Something Beyond the Pages: A Chilling Timeless Return

Something Beyond the Pages: A Chilling Timeless Return
 About the Author
 Dedication
 Acknowledgement
 Copyright Information ©
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three: Ten Months Earlier
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Chapter Seventeen
 Chapter Eighteen
 Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty: Mrs Read’s POV
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Something Beyond the Pages: A Chilling Timeless Return
 Rachael Shaw
 Austin Macauley Publishers
 2021-10-29
 
 About the Author
 Rachael Shaw was born and raised in Sheffield. She is the 3rd of 4 daughters and has a west highland terrier named Lola.
 Rachael took up writing just as a hobby to help with personal struggles and it soon became her passion. Her stories developed as part of a method to help her sleep at night.
 Something Beyond the Pages– a world that is hidden, is her debut novel.
 
 
 Dedication
 To Millie for always helping me and being the
 person behind Adalyn.
 
 
 Acknowledgement
 I couldn’t do any of this without my Mum, Dad, my sisters and Lola my beautiful doggie. They are my inspirations and I love them dearly.
 
 
 I prayed to be different and I got it. I’m not the same person I was the year before, although, to others, I am. No one knows the adventure I took; no one knows how it plays on my mind day and night, how it keeps me awake. I haven’t told anyone. How can you tell someone that all those things that were considered false are real, they are just hidden away? Left unknown so they can’t be touched and probed like a science experiment. You have no idea they are right under your nose and it’s going to stay like that.
 You could have sat next to a witch, wizard, the greatest potion maker in the world, the man and woman who knows all and you would never know. How does it feel to know there could be a whole new world out there that consists of magic and creatures?
 My life changed and I have had to pretend nothing happened. But I am different now whether it is noticed by many, disliked by some, ignored by others, it won’t change. Magic is real, the weird and wonderful are real, you just have to stay open minded and believe in it.
 
 
 Chapter One
 It’s late-ish; it’s the time of the day when my parents have nodded off on the sofa, midway through a tv show that they claim to be interested in but missed almost all the show, due to their eyes being closed. I can hear their snores faintly through the floorboards, annoying? Yes. I can hear Dad snoring more than Mum; he is like a foghorn, but you cannot tell him he snores because he will deny it and claim ‘I wasn’t even asleep, I just closed my eyes for a second’. You have to find the funny side or else you’ll scream.
 It is a starless night. The stars have made way for the torrential downpour that has been the thing for the past week, ruining plans, hairstyles and nice outfit choices. Not that I have had any plans other than home schooling and work, but if I were to have plans, the rain would have put a dampener on it (excuse the pun, I have been around my dad for too long). Do work and school count as plans or just inconvenient events?
 My thoughts had drowned out the snoring, until I just thought about it. Now snoring is all I can hear, even though I have two pillows pressed hard against my ears; I hate when that happens, when your brain just latches on to one noise and it dominates your mind.
 Through the noises of my mind, snores, and the (not so) sound-cancelling pillows, I hear the doorbell. No chance I am going to the door; I have a feeling it is our new neighbours, the Pickleys. ‘Call Me Elizabeth’ Pickley plays the violin loudly in her back garden to show off. Unfortunately, everyone on this street is too polite to tell her to kindly smash her violin up and never pick another one up again. Although, I have been to the bathroom window a few times over the past few days to inform her that I do in fact like to sleep and playing a violin at 8 am is cruel and unfair. Obviously, I didn’t actually say it like that; it went more like: “Erm, Mrs Pickley, is it okay if you wait till the afternoon…no? Okay.” She comes around more or less every day to show Mum and Dad a new song she learnt that day and believes it is a treat; she may as well move in. I see her more than I see my own parents. She is awful at playing as well and that is the nicest way to say it. I’d much rather listen to someone scratch their nails down a chalkboard; it would probably sound more in tune and more pleasant; I just got a shiver in my spine at the thought about nails down a chalkboard. Anyway, she turns up at the door and offers to play them a tune or two (always ends up being like ten).
 “You wouldn’t get songs played to you by any other neighbour,” she constantly reminds them; surely when Dad scrunches up his nose and looks like he just ate a sour lemon, Call Me Elizabeth would realise they don’t like her loud screeching noises. Her husband Rodney is actually decent though; I do not know how he copes; I’ve seen him leave the garden when she starts playing. I do have to admit though even this time is late for her to visit.
 “Adalyn, it’s for you!” Dad shouts, a tinge of annoyance hanging on his tone due to an unexpected guest