Read Online Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) by Celia Vogel - Free Book Online
Authors: Celia Vogel
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of the barn, she stood facing the wall and, without turning around, murmured under her breath, “I sense a very strong energy in this space.” Her voice was raspy and guttural as she announced with satisfaction, 'the Spirits are vith us tonight!”
“Ooooh” gushed Aunt Jean, tugging at Ruth Crossland's sleeve. “I can feel the Spirits too. Can't you, Ruthie?”
“Actually, I felt them as soon as I walked in— they're very close,” she replied, beaming a wide maniacal grin.
“The dead are here? That's it, I'm leaving!” announced Mrs. Paradis in a voice that seemed altered and harsh. Her face was the very picture of anxiety. Despite protests and astonished stares from her husband and others, she persisted, stating emphatically, “No, my dears, I don't care much for any of this!”
“Oh, but Jennifer, we haven't even started. Just give it a chance.”
“Let her go. Once she sets her mind to something, there's nothing you can do to stop her,” her husband declared.
Mrs. Paradis retreated to join Granddad Crossland, who had stayed behind at the main house, perhaps already sound asleep in the easy chair of crushed yellow velvet.
Being a true sceptic by nature, Geordie Crossland made it clear to everyone that he thought it was all a load of nonsense and that he didn't believe in ghosts of any sort and was about to leave but finally was persuaded by the others to sit down and take part.
All eyes were on Madame Zelda as she sank back heavily into the metal chair, which creaked a protest with an ear-piercing screech, and then produced from her large bag a brown paper roll and a black felt pen. She covered the whole table with the brown paper, then drew a large circle on it with a pentagram in the centre and surrounded the star with occult symbols. She then leaned forward, slowly adjusting the silver rings that gleamed on her crooked fingers, and drew her features together, her shiny eyes widening to suggest that she was about to pass on important information. Everyone waited anxiously for the word that would begin the session. But for the moment she said nothing. Instead she looked around at each guest, staring wide-eyed and unblinkingly into their eyes, as if to catch a glimpse of something— their souls? When her gaze reached Jillian, she peered closely into the young girl's anxious face and chuckled to herself— a cold, sardonic laugh that chilled the girl to her very core.
At Madame Zelda's direction the lightbulb over the barn door was switched off. Striking a match with a sound like an explosion, she produced a burst of flame that quickly approached a tall white candle in the centre of the table. Its soft light spread and illuminated the space, its glistening yellow glow floating steadily and thinly as if suspended in the darkness, casting shadows on the walls. She told the guests while resting their hands on the table within the circle, to lightly touch each other's fingers. The circle, she explained, was for each person's safety; so at no time should they let their hands drop off the table once the séance began. In a low quavering voice she announced, “Concentrate. Take deep breaths, and invite the spirits to come. They are velcome here.”
They all put their hands together on the table and closed their eyes; but getting everyone to concentrate or to remain quiet was easier said than done. There were nervous whispers and jokes and laughter. Adam moaned like a ghost just to be funny, and Olivia gave him a playful kick under the table.
“Ouch! I didn't say anything,” he protested. “That was the ghost, not me.”
“Oh shush, now,” she replied teasingly. “Do you expect anything will happen with this racket?” and then she broke out into nervous giddy laughter herself.
Observing this, Jillian cried out, “Oh, this is too much! Will you two love-sick birds please stop?”
Mr. Sparks burst out into hacking laughter as the wisps of grey hair that he had combed to one side to cover his bald
“Ooooh” gushed Aunt Jean, tugging at Ruth Crossland's sleeve. “I can feel the Spirits too. Can't you, Ruthie?”
“Actually, I felt them as soon as I walked in— they're very close,” she replied, beaming a wide maniacal grin.
“The dead are here? That's it, I'm leaving!” announced Mrs. Paradis in a voice that seemed altered and harsh. Her face was the very picture of anxiety. Despite protests and astonished stares from her husband and others, she persisted, stating emphatically, “No, my dears, I don't care much for any of this!”
“Oh, but Jennifer, we haven't even started. Just give it a chance.”
“Let her go. Once she sets her mind to something, there's nothing you can do to stop her,” her husband declared.
Mrs. Paradis retreated to join Granddad Crossland, who had stayed behind at the main house, perhaps already sound asleep in the easy chair of crushed yellow velvet.
Being a true sceptic by nature, Geordie Crossland made it clear to everyone that he thought it was all a load of nonsense and that he didn't believe in ghosts of any sort and was about to leave but finally was persuaded by the others to sit down and take part.
All eyes were on Madame Zelda as she sank back heavily into the metal chair, which creaked a protest with an ear-piercing screech, and then produced from her large bag a brown paper roll and a black felt pen. She covered the whole table with the brown paper, then drew a large circle on it with a pentagram in the centre and surrounded the star with occult symbols. She then leaned forward, slowly adjusting the silver rings that gleamed on her crooked fingers, and drew her features together, her shiny eyes widening to suggest that she was about to pass on important information. Everyone waited anxiously for the word that would begin the session. But for the moment she said nothing. Instead she looked around at each guest, staring wide-eyed and unblinkingly into their eyes, as if to catch a glimpse of something— their souls? When her gaze reached Jillian, she peered closely into the young girl's anxious face and chuckled to herself— a cold, sardonic laugh that chilled the girl to her very core.
At Madame Zelda's direction the lightbulb over the barn door was switched off. Striking a match with a sound like an explosion, she produced a burst of flame that quickly approached a tall white candle in the centre of the table. Its soft light spread and illuminated the space, its glistening yellow glow floating steadily and thinly as if suspended in the darkness, casting shadows on the walls. She told the guests while resting their hands on the table within the circle, to lightly touch each other's fingers. The circle, she explained, was for each person's safety; so at no time should they let their hands drop off the table once the séance began. In a low quavering voice she announced, “Concentrate. Take deep breaths, and invite the spirits to come. They are velcome here.”
They all put their hands together on the table and closed their eyes; but getting everyone to concentrate or to remain quiet was easier said than done. There were nervous whispers and jokes and laughter. Adam moaned like a ghost just to be funny, and Olivia gave him a playful kick under the table.
“Ouch! I didn't say anything,” he protested. “That was the ghost, not me.”
“Oh shush, now,” she replied teasingly. “Do you expect anything will happen with this racket?” and then she broke out into nervous giddy laughter herself.
Observing this, Jillian cried out, “Oh, this is too much! Will you two love-sick birds please stop?”
Mr. Sparks burst out into hacking laughter as the wisps of grey hair that he had combed to one side to cover his bald
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