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

cries of seagulls and taste the salty air. There came a voice that mingled with the sound of the waves and called out her name: Jilly, Jilly-Bean, can you hear me? All she could see were shadows through half-shut eyelids. She could see no face or discernible features; however hard she tried, she simply could not. She stretched out her hands in the direction she thought the voice was coming from, but they disappeared into a heavy mist, as if they had been cut off. She lost her footing and was suddenly falling slowly, slowly into a dark bottomless tunnel ....
    She started from her sleep, awakened by the jerky, unnerving sensation of falling. She turned over on her pillow and stared straight at the digital clock on the side table, not registering the numbers at first and trying to adjust her eyes. The flashing minutes were blinking red; it was nearly 2 a.m. She had only slept for one hour. She heard the trickle of rain dripping from the eavestrough outside her window, a pinging sound like metal. The events of the evening suddenly came back to her, and she remembered she was not in her own bed but in one of her Aunt Jean's guestrooms. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to get back to sleep.
    The floors creaked; was that a stealthy footstep or just the rain? The sound was so faint. She could have sworn she heard the sound of footsteps on creaky hardwood floors. Was someone else in the room with her? Hadn't she locked the door? She lifted herself up on one elbow and stared into the darkness. The sheer curtains were moving intermittently, perhaps catching a gust of wind from the cracks in the caulking of the window. This was an old house, she remembered, built in the 1800's. The previous owners had been a bit reclusive and had had no children. In their old age, tragedy had struck when the couple were found shot dead in their beds. All at once her senses grew heightened, and she became aware of the sound of her own laboured breathing and heard her timid frightened voice calling out “Is anyone in the room?” With shaking fingers she switched on the lamp beside the bed; its dim rosy light spread long grotesque shadows on the walls behind her. Nothing, nothing but nerves; only the rain and the clank of the single radiator in the room. I mustn't imagine things, she told herself; it's just the wind or a branch hitting the side of the house. She sat upright in bed, waiting patiently for the voice and at the same time trying to reassure herself that there was nothing out of the ordinary. After a while she turned off the lamp and reluctantly tried once again to get back to sleep.
    That was all she needed— just some sleep. It was all nerves. She was on the point of drifting off when she heard the man's voice again; it sounded closer this time: “Jilly Beeeen.” Her eyes flew open, but her body lay rigid and refused to budge from beneath the covers. She had definitely heard a wailing man's voice but wasn't sure whether it had been real or she had dreamt it. She kept very still and listened intently, straining to pick up sounds. “Ahhhhhhh Jillian!” This time she was certain someone was calling her name. It was a man, and he was in pain; he had been injured. He was in the room with her! She switched on the lamp again and sat straight up in bed, her senses now wide awake and alert. She glanced towards the door, and what she saw made her heart pound in her chest as if it were trying to break free. Her eyes grew wide with terror; she could have sworn she saw a man entering her room! Yet the door remained closed; he had come right through it! She flung herself back on the pillow and covered herself with the blankets, leaving just the top of her head and eyes peering out. “I'll scream!” she cried. “I have a gun!” The figure walked towards her, and then she realized that it was Mr. Mueller! He looked troubled. “Mr. Mueller, are you all right?” But wait, she could see right through him! The phantom approached