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J onathan jumped out of bed. “Abigail!” he cried frantically. “Abigail! Where are you?”
He froze in the center of the room and listened.
No one answered. The voice was gone.
His hands trembling, Jonathan lit a candle from the smoldering embers in the fireplace. The candlelight made his shadow rise eerily on the wall.
Jonathan searched every corner of the room. He threw open the wardrobe door and peered inside.
No sign of his dead sister. No sign of anyone.
His heart thumping, Jonathan slumped back onto the bed.
Abigail had called to him. Or had she?
Had it been another dream?
Perhaps Mama’s madness is getting to me, he thought. But he quickly dismissed the idea.
The voice was real. I did hear Abigail calling me, warning me about something….
Then a soft tapping at his door startled him.
He leapt to his feet, staring at the door.
Should he open it?
He had no time to decide. The door squeaked open slowly.
In walked Rachel.
She wore her nightshift and cap, her feet bare. Her eyes in the dim candlelight were round with fear.
“Rachel, what is it?” Jonathan asked, his voice a low whisper.
“I saw her!” Rachel cried. “I saw Abigail!”
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