This is an excerpt from the fifth book in the Ned McNeil series, The Secret of Singing Pines. It is a work in progress. The fourth one, Murder By Moonlight is on Amazon. Have you read it?
Strange house, strange bed—it was no wonder I had a tough time falling asleep that night. Of course, Pat and Jackie and I sitting on my queen size bed, munching apple wedges and cheese didn’t help any. At last, though, my friends wandered back to their rooms. I turned off my bedside lamp, closed my eyes, and told myself to go to sleep. I counted sheep, practiced deep breathing and relaxation; nothing worked. At last, I was beginning to get drowsy when a strange, piercing sound jarred my eyes open. Heart hammering, I lay there, too frightened to move and wondering what in the world I’d heard. Then, I heard it again. It sounded like someone singing.
My door burst open and both of my friends hurtled across the room and jumped onto my bed. “Did you hear it?” Pat whispered.
I nodded. “What was it?”
“It sounded like singing,” Jackie said. “Remember that the wind makes funny noises blowing through these pines. It must be just the wind.”
Maybe. But, I didn’t think so. This was different from the wind. I could almost understand words as the voice rose and fell. I threw back the sheet, went to the window and closed it.
“There!” I said. “That’ll take care of the spooky wind.”
Pat’s voice shook. “I don’t think so.” She grabbed my arm as we heard the wailing voice again.
“It’s coming from somewhere above us,” Jackie breathed.
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. “You’re right. Remember that balcony at the top of the house? We decided to save exploring it until tomorrow. Maybe a window was open there. Come on, let’s go see.”
“Umm…well, all right, I guess,” Pat mumbled.
We clutched our cell phones, switched them to flashlight mode, and tiptoed into the hall. A narrow door marked the end of this second floor hallway. I opened it, gritting my teeth at the creaking hinges. Single file, we tiptoed up. Another closed door was at the top of the stairs.
“Oooh,” Pat whispered. “I don’t like this.” Doubtless, none of us did. I opened this door, more quietly than the first one, stepped onto a hard, board floor, and froze as something white and wispy blew into the room. The three of us screamed at the same time.
Drawing a shaky breath, I said, “It’s…it’s all right. Just the window curtain. The wind blew the curtain out. That’s all. No ghost, thank goodness.”
With arms linked, we moved to the window and I closed it. “That was it, then,” Jackie said. “It was the wind through this window.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t at all sure. There was no screen on this window, nothing for the wind to whistle through. Would the wind make that sort of sound, with no obstruction? The moonlight shone on tall pines surrounding the house. Stepping onto the small balcony would have given me a bird’s eye view of the whole area, but, truthfully, my courage had left me. I couldn’t wait to get back downstairs.
More sleep was impossible. Nobody wanted to go back to bed, so we headed for the kitchen. I flipped on a light and found a saucepan in the cabinet. “How about hot chocolate?” I asked.
Jackie and Pat nodded, gathering around the stove. While I poured in milk, mixed sugar and cocoa, and stirred, Pat rummaged through shelves, and found a bag of marshmallows. Jackie located mugs. Carrying our hot drinks, we sat at the table.
I closed my fingers around the warm mug. “Ahh, “I said, swallowing the first sip of hot chocolate, “this is just what I needed.”
Jackie nodded. “It’s cold in here. Due to the altitude, I suppose. I was never so scared. What a memorable first night at Singing Pines.”
Pat’s eyebrows drew together. “Do you suppose…is that why this place has its name? Surely, we won’t be treated to that awful solo every night, will we?”
“Some adventurers we are,” I said. “Just the wind blowing through a window had the adrenalin flowing. Sure, Pat, it’s the wind through the trees, or, in this case, the window. It’s well known that wind through pines makes a peculiar noise.”
“But, I wonder. Would the wind have made that odd singing, almost like a funeral dirge? Did you notice, either of you, that there was no screen for the wind to whistle through? So, would just the wind cause the rise and fall, almost like a melody?”
Pat shuddered. “I swear I could almost make out words. My imagination must be really working overtime.”
I tried to smile reassuringly, but, truthfully, I did not feel reassured at all. I felt, quite frankly, chilled and uneasy. Just what had we agreed to in coming to this picturesque place in the mountains?
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