conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Attic, Dollanganger, Christophers with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Secrets in the Attic'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first four paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Secrets in the Attic
  Following the death of Virginia Andrews, the Andrews family worked with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Virginia Andrews' stories and to create additional novels, of which this is one, inspired by her storytelling genius.
  For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
  As young girls living in a peaceful and relatively crime-free community, Karen Stoker and I should have had an adolescence full of hope, an adolescence of bright colors, sweet things, and upbeat music. No one season should have looked drearier than another. Winter should have been dazzlingly white, with icicles resembling strings of diamonds and the air jingling with our laughter at the crunch of snow beneath our boots. Spring, summer, and fall would each have its own magic. In fact, our lives should have been one long and forever special day protected by loving parents and family.
  That was the way it should have been; it could have been, but there was something dark and evil incubating just under the surface of the world in which we lived, in which I, especially, lived. I was in a protective rose-colored bubble, oblivious and happy, pirouetting like a ballerina on ice, unaware of the rumbling below and never dreaming that I could fall through into the freezing waters of sorrow and horror, the parents of our worst nightmares.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'He looked at my mother'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He looked at my mother. "Her sister and brother-in-law left a few days ago. It can't be easy remaining in that house alone now."
  My mother shook her head and clicked her lips. "To lose two husbands," she said. "It's a wonder she can function."
  It's a wonder she can function? If they only knew what I knew, what Karen had been telling me about her mother, they wouldn't be so sympathetic, but I could hardly say anything about all that now. What was Karen going to say about all this? I wondered. I shouldn't go over there until I had a chance to speak with her.
  I nodded and rose. Could they tell from the way I stood and ambled out of the dining room that I was on the verge of confessing everything and leading them up the stairs to the attic?
  As I wrote the letter describing what was going to occur, I considered sneaking up the stairs to the attic after my parents had gone to bed. However, the risk now seemed even greater than it had been. If I did wait until they were asleep, I could try, but the way everything in the house creaked under our weight, especially the attic stairway, would surely sound an alarm. Nothing seemed worse than being caught now, and every passing day that I kept this great secret made it more and more impossible to confess it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I left them. I was probably just as numb, as stunned and afraid, as Jesse was, but there was nothing more to say about it. I sensed they had made an irrevocable decision. Their firmness once they had made up their minds gave me pause and strength. It gave me hope as well. Maybe we would be all right.
  Of course, as I lay there thinking. I wondered about Karen now, lying alone in some institution where there were bars on the windows. What was she thinking? Did she hate me? Hate Jesse, too? Maybe she was talking to herself or to an imaginary person like me, talking about traveling.
  Through my bedroom window, I saw the moon fool a cloud and slip free. It poured its golden light over the treetops like a promise.
  Karen was returning, I thought. She was returning in her child. Ironically, she wanted us to adopt her. In a real sense, we would. What had bonded us before hadn't weakened, after all. It had tightened and strengthened and wrapped itself around me.
  And what that would mean for all of us lay cloaked in the mystery of the same darkness that made ancient peoples hug each other. Like them, I wondered if we would be safe, if we would ever be safe again.