Page 26 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“What breeds should I get?”
“Of chickens?” Sid walked with her to the coop. “Well, there are Bantams.”
“They’re smaller, right?”
“Mm-hmm, and their eggs are small. I like Ameraucana chickens, or Buff Orpingtons are pretty. They’re gold.”
“Do they lay golden eggs?” Molly tossed Sid a wink.
“No.”
They shared a laugh as they ducked into the coop, careful to avoid hitting their heads on the lower doorframe. Sid went to work, waving her magic wand over the floor. Within minutes, she’d collected several nails, dug a tin can from beneath the molded straw, and retrieved an old pop bottle cap.
Molly wandered, toeing a wooden box and grimacing when she uncovered a nest of dead mice babies, their bodies mostly skeletons. The ladder into the attic loomed in the corner, teasing her senses.
Run away, it seemed to mock.Before the girl comes back.
Molly wasn’t sure why ghost girls were the creepiest sort of spirits. Something about a little girl in a white nightgown, barefoot, with hollow black eyes was far more terrifying than a cute little ghost boy in overalls. Too many horror movies and novels had sensationalized ghost girls. Molly shivered at the thought.
“You going up?” Sid’s voice at her shoulder made her jump.
Molly hesitated. “Um ... I probably should see what needs cleaning out up there.”
“The chickens won’t go up there. You don’t need to clean it to get your flock started.” Sid’s observation gave Molly an out.
She probably should take it. Molly shook her head instead and obstinately gripped the ladder.
“Youdideat breakfast today, didn’t you?” Sid’s response was laced with teasing but with a bit of seriousness tacked to the end of it.
“Venison sausageanda scrambled egg,” Molly lied, then climbed into the attic. She’d eaten a few bites of a banana, but Sid didn’t need to know that. She also didn’t need to know that her eating habits had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened the last time Molly was in the attic.
Molly hesitated on the ladder. She could already envision popping her head up through the floor to be greeted by the little girl, her black unblinking eyes staring at her as she crouched by the opening. Small white hands reaching out, grasping at Molly’s throat. The slow suffocation of an evil spirit determined to murder the living.
No.
There was no ghost.
Molly released her breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. The attic was blessedly empty. Wood flooring stretched in front of her. Boxes in the corners. Cobwebs. Mouse droppings. No spirits. No poltergeists. Only silence.
“Are you all right?” Sid called from below.
Molly coughed, clearing fear from her throat. “Y-yeah. All good.”
“I’m going to keep sweeping down here. There are a lot of nails that need to be cleared.”
“Yep. Sounds good.” Molly stood slowly, bending so she didn’t collide with the slanted roof. She heard Sid’s metal detector begin its detecting. A slow, rhythmic beeping thatbrought a semblance of steadiness to Molly’s wildly beating heart.
She wasn’t sure why she was so compelled to face terror head on in the chicken coop attic. There was nothing there. Nothing at all. Maybe that was why. Facing it would disprove her memories. Disprove what she thought she’d seen, what she thought she’d heard.
Molly’s footsteps echoed as she crossed the floor to peer out the far window. It was small, square, and squatting in front of it, Molly could make out the bedroom window in the farmhouse. It peeked above the barn’s roof. She could see the outline of her and Trent’s bed with its worn but vintage headboard. The sun bounced off the lower part of the window. The curtain fluttered, as if a breeze were moving it from the inside.
She grasped the attic’s wooden wall frame.
No one was in the house.
The windows were closed.
There was no reason for the curtain to move like that.
