybe we could communicate. Maybe it wouldn’t be a creepy one-way friendship. It could be a creepy two-way friendship.
I walked over to the tub, paused, and said, “Agatha?”
I gently pulled the curtain back, trying to figure out what I was going to say to convince her to return to the chair.
But the bathtub was empty.
Then I heard a low bump, the sound of an elbow or knee thudding against something solid.
I waited.
Bump.
It was coming from the nanny’s room. My room. My stomach clenched and I felt an indignant flare of temper. Was this how it was going to be? Would I not be entitled to even a little bit of privacy? I expected to find her in there, but still somehow the sight of her startled me—her slender form, held stiffly with mannequin-precise posture, standing in front of my small dresser.
As I watched, she removed the last of my clothes and dropped them carelessly to the floor. “What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked over at me silently through owlish, indifferent eyes. I felt almost as if we were in a staring contest, but apparently that was just me, because a few seconds later she shifted her blank contemplation to the door of the small cabinet behind me.
“What are you doing?” I asked again. But even then, so early in our acquaintance, I knew better than to expect an answer. “Why don’t you go sit down?”
Without so much as the involuntary twitch of a muscle in her jaw, she wandered out of the room. I followed her as far as the doorway and watched her return to her chair.
“Are you trying to make me feel like I don’t belong here?” I asked her. “Because if that’s it, you don’t need to waste your energy. I could never belong in a place like this.”
I know she heard me—she must have. But she didn’t react.
“I probably shouldn’t be here at all,” I said, more to myself than to her.
It was the strangest thing. There was no one else in the room with us, and obviously Agatha hadn’t spoken—I was looking right at her, so I would have known. She didn’t even open her mouth.
But I had the distinct impression that I heard someone say, You’re right.
Description:
Winner of the Edgar Award for Young Adult Fiction!
The other orphans say Margot is lucky.
Lucky to survive the horrible accident that killed her family.
Lucky to have her own room because she wakes up screaming every night.
And finally, lucky to be chosen by a prestigious family to live at their remote country estate.
But it wasn't luck that made the Suttons rescue Margot from her bleak existence at the group home. Margot was handpicked to be a companion to their silent, mysterious daughter, Agatha. At first, helping with Agatha--and getting to know her handsome younger brother--seems much better than the group home. But soon, the isolated house begins playing tricks on Margot’s mind, making her question everything she believes about the Suttons . . . and herself.
Margot’s bad dreams may have stopped when she came to live with Agatha – but the real nightmare has just begun.
From School Library Journal
Gr 8 Up-If an orphan can be considered lucky, then maybe Margot is. After being the sole survivor of a car accident that wipes out her entire family, then getting her own room in the foster home, Margot has now been placed with a wealthy family who has a tenuous connection to her father. The Suttons' home is enormous but also straight out of the 1900s-there's no internet, no television, no popular fiction in the huge library; nothing but relics from a puritan past. Then there's Agatha. Margot has been brought to the Suttons to be a "companion" to their teenage daughter. While on the outside Agatha looks perfectly normal-totally gorgeous, actually-something is wrong. Very wrong. And the longer Margot is there, the more she learns that Agatha isn't the only Sutton who has something off about them. The suspense and chills are there, and the plot advances the story to a dramatic conclusion that, even if readers can see it coming, is still startling. This book hits all the notes of a solid thriller-creepy mansion, dark family secrets, a little romance, and a plucky heroine. VERDICT Fans of suspense will enjoy this outing. Alender creates another tingly tale just right for escaping into this summer.-Elaine Baran Black, Georgia P.L. Svc., Atlantaα(c) Copyright 2011. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review
**Winner of the Edgar Award for Young Adult Fiction
GoodReads Top Horror Novels of 2020
**“[A] new life comes with a new home, where there are many things that go bump in the night.” —Bustle
“The best part about The Companion is the story’s ability to surprise you. Most Gothic horror tales, generally, tend to follow certain formats and include certain tropes. This novel definitely features all those elements but deploys them in such a way that you’re never quite sure what you’re looking at. It constantly shifting plot makes The Companion difficult to put down, and will likely leave you reading long into the night.” — Culturess
“Katie Alender delivers a suspenseful story in her latest novel that will make you never want to trust a stranger ever again… Katie Alender knows how to write and she knows how to give you suspense. I would read this in the dead of night and would find my heart pounding.” — The Fandom
“Margot’s narration feels intimate, especially when she reflects on her potent grief, and Agatha is never used as a prop: She and Margot develop a silent communication that transcends speech. The palpable and steadily building sense of dread throughout is enhanced by a whisper of the supernatural. A pitch-perfect contemporary gothic.” — Kirkus Reviews
“The suspense and chills are there, and the plot advances the story to a dramatic conclusion that, even if readers can see it coming, is still startling. This book hits all the notes of a solid thriller—creepy mansion, dark family secrets, a little romance, and a plucky heroine. Fans of suspense will enjoy this outing. Alender creates another tingly tale just right for escaping into this summer.” — School Library Journal
About the Author
Katie Alender (rhymes with "calendar"!) grew up in South Florida, and studied film at the Florida State University Film School. She then moved to Los Angeles, where she worked in TV development and production for several years, including a long stint producing dog shows for Animal Planet. She penned Bad Girls Don't Die and two sequels, as well as M arie Antoinette, Serial Killer , Famous Last Words , and The Dead Girls of Hysteria Hall. In her spare time, she enjoys writing, reading, sewing (especially quilts), practicing yoga, photography, visiting friends' blogs, and hanging out with her family.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
While she was gone, I hurriedly dumped the contents of my bags into the top two drawers of the dresser. After that, which had taken maybe fourteen seconds, I wandered back out into the main part of the room and stopped short.
