Free Miss Spelled (The Kitchen Witch 1) by Morgana Best Page B

and it was still there. I had never seen this room before. How had I missed it? I hurried down the hallway and flung open the library door. It was a bedroom. I ran up and down the hallway, flinging open all the doors, but there was no library to be found. I sunk to the floor, a wave of nausea overcoming me. I sat there for a few moments, my head in my hands. What was going on? Was I still dreaming? I pinched myself. “Ouch!” I said aloud, and Willow and Hawthorn walked over to inspect me.
    One thing was for certain, I was too shaken to go to work. I went to my phone and called Thyme. “Would you mind going in today without me? Just for a bit? Something’s come up,” I said.
    “Are you okay?” Thyme’s voice was filled with concern. “Did something happen?”
    “No, I’m fine,” I said, trying to convince Thyme as much as I was trying to convince myself.
    Thyme hesitated for a moment. “All right. Well, I’ll head on in. Call me later, okay?”
    “Sure,” I said. “Thanks.” I sighed deeply and sat on the edge of my bed. From where I sat, I could see into the hall and see the door that led to the mysterious new room.
    I wasn’t going crazy, was I? I knew I hadn’t simply missed that room in the days since I had moved in. It was so close to my own bedroom. I had walked by that section of wall a hundred times already, and there had never been a door there. Besides, the library was missing, too.
    The truth of the matter was that the whole ordeal was really unsettling. I suddenly found myself frightened to be in the home. But what else could I do? Where could I go? If I talked to anyone about the room, they would think I was insane.
    A thought occurred to me. Perhaps it was a haunted house, if such things existed. I did believe in the paranormal. It’s just that I’d never experienced it before. Maybe I could find someone who knew the history of the place. I could get some information on the house. If there were stories about weird things happening, someone would know. I could ask general questions, and wouldn’t have to say anything specific.
    That was a good plan, and I felt somewhat better. I was awfully shaken, but managed to shower and get dressed, and then make a piece of toast and jam in the kitchen. The only problem with my plan was that I had no idea who I could ask.
    I thought a good place to start would be the local library. Small town libraries always had some old newspapers, or slim books written by local historians. At least, it was as good a place as any to start.
    I snatched up my purse and was in such a rush to leave the house that was now making me feel so uneasy, that I didn’t notice the mail woman right by my front door. Later, I would realize how odd it was for the woman to be up by the door, considering the mailbox was at the front gate of the house, but when it happened, I simply felt bad about hitting the woman with the door.
    “Watch it!” the mail woman yelled as she staggered to the side, placing a hand on the veranda post to keep herself from being bowled over.
    “I’m sorry!” I said, hurrying to seize the woman’s arm to steady her.
    “Let go!” the woman said, jerking her arm from my grasp.
    I was a little shocked at how angry the woman seemed. I looked her over. She was wearing baggy gray shorts and a blue shirt. She had a gray mail bag slung over her arm. Her hair was wildly curly and cut to just above her shoulders, and the woman was what I would call chunky, a little more weight on her frame than she needed.
    “Sorry, it was an accident,” I said quickly.
    “Well, that doesn’t keep me from getting knocked over, does it?” the woman snapped.
    I had heard enough from the woman to know I didn’t like her. She was just so rude and angry.
    “I understand that, but it was an accident and I’m sorry.”
    “Yes, I heard you the first time,” the woman said. “Do you live here now?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I’m Amelia.”
    The woman broke into a grin.