Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 70779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
To my relief and surprise, the key worked. It turned smoothly in the lock and I was able to push the door open.
I ran though it…and into a whole different world.
5
WILLOW
Iwas panting with terror as I turned to slam the door shut behind me. But to my surprise, it slammed itself shut. And not a moment too soon—I could see the slavering jaws of the three-headed, six-eyed thing just starting to cross the threshold. Then the heavy oak door clapped closed in its monstrous faces…and then quietly disappeared as though it had never been there in the first place.
My heart was still thundering in my ears and for a moment, all I could do was press a hand to my chest and try to breathe. I had no idea where I was—only that I was safe. At least for the moment.
Slowly, I began to take stock of my surroundings. I seemed to be standing in the middle of a street that ran through a small town. I saw shops and business—all closed—lining the road. Where was I?
Well, it must be someplace on Earth because nothing really looked alien or strange and also I could breathe, so that was good, I thought. It was nighttime—just as it had been back in New Orleans—but the air felt different. Back in my hometown, it was already getting hot and sticky, even though it was only the middle of April. But here, the air was cool and crisp and I smelled scents I associated with Autumn—the smell of dried leaves and the scent of smoke. There was also a hint of what might be snow on the air, though it wouldn’t be here anytime soon…
“My dear, are you quite all right?”
I gasped and my heart started galloping in my chest again as I whirled around to see who was talking.
It was someone standing on the front porch of the huge old Victorian structure across the street from me. It looked like a house that had somehow overgrown its boundaries and turned into a hotel of some kind. Its faded white exterior seemed to glow softly like a ghost ship floating in the shadows.
“Who…what…?” was all I could get out.
The person who was talking to me came out into the moonlight which was streaming down and I saw it was an older woman with curly gray hair piled on top of her head. She was wearing a long robe with flowing sleeves trimmed in ostrich feathers that floated elegantly around her wrists.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she said, coming down the front steps of the Victorian structure, her heels clacking on the wood. “I was just out here because I couldn’t sleep—I have simply dreadful insomnia, you know—and I saw you come to town.”
“Come to town?” I repeated stupidly. Was that all she had to say about the way I had run right through a magic door and found myself in this strange place?
“Why yes—I saw the Portal appear and then you came through it,” she said patiently. “And you looked so distressed. I assumed that you came here from necessity rather than choice. Though I notice you do have a key with you.”
She nodded at the iron key which I was still clutching in my fist. I was still holding the tiny golden key as well, and the silver chain I always wore them on.
“Oh, uh…” I stared stupidly at the key in my hand. “My Pop-pop gave it to me,” I muttered.
“Your Pop-pop?” She raised her eyebrows delicately, the brilliant moonlight winking off the gold rims of her spectacles.
“My Grandfather,” I corrected myself. “His name was Giovanni. Giovanni Callahan.”
“Oh, Giovanni!” she exclaimed, coming closer. Her low kitten heels, which were also trimmed in floating ostrich feathers, clicked on the pavement. “Why didn’t you say so? How is the dear man? I haven’t seen him in positively ages!”
“He…he’s dead,” I said, still too rattled to be anything but blunt.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my dear! How dreadful!” she exclaimed. “Oh that poor, dear man! What happened to him? Was he…” Her voice dropped. “Was he killed by whatever was chasing you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He…he died about a year ago. But I heard his voice tonight,” I added—though I wasn’t sure why I was telling her this. “He told me to run because those…those things would drag me down into the…the Pit!”
I was starting to cry for the second time that day (or night) which made me mad at myself. I hate crying—I did enough of it when I was married to Carlo and it never helped anything. It only made things worse. I sniffed hard and swiped at my eyes, willing myself to get my wayward emotions under control.
“You poor thing! Here I am questioning you in the middle of the night and the middle of the street!” the woman exclaimed. “Where are my manners? I’m Goody Albright and you must be Willow—the Granddaughter that Giovanni spoke of so often.”