Rosecliff Manor Haunting - Chapter One Sneak Peek

Rosecliff Manor Haunting

Addison Lockhart Series #2

(Ghost Mystery)

Chapter One Sneak Peek

Addison Lockhart’s eyes blinked open, and she glanced around, surprised to find herself standing next to a tall, wrought-iron gate lining the perimeter in front of a three-story manor. She didn’t know where she was, how long she’d been there, or how she came to be there in the first place. It was like she’d been transported through time, sucked through one end of a static passageway and spit out the other.

Ten minutes earlier, it was nighttime, and she was at home, although she couldn’t recall what she’d been doing before she’d been plucked away. Now it was daytime, and the sun’s delicate rays enveloped her, pulsing shots of heat through every pore of her freckled skin.  

Addison looked around. Besides the manor, there were a few other houses in view, but the neighborhood was quiet. Almost too quiet. No birds chirping. No dogs barking. No wind. No noticeable sounds of any kind.

The noise wasn’t all that was lacking either. When she glanced down she gasped, finding herself dressed in a practically see-through nightgown. Her feet were bare, her exposed arms and legs a milkier shade of white than she remembered them being.

None of it made sense.

A car turned down the road, and her eyes darted around, desperate to find a hiding spot to shield her half-naked body. She wrapped her fingers around the rails of the gate in front of her and pushed forward. But the gate wouldn’t budge, and the car was fast approaching. Having no other place to go, she crossed her arms in front of her breasts, squeezed her legs together, and hoped for the best.  

The car passed by like it was gliding on air, silent, and without stopping. The teenage boy in the driver’s seat couldn’t have been more than four feet away, and yet, he never looked over. Not even a single fleeting glance. Addison stared at him as he coasted by. His chocolate brown hair was long and feathered, and the car he was driving, an orange Ford coupe with black stripes, looked out of place considering it was 2015.

The car didn’t belong.

And he didn’t belong.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Maybe she was the one who was out of place.

Addison watched the car disappear over the other side of the hill and then turned, shifting her focus back to the manor, a three-story gray building with eight symmetrical windows lining the first two levels. The home’s exterior looked like it had been carved from a single slab of stone, except for the thick, wooden door in the center. She stared at the door for a moment, and two things happened: a wave of sound penetrated the stale air like a needle pricking a balloon, and the front door of the manor creaked opened. Two girls spilled out, both wearing yellow, short-sleeved dresses with Peter Pan collars.

The door closed behind the twin girls as they descended a series of steps in front of the house, both hopping off the last one onto the meticulously mowed grass in the front yard. One of the girls squatted, picking a thin tree branch off the ground. She slapped the wood against her flat hand, innocently taunting her twin before waving the stick in the air. The twin, who held a furry, white kitten in her arms, pressed it against her chest like the cat’s life depended on it.

The girl with the stick pointed it like it was a wand and taunted, “You better run, Grace, or the cat gets it!”

“You wouldn’t, Viv!” the other girl shrieked.

And the chase was on, both girls circling the trunk of a majestic oak several times before an out-of-breath Grace sagged to the ground, relenting. She looked at Viv and said, “You better not hurt Shadow. I mean it!”

Viv rolled her eyes and plopped down beside her, tossing the stick across the yard. “Don’t blow your top, Grace. I’d never hurt her, and you know it.”

Grace squinted, screwing up her face at Viv like she wasn’t so sure. “Oh…kay. Why’d ya chase me with a stick then?”

“Good grief, I was just teasin.’” Viv tipped her head toward the cat. “Thought you wanted to play hopscotch.”

“I do.”

“Why don’t you put the fur ball down then?”

Grace surveyed the area. “Out here? I can’t. What if she gets out of the yard and gets hit by a car? Or what if she runs away and we can’t find her? Or what if—”

Viv held a flattened hand out in front of her. “All right, all right. I get it. Put her back in the house then.”

Grace stroked the cat, frowned. “Can’t I just hold her and play?”

Viv sighed. “Fine. But if we’re gonna do it, let’s get on with it.”

Addison crossed her arms in front of her, watching the girls’ long, blond, pigtails bob up and down while they hopped along the chalk squares on the driveway. She wondered if they saw her watching them from outside the gate, but the few times they glanced in her direction, they looked past her like she wasn’t there.

She needed to get home. Fast.

She cupped a hand over the side of her mouth and shouted, “Hello?”

No response.

