Читать книгу Beyond Delicious: The Ghost Whisperer's Cookbook - Mary Ann Winkowski - Страница 30

YVONNE HEARD THE TELLTALE PATTER of little feet in the hallway, heading for her room. Sure enough, seconds later the bedroom door glided all the way open, and in came Lanie and Laurie, her three-and five-year-old daughters. They’d lived in this house two years now, and Yvonne couldn’t remember a single night when the girls had slept in their own room.

Ed, Yvonne’s husband, grunted and rolled over when the girls clambered into the bed. He surfaced long enough to register that Lanie, the youngest, was crying, and that got him fully awake.

“What is it, honey?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“She pulled my hair again,” Lanie grumbled.

“Who did? Laurie?” Both girls shook their heads. Ed glanced at his wife. They knew what was coming next, and they’d had about enough of it.

“No! That girl did it! The girl in our room!” Lanie cried. Ed hugged her and tried to calm her. It was the same old story by this time: “That girl”—whoever she was, because no one but the girls could see her—had pulled their hair or pinched them, or tugged their feet or was jumping on the bed or banging in the closet. At least the last two Yvonne and her husband could corroborate: They’d heard the noises themselves from time to time. As for the rest, who could argue? The girls were clearly not making it up. Something had them scared and confused, to the point that they no longer even took naps in the daytime in their room.