Lillian groaned and rolled over, stretching. That dream again. When would it stop?
She flopped out of bed, smoothing her faded nightgown and yawning. Maybe a cold glass of water would soothe her churning stomach – and pulsing heart.
She pattered downstairs, her feet slapping on the dark shadows splattered with moonlight. When she reached the kitchen, opening the invitingly bright refridgerator and pulling out a jug of water, she began to pour it into the delicate glass when she heard a faint rattle at the door.
Lillian shuffled to the gaping Dutch doors and grasped the handle. Suddenly, with WHOOSH , they were flung open and a swirl of wind encroached upon the warmth of the house.
“Hello?”
Shimmering very slowly, a long, braided, beaten up rope came into view. Where it hung down from, Lillian didn’t know, but she did know one thing – this was the rope from her dream. But instead of screaming and running away, she decided to follow the urging in the pit of her stomach – she needed to climb that rope.