She tried again. “Excuse me. Girls. Can you hear me?”

Again, no response.

She stood for several seconds, frustrated and confused before a glaring oversight occurred to her. Nothing about this place made sense. The people, the air, the colors, the car. Everything was off somehow.

Am I … dreaming?

The more she thought about it, the more relieved she became.

That’s it. It has to be it. All of this … it’s just a dream. No one sees me because none of this is real.

It made sense because it had to. And because there was no other possible explanation for what she was experiencing. Now to prove the theory.

Addison pinched the flesh on her arm with the tips of her fingernails, felt nothing. No pain. No sensation.  

Come on, Addison … wake up.

She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them.

Nothing changed. She was still there, trapped in her own twisted version of the Twilight Zone.

She leaned her head against the gate, and even considered banging against it a few times. Why not? It wasn’t like she’d hurt anything.

“Hi.”

The word was spoken in such a hush Addison almost didn’t hear it. She looked up. One of the twins stood on the opposite side of the gate, her face pensive, eyes curious. The second twin was nowhere in sight.

“Hi,” Addison replied.  

“My name is Vivian. What’s yours?”

“Addison. You can see me?”

“Of course I can see you,” the girl said. “We both can.”

And yet when Addison had called out to them just moments ago, neither of them responded.

“The other girl. She’s your twin sister, right?” 

Vivian nodded. “Her name’s Grace.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s hiding.”

“Why?”

“She’s afraid.”

Addison reached out, attempting to place a hand on Vivian’s shoulder. Vivian jerked back. Message received.

“Oh, honey,” Addison said. “You sister doesn’t need to be afraid. Neither of you do.”

Vivian shrugged. “She didn’t want you to come.”

“Come where?”

“Come here.”

Still unsure of where here was, Addison didn’t push it. “Why not?”

“No one has ever seen us before.”

No one had ever seen them? How could that be possible?  

The kitten bounded out from behind a bush next to the manor. Grace chased after it, yelling, “Shadow, no! Stop!”

But the kitten bounded forward. Vivian intercepted it, snatching it up in one hand before it slipped past the gate. She walked over to Grace, handing her the cat. Whispers between the two girls followed, too low for Addison to hear. Grace tugged at the layers of fabric on Vivian’s dress, like she was trying to keep her there, keep her from returning to the gate again.

Vivian escaped Grace’s grasp, walked halfway back to the gate, and stopped. “I have to go now. 

Grace needs me. Try and remember, okay?”

Try and remember? Try and remember what?

Vivian turned.

“Wait,” Addison said. “Please. Don’t go. Tell me what I need to remember.”

But Vivian kept walking, leaving Addison’s mind to run rampant, swirling with unanswered questions. The biggest of them all—whether or not the twins realized they were dead. 

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Grayson Manor Haunting - Chapter One Sneak Peak

Grayson Manor Haunting

Addison Lockhart Series #1

Ghost Mystery

Chapter One Sneak Peek 

Addison Lockhart watched the cab dart back down the dead-end country road, leaving nothing but a billowy dust cloud in its wake. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath before spinning around on the heel of her boot. When her eyes reopened, she wasn’t prepared for the image before her.

You’re here now. You can do this. No more steps back. No more past. And no more death. Only life. Your life. It’s time to move forward.

The house was much older than she thought it would be. It was dingy and needed work—a lot of it. Several of the wood shingles were missing from the exterior. A piece of railing on the left side of the porch had been partially ripped off, its jagged pieces forming splinter-worthy spikes. Still, there was a sense of grandeur behind the tattered facade—something regal in the architectural beauty of the domed turret and multi-gabled, steep-pitched roof. Even with all of its flaws, none of the windows on the house were broken, not even the magnificent stained-glass one in the center of the top floor. 

            The property surrounding the Queen Anne-style house was heavily wooded, its thick, mature trees stretching over the back of the mountainside. Addison stood silent and still, taking it all in, hoping she’d made the right decision in coming here. An owl sounded in the distance, making her aware of his presence. She glanced into the trees, knowing he could see her, even though she couldn’t see him.

Addison looked over the acreage to the house next door, noticing what appeared to be the pitch of a roof peeking through the trees. There was a good distance between the two houses, which was exactly what she was looking for. Peace and quiet. Serenity. No horns honking, no traffic jams, no sirens…just the faint sound of water coming from what she assumed was the Hudson River.

