Here’s a moment when a ghost visits the heroine in Kiss’d: A Time Travel Romantic Adventure. Copyright © 2016 by Diana C. Reep

I don’t even undress and get ready for sleep. Instead, I silently open my door and creep down the stairs. In the kitchen, Snowball circles my feet purring softly, while I hesitate in front of the meat fork. If the other night was a dream, I don’t need a weapon. If I really saw a ghost, the meat fork won’t protect me. Snowball follows me out into the garden.
The air’s warm and humid, the moon half hidden under clouds. I forgot to turn out the lamp on my desk, so light from my bedroom window shines on the stone path. Walking slowly across the flagstones toward the arbor, I have to keep lifting my feet over and around Snowball who’s twisting around my ankles, demanding attention. Near the arbor, I stop and stand in place, waiting—waiting for something. The clouds shift, and the moonlight breaks through, changing the shape of the shadows in the garden. The only sounds are Snowball’s purring and the crickets. I feel alone, but then Snowball hisses and races back to the house.
“I know you’re here,” I whisper. I strain to see into the shadows cast by the rose arbor. “Why did you come?”
He seems to form out of the darkness, looking more substantial than before. Definitely a soldier. Brass buttons. Heavy boots.
My pulse jumps. “Why did you come?”
“You called me.” His voice sounds like an echo.
“I already told you—you’re wrong about that. Who are you?”
“I need your help.”
I dig my fingernails in my arm. A jolt of pain. I must be awake. “Why do you need help?”
Edges of him break into pixels, but only for a second this time.
“Who are you?” I repeat.
“I’m looking for Jenny.”
“I’m Jenny.”
His eyes lock on mine, and he walks slowly toward me. “I know a poem about you.” He smiles.
“Jenny kiss’d me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in. . . .”
He holds out his hand, but I back up a step. While I try to decide whether to stay or run, he moves—he glides—close enough to touch me. Not transparent anymore.
“Jenny kiss’d me when we met,” he repeats.
He’s so close now I have to tilt my head to see his dark eyes. He puts his hands on the sides of my face, his fingertips slightly rough as a soldier’s would be. I can’t pull away. I can’t resist. He bends his head toward me. My heart pounds. My blood whooshes through my body.
“Jenny, come with me now. You belong with me,” he whispers.
Slowly, he leans down and presses cool, soft lips against mine. My head whirls, and thick darkness blots out everything.