Free Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) by Celia Vogel

round and caught a glimpse of her terrified mother, crying silently and clutching her father's hand as if her very life depended on it. Mrs. Mueller was artfully adjusting a few straggling wisps of hair that had come undone during the commotion with one hand. Mr. Mueller was sitting next to her, and Jillian was shocked by his appearance; sweat was pouring down his face in rivulets. She leaned forward in appeal, with both her hands outstretched: “Mr. Mueller, are you all right?” He looked disoriented and did not appear to have heard. Her father's voice was forceful and tremulous: “What kind of prank is this? Ridiculous! All of this!” He stood up, looked around at everyone and then yanked the brown paper cover off the table, ripping it in two. He then walked over to the open barn doors and stood there in silence, looking out into the darkness. Jillian was struck by her father's hunched back. He looked so small against the dark night. From a distance came the howls of coyotes and the din of cars far off on the highway.
    “Well, of course, this is all just a prank! Smoke and mirrors! All child's play,” stated Adam forcefully. “If there was even the slightest hint of truth in any of this,” he continued, “it would be accepted scientific fact, and not the black art it is. Now, everyone repeat after me: it's all in the mind, nothing but smoke and mirrors! ”
    Mr. Sparks and Mr. Paradis chanted in unison like obedient schoolboys, “smoke and mirrors, smoke and mirrors.” But for the others these words fell on deaf ears and lacked conviction.
    Aunt Jean coughed and cleared her throat to get everyone's attention, a smile etched on her face like bright rays of sunshine breaking through dark ominous clouds, and said that in no way did she wish or hope that the night's proceedings had upset anyone, but of course there are phenomena in this world that cannot be easily explained away and which defy logic. She clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “I hope that my dear friends and family have not been too distressed by the events.”
    “Right! Purely meant for fun and enjoyment,” retorted Mr. Sparks angrily.
    “It sure is a funny way to entertain friends and loved ones,” added Mr. Paradis angrily. “I almost peed my pants.”
    Mr. Mueller staggered to his feet, almost falling over. “John, are you all right?” cried his wife in horror. She leapt forward to catch him, but he managed to avoid her grasp. He was careering sideways towards Madame Zelda. He looked disoriented and was staring blinkingly at her in confused silence. He raised his forefinger and pointed it at her accusingly, then shut his eyes for a moment, as if he were trying to remember something— an important point he wanted to make. Then his trembling fingers were wiping at his face, which had gone ashen. His mouth formed words but no sound came; he seemed to have something caught in his throat. All eyes were glued on him, waiting. “I think he's going to faint,” someone yelled. He struggled to catch his breath and began teetering as if on the edge of a cliff, then collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. His wife screeched out and ran to his side, touched him and then drew back her curling fingers. She had a bewildered, startled look in her eyes as she whispered, “I think he's dead.”
    For a moment everyone fell silent.
    “John can't be dead” Uncle Phil cried, passing a hand over his brow. “Did you take his pulse? Here, let me through.” He pushed through the group and examined Mr. Mueller. “He's still alive! There's a pulse.”
    Mr. Crossland sniffed suspiciously: “Is this some kind of joke?” then looked over at Madame Zelda and demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”

    *****

    Could it have been a curse? They spoke in hushed voices, all still in a state of shock. The ambulance and police had come and gone. Having made their way back to the main house, they all stayed close together; no one wanted to be left alone. Mr.