            One week earlier, Addison had been seated in a stuffy lawyer’s office, only half listening to the man on the opposite side of the desk as he rattled off what she’d inherited according to her mother’s will: money, jewelry, the autographed record collection that she’d never been allowed to touch, and a house.

A house?

And not just any house. A manor.

“I don’t understand,” Addison had said. “My mother owned a manor in Rhinebeck, New York?”

The lawyer simply nodded, his eyes scanning the document for additional information.

“My mother never mentioned it to me before.”

The lawyer gazed over the rim of his glasses, staring at her like she was a child who asked too many questions. “From what I understand, it was the home your mother grew up in…or was born in. Are you sure you’ve never been there before?”

            Addison shook her head.

“Says here your grandmother owned the house outright,” he continued. “It looks like it has been passed down over the last two generations from mother to child—first to your mother, now to you. There is one curiosity though.” Addison lifted a brow. The lawyer continued. “Your grandfather didn’t appear anywhere on the deed when it was transferred to your mother. It seems the manor has always been owned by a female.”

Addison slouched back into the sofa. “My mother was an only child, and so was I. There wasn’t much of a choice.”

“Well, I suppose you could just deed it to your father if you don’t want to bother with it,” the lawyer suggested. “Or you could sell it.”

Addison snapped out of the memory and stared back at the house again, wondering why it had been abandoned for so long, forced to deteriorate year after year. If no one wanted it, why hadn’t it been sold? It seemed a shame for such a thing of beauty to go to waste.   

She placed a foot on the front porch step, testing its durability by tapping it with the toe of her boot a few times to make sure it wouldn’t cave in when she applied more pressure. When she felt confident it would hold her weight, she stepped forward, continuing the ritual on the next step and the next one after that. She made it onto the porch and walked to the front door, stopping to notice a metal nameplate drilled into place over the mailbox. It was too grimy to read. She looked around, seeing nothing she could use to clean it off. She pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her hands and wiped the nameplate down, reading the words aloud as they came into view: “Grayson Manor.”  

Addison reached into her pocket, pulled out a key ring, and inserted the largest of the keys into the door. It clicked, unlocking instantly, but when she pushed against the solid mass of wood, it didn’t budge. She tried again, this time ramming the side of her body into the door, shoulder first. It hopped forward only an inch, the door standing firm, like a bully blocking passage to the other side. She backed up, gripped the handle, and tried again, this time with more force. The door swung open, almost flinging her to the floor in the process. She didn’t mind—she’d gotten what she wanted. She was in.

The interior of the house was run-down yet charming, just like the outside. Addison expected to find rooms full of furniture with sheets thoughtfully placed over the top, preserving their integrity. Instead pieces were haphazardly strewn about in piles, many of them damaged from years of neglect. 

Off to one side was a kitchen, although it didn’t look much like one. All of the appliances were missing, and the drawers and cabinets contained nothing but layers of dust and rat droppings—some fresher than others. Addison ran a finger across the front of a cabinet door, staring at the cakelike layer of dirt before wiping it off on her jeans.  The dark walnut cabinetry was simple yet refined—elegant enough to suggest that great care had been taken to beautify the place at one time. She was determined to make it that way again.    

She left the kitchen and entered a large, open living space with wood floors. The room reminded her of a dance hall, large enough for a banquet or a significant-sized party. A trio of sullied chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the one in the center being far more grandiose than the others. It may not have been what she expected, but with a lot of restoration work, she could create the house she’d always wanted. A house she could call her home. It felt good to finally be alone.

The only problem? She wasn’t.

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Grayson Manor Haunting - Chapter One

During the holidays I get an itch to set aside my series novels and write something entirely different.  This year, I decided to do something I've always wanted: write a ghost story.  Thus began Grayson Manor Haunting. 

 

 

I wasn't very far into the story when I became so immersed into it, I knew a novella just wouldn't do.  The character, Addison Lockhart, is gifted in ways that make it easy for me to create a series just for her.  I will keep on writing my other series, of course, but I am having a lot of fun with this.  I am about 20K into it, and with discipline on my part, I am hoping to have it out by February 2013.  But for now, I hope you enjoy chapter one!

