The weight, shape and trajectory of her body caused her to turn slightly in her freefall. She was in a reclining position, hands and feet a little higher than the rest of her. A lock of hair got caught in the spittle at the corner of her mouth and she felt a clear urge to brush it aside. Then she hit something hard. The shock of the impact was enough to delay any feeling of pain. Dazed, Marla tried to sit up and look around. Her body was reluctant to perform such a complicated task, and so she lay there on her back and reached out with her hands to touch the floor instead. The surface that answered her sensory investigations was wooden, not the dirt and foliage of the ground she’d expected. This surprising sensation gave new impetus to her muscles and soon she found herself sitting up and dusting herself off on a second-floor balcony, which had broken her fall. More of the strangely intricate driftwood carvings loomed from the moonlight shadows. Rising to her feet, she peered up at the house looming above her, half-expecting those dreadful eyes to peer back from the spot from which she’d fallen.
