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7/30/2025, 8:50:43 PM
a new Hill-Billie green!
>HILL-Billie: The Mystery of the Night Burglar
>The morning sun, filtered through the thick leaves outside her window, painted Grace's room in dappled light.
>She stretched, still half-asleep, the lingering unease from her nightmares about becoming a mud-covered hillbilly fading with the dawn.
>Just as she was contemplating the sheer luxury of a full eight hours of sleep without a single siren, Aunt Ellie's voice, warm and lilting as usual, drifted up from downstairs.
>"Grace, honey-child! Breakfas' is on the table, if you're ever gonna come on down!"
>Grace shuffled into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
>Aunt Ellie stood by the open refrigerator, a gentle yet firm expression on her face.
>"Mornin', darlin'. Now, if you ever get a hankerin' for a midnight snack, all you gotta do is ask your old auntie. No need to go makin' a mess like a coon dog in a garbage can."
>Grace blinked, fully awake now. The kitchen was a mess. A half-eaten biscuit lay on the counter, crumbs scattered like tiny, edible snow, and the butter dish was askew. "What? But that wasn't me!" she exclaimed, genuinely shocked.
>Aunt Ellie just chuckled, a soft, knowing sound.
>"Oh, you don't gotta be embarrassed, sweet pea. We all get the munchies sometimes. Just remember, next time, you just holler. No need to sneak 'round like a fox in the hen house." She winked, clearly thinking Grace was just too shy to admit to a late-night raid.
>Grace stared, utterly bewildered. It definitely wasn't her. She never ate in the middle of the night, and she certainly wouldn't leave such a chaotic trail.
>Could Aunt Ellie be a sleepwalker? Did she, in her Southern-accented slumber, raid the fridge and then forget? Or, a more unsettling thought, had a wild animal somehow managed to get inside the cabin?
>HILL-Billie: The Mystery of the Night Burglar
>The morning sun, filtered through the thick leaves outside her window, painted Grace's room in dappled light.
>She stretched, still half-asleep, the lingering unease from her nightmares about becoming a mud-covered hillbilly fading with the dawn.
>Just as she was contemplating the sheer luxury of a full eight hours of sleep without a single siren, Aunt Ellie's voice, warm and lilting as usual, drifted up from downstairs.
>"Grace, honey-child! Breakfas' is on the table, if you're ever gonna come on down!"
>Grace shuffled into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
>Aunt Ellie stood by the open refrigerator, a gentle yet firm expression on her face.
>"Mornin', darlin'. Now, if you ever get a hankerin' for a midnight snack, all you gotta do is ask your old auntie. No need to go makin' a mess like a coon dog in a garbage can."
>Grace blinked, fully awake now. The kitchen was a mess. A half-eaten biscuit lay on the counter, crumbs scattered like tiny, edible snow, and the butter dish was askew. "What? But that wasn't me!" she exclaimed, genuinely shocked.
>Aunt Ellie just chuckled, a soft, knowing sound.
>"Oh, you don't gotta be embarrassed, sweet pea. We all get the munchies sometimes. Just remember, next time, you just holler. No need to sneak 'round like a fox in the hen house." She winked, clearly thinking Grace was just too shy to admit to a late-night raid.
>Grace stared, utterly bewildered. It definitely wasn't her. She never ate in the middle of the night, and she certainly wouldn't leave such a chaotic trail.
>Could Aunt Ellie be a sleepwalker? Did she, in her Southern-accented slumber, raid the fridge and then forget? Or, a more unsettling thought, had a wild animal somehow managed to get inside the cabin?
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