 

*

 

Addison Lockhart watched the cab dart back down the country road, leaving nothing but a small dust cloud in its wake.  She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath before spinning around on the heel of her boot.  When her eyes reopened, she wasn’t prepared for the image before her.  The house was much older than she thought it would be.  It was dingy and needed work—a lot of it.  Several of the wood shingles were missing from the exterior.  A piece of railing on the left side of the porch had been partially ripped off, its jagged pieces forming splinter-worthy spikes.  Still, there was a sense of grandeur behind the tattered facade—something regal in the architectural beauty of the domed turret and multi-gabled, steep-pitched roof.  But even with all of its flaws, none of the windows on the house were broken, not even the magnificent stained-glass one in the center of the top floor.    

            The property surrounding the Queen Anne style house was heavily wooded, its thick, mature trees stretching over the back of the mountainside.  Addison stood silent and still, taking it all in, hoping she’d made the right decision in coming here.  An owl sounded off in the distance, making her aware of his presence.  She glanced into the trees, knowing he could see her, even though she couldn’t see him. 

Addison looked over the acreage to the house next door, noticing what appeared to be the pitch of a roof peeking through the trees.  There was a good distance between the two houses, which was exactly what she was looking for.  Peace and quiet.  Serenity.  No horns honking, no traffic jams, no sirens…just the faint sound of water coming from what she assumed was a nearby lake. 

            One week earlier Addison had been seated in a stuffy lawyer’s office, only half-listening to the man on the opposite side of the desk as he rattled off what had been left to her according to her mother’s will: money, jewelry, the autographed record collection that she’d never been allowed to touch, and a house. 

A house?

And not just any house.

“I don’t understand,” Addison had said.  “My mother owned a house in the country?” 

The lawyer simply nodded, his eyes scanning the document for additional information.

“But my mother never mentioned it to me before.” 

The lawyer gazed over the rim of his glasses, staring at her like she was a child who asked too many questions.  “From what I understand, it was the home your mother grew up in.  Are you sure you’ve never been there before?”

            Addison shook her head. 

“Says here your great-grandmother owned the house outright,” he continued.  “It looks like it has been passed down over the last two generations from mother to child—the child always being a female.”

Addison slouched back into the sofa.  “My mother was an only child, so was I.  There wasn’t much of a choice.”

“Well, I suppose you could just deed it to your father if you don’t want to bother with it,” the lawyer suggested.  “Or you could sell it.”  

Addison snapped out of the memory and stared back at the house again, wondering why it had been abandoned for so long, forced to deteriorate year after year.  If no one wanted it, why hadn’t it been sold?  It seemed a shame for such a thing of beauty to go to waste.     

She placed a foot on the front porch step, testing its durability by tapping it with the toe of her boot a few times until she was confident it wouldn’t cave in when she applied more pressure.  When she felt certain that it would hold her weight, she stepped forward, continuing the ritual on the next step and the next one after that.  She made it onto the porch and walked to the front door, stopping to notice a metal nameplate that had been drilled into place over the mailbox.  It was too grimy to read.  She looked around, seeing nothing she could use to clean it off.  She pulled the sleeve of her sweater over her hands and wiped the nameplate down, reading the words aloud: “Grayson Manor.”

Addison reached into her pocket, pulled out a key ring, and inserted the largest of the keys into the door.  It clicked, unlocking instantly, but when she pushed against the solid mass of wood, it didn’t budge.  She tried again, this time ramming the side of her body into the door, shoulder first.  It hopped forward an inch, but it still wasn’t enough.  She backed up, gripped the handle, and tried again, this time with more force.  The door swung open, almost flinging her to the floor in the process.  But she didn’t mind—she’d gotten what she wanted—she was in.

The inside of the house was as run down and charming as the outside.  Addison expected to find rooms full of furniture with sheets thoughtfully placed over the top, preserving their integrity.  Instead pieces were haphazardly strewn about in piles, many of them broken.  The place appeared to have been looted—maybe more than once.      

Off to one side was a kitchen, but it didn’t look much like one.  All of the appliances were missing, and the drawers and cabinets contained nothing but layers of dust and rat droppings.  Addison ran a finger across the front of a cabinet door, wiping the dust off on her jeans.   The dark walnut cabinetry was simple, yet refined and beautiful.      

She left the kitchen and entered a large, open living space with wood floors.  The room reminded her of a dance hall and was large enough for a banquet or a large party.  A trio of sullied chandeliers was suspended from the ceiling, the one in the center being far more grandiose than the others.  It may not have been what she expected, but with a lot of restoration work, she could create the house she’d always wanted.  A house she could call her home.  It felt good to finally be alone.  The only problem was: she wasn’t.

*