Finally, I finished this book. It was on my reading list for the longest time and I was intrigued by the plot, but when I started it, what put me off was the narrative pov of an eight year old Merry. And even though Merry is now grown up and recounting the events of her past, of her older sister, Marjorie's illness/possession, and how her family fell apart, I just found her to be an unreliable narrator. Or couldn't take her memories Of That Age seriously, because kids are morons and annoying (so there's that). 
 So, I put off reading it for a long time and picked it back up yesterday. And glad I did, because of that ending, it blew me away. Made me sad, scared, but mostly sad. It was unexpected, but also maybe somewhere inside, I knew it was coming.