Summer is my favorite time of year, the days are longer, the weather is hot, and I take the time to stop and enjoy the little things just a bit more. This summer I pushed myself writing-wise by putting out two books, Cemetery Kids: Gem of the Atlantic Coast with Miller Pope. It meant a lot of writing, editing, reading, and re-editing. But I was able to do some of it outside, even a little by the pool. It also meant doing some research, which I always enjoy, I love learning more about where I live and the history of this area.
And most importantly I have taken in those precious moments of summer on the coast, where summer is like no other. These are the reasons I love summer. My good friend Sharon was kind enough to make a video of one of my Friday night book signings at the Sunset Beach Trading Company. They have great ice cream there too! Amazing View of the Waterway. A Real Lemonade Stand. Visiting Frank Nesmith and the dolphin he found on Sunset Beach. I Grew Basil from Seeds. This site uses cookies.
The shower suddenly stopped running and the curtain stopped circling. Piper could hear the metal rings rattling and then settling in place. The water from the tub began draining, and as the mud was being drawn loudly into the pipe it made sucking noises. Soon the mud clogged the hole and silenced the slow moving vortex. Piper stood shaking, clutching the towel to her naked, dirt-streaked body and shivering. The voice had an ethereal quality to it and her mind raced to place the names she had just heard.
They were familiar, yet not. And then it came to her. Seven little grave markers instantly flashed through her mind. Those were the names of the children who were buried in her back yard.
- Sifting Sound into Shape.
- Cemetery Kids the Ghosts of Bird Island Find a Family by Jacqueline DeGroot - FictionDB.
- Cemetery Kids: The Ghosts of Bird Island by Jacqueline DeGroot -!
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- The Stone Thread (The Stone Thread First Chronicle Book 1).
Eight children, all with the same last name, all under ten when they had died. As if in a trance, she dropped the towel, turned slowly and reached to turn the shower back on.
Cemetery Kids: The Ghosts of Bird Island by Jacqueline DeGroot
She rinsed her hair and her body and watched the remaining mud at the bottom drain out with soft gurgles as she shifted it and swished it around with her foot. Then she gingerly stepped out, watching out for glass shards, as she reached for a fresh. As if being quiet was going to make a bit of difference to her ghost.
In her room, she found her bathrobe and put it on. Then she went to stand at the lone, unadorned window. As she stood there toweling her hair, she stared out at the cemetery. Except for the willow branches swaying in the light breeze, all was still. The tombstones were shadowed and eerily lit by a full moon. She stared for what could have been hours, lost in her thoughts trying to piece things together. Every once in a while, she felt her scalp tingling, as if someone was combing their fingers through her hair with the absolute lightest touch. She went over her day, trying to make sense of things.
She had taken her usual jog on the beach that morning while waiting for the moving van. She remembered sitting on the bench at the Kindred Spirit Mailbox on Bird Island and writing in the journal, excited about her new house on the mainland. There was no doubt in her mind that K. Each knick-knack had a story and she had to stop to let it unwind in her head as she placed each item in its new home. Then chaos had taken over. When she finally stepped away from the window and turned toward her bed, her long hair was dry and silky smooth. It usually took hours to get it this soft and dry, as it was so thick.
It was a task she dreaded because it was always tangled after washing. She gently pulled back the covers, thankful that making up her bed had been one of her first priorities. As she eased into the bed, she reached for the light switch on the wall above the night table. It was an old house and electricity had been added after the fact, so the switch was located at the end of a conduit that housed the wiring. She had to turn the toggle to break the connection and shut off the light. As she did so, the room went dark.
She let out a soft sigh and relaxed into the smooth sheets.
Then she heard the naked bulb above her pop and she was sprayed with fine bits of glass. In a rage, she violently threw the covers off and, after shoving her feet into her slippers, she stomped over to the window. Just stop breaking all my glass! She waited for an answer but none came. She slammed the window shut. Walking back to the bed, she felt around for the edges of her comforter. Moving slowly in the dark, she gathered the corners together and placed the whole bundle in a corner. She shook out her hair and brushed at her skin, surprised to find there was no glass on either her or her robe.
How could that be? It had rained down on her like a fine mist when the bulb had exploded. Climbing back into the bed and using the top sheet to cover her, she laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, it was morning. The sun was shining through the open window and a faint breeze was ruffling her hair. She heard birds singing as she closed her eyes to the bright sunlight. She flipped from her side to her back and found herself staring up at the ceiling—at a light bulb, a full, dust-coated light bulb.
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Had she dreamed everything last night? Had she been so tired she hallucinated? How did the window get opened again? She distinctly remembered closing it last night. She looked over for the comforter in the corner. Her eyes moved around the room and settled on it. It was folded in thirds resting at the bottom of the bed. Sweet Jesus, what in the world was going on? She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair.
Then she looked around the room.
Cemetery Kids: The Ghosts of Bird Island | Jacqueline DeGroot
The boxes were gone. The things that had been in them were either neatly stacked on her desk or scattered on her dresser, haphazardly for sure, but placed in the general vicinity that they would normally belong. Had she unpacked in her sleep? Ignored how tired she was and continued unpacking into the night and then forgotten about it? Slowly, she pushed the sheet aside and stepped out of bed. She walked around the room looking for traces of glass, staring at each figurine on the dresser and trying to remember when she had placed it there.
She had no idea how some of them had gotten there. She shuffled into the bathroom.
There was no mud—wet, splattered, or caked-on anywhere. The tiles were immaculate, in fact, they gleamed. Clean towels were hung on the rods. Moving to stand in front of the sink, she noticed that the mirror was whole and spotlessly clean. She looked at the woman staring back at her. Was she going insane? Had she drunk too much wine?
Shaking her head, she walked back to the bedroom and got dressed. Savoring the peaceful quiet and enjoying the rising steam on her face, she sighed with pleasure.