Spring came late to Rosewood, Wisconsin, but the ice was finally off the lake. Old Jeb Johnson’s fishing shack had plunged into Lake Shisquebem a few weeks ago. It would take another week before he pulled it out. The first week in May, a few fisherman still risked thin ice for what they claimed was the best fishing of the year. Now, just three weeks later, the lake was clear of even a glimmer of ice. Boats had not yet replaced shanties that had been scattered about the lake all winter.
Normally, Annique loved the spring. The sky was clear and the aspen were finally budding. She loved the open water, the whisper of the aspen leaves when they fully sprouted and most especially the return of her beloved birds. However, this Spring was different.
First of all, she had been sick as a dying dog all month. She had spent almost a week in bed. Pain speared from her temples to her eyes and back again like out of control lightning bolts. Being fried and exhausted by the pain had been the least of her worries. She could have handled the massive headaches, it was the clothes and books flying around the room that really freaked her out.

the hidden menace thing: I don't see a reason for Annique to know this. It's something I make fun of in gothic novels or horror: "I have a sense that unspeakable evil is fast approaching!" or "Somewhere, someone is killing kittens. I can feel it." If you need a sense of menace -- and I think you do! -- let Annique know why she's afraid. (Or if she MUST be kept ignorant of why, let even her wonder about this herself. But I wouldn't.)

Congrats on the novel!

Then, have the second paragraph be about how she's been really sick...oh yeah, and she's got a poltergeist.

And yes, I'm hooked. The stuff flying around the room did it!

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[Spring came late to Rosewood, Wisconsin, but] the ice was finally off the lake. Old Jeb Johnson’s fishing shack had plunged into Lake Shisquebem a few weeks ago. [It would take another week before he pulled it out. The first week in May, a few fisherman still risked thin ice for what they claimed was the best fishing of the year. Now, just three weeks later, the lake was clear of even a glimmer of ice. Boats had not yet replaced shanties that had been scattered about the lake all winter.] [OR MAYBE START WITH THE NEXT PARAGRAPH -- BUT PUT THE FISHING SHACK PLUNGE FOR LATER? IT'S FUNNY!]

Normally, Annique loved [the] spring*:*[. The sky was clear and the aspen were finally budding. She loved] the open water [IF YOU REMOVE THE FISHING SHACK STUFF YOU'LL NEED TO EXPLAIN THIS I'M SURE], the whisper of [the] aspen leaves [when they fully sprouted] and most especially the return of [her beloved] SONGbirds. However, this Spring [was different.
First of all,] she had been sick as a dying dog all month*,* SPENDING [She had spent] almost a week in bed WITH PAIN SPEARING HER TEMPLES [SHE MIGHT ALSO HAVE SOME OTHER SYMPTOM]. [Pain speared from her temples to her eyes and back again like out of control lightning bolts. Being fried and exhausted by the pain had been the least of her worries. She could have handled the massive headaches,]