Agatha’s chair was empty.
The whispery silence of the room turned to a roar in my ears.
I looked around but didn’t see her anywhere. And there was nowhere for her to hide.
She was gone.
The door to the hall was closed—I would have heard it open, right? And the bathroom door was wide open, the light on. There was no one in there.
Oh, God, I’d lost her already. They were going to kick me out.
Deep breath. First of all, I didn’t lose her. She lost herself. Second of all, it wasn’t my job to keep her in one place, was it? What should I have done, commanded her to stay still? Wrestled her to the ground? This wasn’t my fault. Of course it wasn’t.
But I knew I needed to find her before Laura came back.
Could she be hiding under one of the beds?
I stared at the nearest one warily, half expecting Agatha to be hiding underneath, waiting to jump out at me when I leaned close. I crossed the room, steeled myself, and knelt down to push away the white bed- skirt and look under the bed frame.
Empty. Not so much as a single dust bunny.
I went to the second bed, knelt, and lifted the bed- spread. This time, I had no doubt that when I bent down and got my face near the floor, Agatha would come flying at me like a bat out of a cave.
Nope.
Some companion I turned out to be. I surveyed the room, wondering if Laura and John would simply send for the car and load me right back up.
I walked over to the open bathroom door and looked inside. The walls were tiled with shining squares of pale blue, the floor a spotless retro checkerboard of white and black. The toilet squatted in the corner by the bathtub—
And as I looked at it, the shower curtain rustled.
Okay, I told myself. This is good. She’s in the tub. She’s waiting there for you to find her. This might even be her idea of a joke—like she’s hazing you. If she was capable of playing a joke, maybe we could communicate. Maybe it wouldn’t be a creepy one-way friendship. It could be a creepy two-way friendship.
I walked over to the tub, paused, and said, “Agatha?”
I gently pulled the curtain back, trying to figure out what I was going to say to convince her to return to the chair.
But the bathtub was empty.
Then I heard a low bump, the sound of an elbow or knee thudding against something solid.
I waited.
Bump.
It was coming from the nanny’s room. My room. My stomach clenched and I felt an indignant flare of temper. Was this how it was going to be? Would I not be entitled to even a little bit of privacy?
I expected to find her in there, but still somehow the sight of her startled me—her slender form, held stiffly with mannequin-precise posture, standing in front of my small dresser.
As I watched, she removed the last of my clothes and dropped them carelessly to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked over at me silently through owlish, indifferent eyes. I felt almost as if we were in a staring contest, but apparently that was just me, because a few seconds later she shifted her blank contemplation to the door of the small cabinet behind me.
“What are you doing?” I asked again. But even then, so early in our acquaintance, I knew better than to expect an answer. “Why don’t you go sit down?”
Without so much as the involuntary twitch of a muscle in her jaw, she wandered out of the room. I followed her as far as the doorway and watched her return to her chair.
“Are you trying to make me feel like I don’t belong here?” I asked her. “Because if that’s it, you don’t need to waste your energy. I could never belong in a place like this.”
I know she heard me—she must have. But she didn’t react.
“I probably shouldn’t be here at all,” I said, more to myself than to her.
It was the strangest thing. There was no one else in the room with us, and obviously Agatha hadn’t spoken—I was looking right at her, so I would have known. She didn’t even open her mouth.
But I had the distinct impression that I heard someone say, You’re right.