The Whispers of Wilderwood Hall Read Online Free

forward by a fortnight and he had to leave us to fend for ourselves here in Nowheresville…
    â€œUh, hi,” says a voice right beside me. Oh; it’s the boy. Nerves kick in and my breathing does its panic dance – shallow and fast.
    Still, up this close, I can’t help noticing three things about him: he’s a little shorter than me ( plenty of people are); round his neck is a leather cord necklace that matches the bands around his wrist; and his eyes are small and dark … darker than you’d expect, considering the lightness of his hair. They remind me of an animal’s eyes. No, a
bird’s
. They are definitely bird-like. In fact, he’s staring at me like I’m a worm he’s sizing up for dinner.
    â€œSo you’re the new owners of Wilderwood?” he asks me straight out.
    â€œI suppose so,” I mumble in reply, though I can’t say I’ve thought of the mansion that way. It’s RJ’s, after all.
    â€œWow,
you’re
brave,” the boy grins. “What did you think when you first saw the state it’s in?”
    â€œI – I haven’t.” I stumble over my words. “I mean, I’ve never been.”
    Neither has RJ. He bought Wilderwood Hall online, like book or a kettle or something. How crazy is that? I remember Mum telling me I had to do proper planning and research about my history project on the suffragettes, and yet in the time she and RJ have been together they’ve made every huge decision on the spur of the moment, like it’s madly romantic instead of just plain mad.
    â€œ Wow,” the boy says, and grins again. “Well, that’s it over there. See?”
    I look where he’s pointing, expecting to see a random big building. But all that’s in my line of vision is an untidy terrace of ancient, tiny houses on the other side of the street.
    â€œWhere?” I ask, confused.
    â€œIn the distance,” says the boy. “You can only really see a bit of the East Wing.”
    Then I get it; above the chimney stacks, distant treetops sway in the wind. And visible in a gap in the trees is one pointed gable, with two small windows in it. Funnily enough, those windows look a little … well, a little like
eyes
. Glinting eyes that seem to be staring, staring across woodland, fields, rooftops, past soaring crows and skidding clouds. Staring past all that – straight at
me
.
    With a whoosh and a rush, everything tips to one side, and I slip and sink into cool darkness…

When I wake, it’s like coming up for air.
    I rise from my sleepy depths and blink at the light streaming through the bare window. The room’s walls are a faded pale blue … that and the white duvet and fluffy pillows piled on the big bed make me feel as if I’m bobbing in frothy white horses in some faraway salty sea.
    And bobbing beside me – on a fat pillow – is a Tunnock’s Teacake, in its shiny wrapper. Smiling at Mum’s jokey gesture, I take a couple of slow, deep breaths, and try to place myself.
    The bed, the chest of drawers, the soft, fluffy rug on the rough wooden floorboards … they’re Mum’s, but this isn’t our cosy old flat. I’m in a rough-and- ready room on the first floor of the East Wing of Wilderwood Hall.
    A glint of light on glass draws my gaze to the two framed photos propped up on the chest of drawers. One is of Mum cuddling me, aged three, the two of us damp and sandy after a dip in the sea, and now all bundled in a big towel on the beach. The other is Mum’s favourite image from the wedding. It’s a close-up of her hand resting in RJ’s, the matching white star tattoos visible on each of their wrists.
    Was it only two weeks ago since Mum and RJ got married? Time seems to be so … so
stretchy
lately. Since RJ rolled into our world and sent it spinning in a different direction, I mean.
    Wonder how early or late it is?
I think and glance