Free The Color of Fear by Billy Phillips, Jenny Nissenson

She was in an old barn. It appeared to be empty except for the cat, which had landed cleanly on all four paws.
    Before she could move, the cat bolted from the barn, leaving behind only the echo of a fading meow .
    Caitlin glanced around again. Then she surveyed the hole she had fallen through.
    Her hands turned clammy. She breathed in extra air to compensate for the lack of oxygen in her lungs. There was no escape, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No way to get back up that portal. No Natalie.
    Caitlin forced herself to take stock of her surroundings. To settle down. The slatted, chipped walls showed more bare boards than paint, and the wood appeared to be rotting. Bales of hay were stacked to the ceiling, and piles of straw filled the corners. A pitchfork lay on the ground next to an overturned, rusty metal bucket. A faintly cheesy smell tickled her nose.
    There was something extra peculiar about this barn. Then Caitlin realized what it was: it was uncommonly small, as if it had been built for a child. Caitlin’s head almost bumped into the ceiling as she stood up.
    Where the heck was she? Where on earth was Natalie?
    Caitlin opened the barn door.
    Daylight!
    But it was a hazy, gray daylight.
    She checked her phone for the time: 1:37 p.m.
    Wow, well past noon! Definitely not my time zone.
    Before leaving the barn, Caitlin snuck a quick look at the four corners of the ceiling.
    One, two, three, four.
    Then Caitlin stooped and maneuvered through the pint-size doorway. She stepped outside—into extreme heat, and into what appeared to be a miniature, abandoned village. Most of the buildings were shorter than she was. A row of cozy, thatched-roofed cottages circled a child-size, covered well. Caitlin could tell there had once been bright colors here. But now the colors were muted.
    The windows on all the houses were broken. The walls seemed to sag against each other. Brown, patchy grass covered cracked, dry dirt, and the only green things she saw were weeds. Despite the intense heat, a murky sheet of fog hung between the sun and the clouds.
    Caitlin took a few tentative steps. Tall weeds tickled her knees. She glanced back a few times at the barn door. A tiny grasshopper hopped across her path. She let out a shriek.
    “What took you so long?” came a familiar voice.
    Caitlin glanced up fast.
    Her fists opened.
    Her jaw unclenched.
    For the first time in a long while, she was overjoyed to see her sister. The little twerp looked just fine. She was perched on top of a miniature brick schoolhouse, her camera swaying around her neck.
    “I say we slide down that hole again!”
    Caitlin shook her head. “Get down from there right now.”
    Natalie out stretched her arms, reaching for a flagpole on the front of the building and she slid to the ground. A frog abruptly hopped right over Natalie’s feet while letting out a large croak! Then, with a few bounding leaps, the frog vanished into a mass of tall weeds.
    “Cute!” Natalie exclaimed.
    Caitlin checked her phone again. No bars, no signal, no way to reach Jack or emergency rescue.
    Suddenly, a loud clunk. The barn shook. A moment later, long-haired dead girl emerged through the barn’s crumbling double doors, her silky locks trailing behind.
    Now, in daylight, Caitlin was able to get a good look at her. Though her attire was tattered and decayed, you could tell it had once been a stunning, purple-blue royal gown, embellished with a gleaming, gold V-shape belt. Her complexion was white as chalk, and the rims of her eyes dark as ink.
    That hair!
    It still had a fabulous glistening sheen. As if it contained magic.
    “You still trying to call Jack?” the zombie asked.
    How does she know about Jack?
    “Actually, yes. But I lost my signal,” Caitlin said.
    “I’m not surprised.”
    Caitlin checked her voice mail.
    Yes! A message from Jack.
    “Caitlin, where are you? There’s something I gotta tell you. Please listen. My ph—”
    The message died. Her phone must’ve cut out