Whispers from the Dead Read Online Free

knew immediately that whatever vision I’d glimpsed had gone. The freshly painted walls were stark and clean, gleaming under their wash of mellow sunlight. The stair wall under the banister was solid, no railings to peer through, so I leaned my head against it and took a couple of long, steadying breaths.
    It was clear to me now that for some reason I was still linked to another world. Why me? I groaned, mumbling under my breath that it wasn’t fair. My other experience had been peaceful, at least, but this one was terrifying. Should I tell Mom and Dad about it?
    No! The answer was so urgent and so positive, for an instant I wondered if it came from my own mind or someone else’s. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. Whatwas happening to me? Had I become Strange Sarah, the weirdo who deals with ghosts? Mom had been scared to death by what had happened to me before. How would she react to this? I shuddered. I couldn’t tell my parents, not until I understood what was going on. The word I had heard still echoed in my mind:
Ayúdame.
I knew enough Spanish to be familiar with that call for help. I ached for the woman who had cried out with such desperation. Had she once called, and no one heard?
    A thought hit me with such impact that I shuddered. Maybe I hadn’t picked up her cry to someone else. Maybe she had been calling to me!
    At the foot of the stairs, next to the front door, was a two-foot-wide floor-to-ceiling window. I could see my parents’ car come up the driveway and make a sharp right-angle turn into the garage, which was at the front of the house. I managed to struggle to my feet and stumbled down the stairs to open the door for them, shivering against the unnatural chill in the entry hall. A house so open to the sun and heat, and yet so cold.
    “The restaurant we found is really good,” Mom said as she thrust a white paper bag into my hands and began to herd me toward the kitchen. I wondered if my eyes showed what I’d been through. Fortunately Mom didn’t look at me closely enough to notice. “I had some of the shrimp lo mein, too, and you’ll love it,” she said. “Hurry up. Eat it while it’s still hot.”
    While I cleared off a spot at one end of the table, Mom chattered on. “I love this neighborhood. Everything’s so handy, and there’s a swimming pool and tennis courts and—”
    I tuned her out, still trembling inside from the vision I’d seen and the voice I’d heard. Dr. Clark had said some people who’d had near-death experiences had found themselves more sensitive and intuitive to otherworldly beings. Was this why I’d heard the cry for help? But why had the woman chosen to contact me? There must be a reason.
    In our still messy, warm, and cozy kitchen, the scene I’d heard and seen a short time ago seemed no more than a dream. I couldn’t understand it or what it had to do with me, and I hoped with all my heart it would never return.

    I was exhausted, so in spite of what had happened, I slept well all through the night.
    The next morning I pulled my bicycle out from the boxes and crates piled along one side of the garage and set out to take a close look at this part of Houston. Even with its huge shade trees and thick green lawns, the city was so different from Springdale. For one thing, there were no hills to coast down. I suddenly wondered if I were to look from a window at the top of one of downtown Houston’s highest buildings, could I see all the way home? I stopped to wipe the blur of tears from my eyes. Springdale, Missouri, was no longer home. This was. Slowly I retraced my route and turned into our cul-de-sac street.
    A plump girl, with hair the color of pale lemonade, got up from the shaded porch step of the Colonial-style house next to ours. She waved with one hand as shetugged down her shorts with the other. Her T-shirt was purple, her shorts were red, and her hair was tied back by a faded green scarf. As I pulled my bike to a stop she came to meet me. “Hi!” she