New Hill-Billie Greens
>Grace stopped dead in her muddy tracks, right in the middle of Aunt Ellie’s front yard.
>The locket felt cold and solid in her hand—proof this wasn't just a tomato or a funny smell.
>This thing had invaded her life, ruined her footwear, and, worst of all, smeared her reputation as a tidy, responsible niece.
>"Right," Grace said, snapping the locket shut. "This ends tonight. I'm going to catch this thing."
>Billie's gap-toothed grin stretched wide. "Catch the Chicken Boogie Man? Now you're talkin', city gal! I'll help! We can use my ma's bear trap!"
>Grace shuddered. "Absolutely not. No bear traps. We use intelligence. We set a lure and watch." She began pacing, tapping the locket against her chin. >"It comes in at night for snacks, right? It was at the coop at night, then here for biscuits. It's predictable. We set a perimeter, and when it takes the bait, I'll bag it."
>Billie looked at the plan, puzzled. "A lure? Like a sparkly fish lure? You gonna fish for a goblin?"
>"No! A food lure! We leave the fridge open a crack, put some leftovers out... maybe a big, messy biscuit. Then we wait inside the pantry and—" Grace stopped herself.
>"Wait. That meant spending the entire night with Billie, whispering in the dark about cryptids and mud. Grace mentally recoiled. Ugh. I hate this. But I have to clear my name."
>Later that afternoon, Grace was trying to scrape the dried mud off her shoes with a spoon—a futile, disgusting task—when the porch screen door creaked open.
>"Yoo-hoo! Miss Ellie? We brought pie!" Billie called out, stepping onto the porch with Nellie trailing silently behind her. Nellie clutched a jar that looked suspiciously like it contained pickled something-or-other.
>Aunt Ellie rushed from the kitchen, her face beaming. "Billie, darlin'! Land sakes, you came to supper! Oh, Gracie, look! I told you you'd make fast friends!"
>Grace managed a pained, fake smile from the hallway.
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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?