Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (24 page)

“Some tame stuff, and some pretty messed up stuff.” He buried his head in his hands, then raked a hand through his hair, coming back up for air. “Some things can be written off as just an old house making noises, you know… water in pipes, clogs, the wood and bricks settling in for the winter. Other stuff, well, I’d have to be an idiot to try ’nd say that…” He clasped his hands tightly together, squeezing with a bit more pressure than he’d anticipated as his nerves crawled higher and made a mess of his mood.

With a gentle smile, she coaxed him to go on. “Give me an example.”

“Hmmm, okay. First let me back up. I live in Peter Jones’ old house and I had—” Her face made him pause and his breath hitched.

There’s an expression that goes, ‘blood draining from one’s face.’ Emerald showcased such a thing at that very moment.

“What’s wrong? You look panicked.”

“Sloan!”

“Yeah? What did I say?”

“You said you live in Peter Jones’ house?!
The
Peter Jones?!”

“Yes, yes! What is it?”

“I can’t believe these bastards did that!” She hopped up from her seat and stomped her foot on the hard, slanted ground, enraged beyond belief as she twirled back and forth, her coat swinging so fast, the black and white turned to shades of melted gray. “That damn house was not supposed to be for sale!” She calmed after a while, stopped pacing and fixed her gaze to his.

“What do you mean it wasn’t supposed to be for sale?” They’d become emotional twins, for now he too found himself drowning in a state of panic at her spastic declarations.

“I can’t believe someone let you move in there! What is wrong with these people? Sloan, what I’m saying is that I remember a long time ago some people bought the place, a real estate investors group I believe, and it was voted that it wouldn’t be sold anymore… too many problems with it. Do you know how many times people have attempted to camp out there, daring one another to stay the night, only to run off within hours? Even a film crew made a stop there once. They were trying to make some movie but that was short-lived because the crew wouldn’t stay… said bad things kept happening. That really pissed off the Mayor because the filming was bringing in good publicity and money.”

“I did read about that, but didn’t find much regarding details.”

“Sloan, that house has a long history of this sort of thing since Mr. Jones’ death. I even remember a doctor living there for like a month or two, and he swore the house was trying to drive him crazy. The house used to come up on the market every few years or so in the current owners’ attempt to try and get rid of the damn thing, but every time someone bought it, they’d be gone in less than six months until finally, the bank, which would always take possession after owners defaulted on their payments, just stopped trying to sell it altogether. It’s just sat there for at least ten years. A groundskeeper worked on the property, I believe, but that was it.”

“If it was causing this much trouble and costing all this money, why did they never consider tearing it down?”

“Well, it brought in money, too. You see, people are obsessed with Peter Jones and this proved lucrative.” Her eyes narrowed. “For instance, they used to allow tours inside of it but that stopped after a year or two since the majority of the visitors complained of horrible headaches and feeling sick to their stomachs during their sightseeing. So, the whole ‘turn his house into a museum for profit’ idea had to be tossed out the window.” Her expression of anger turned to one of pity. “How can you stand it, Sloan? How can you live there?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, the stuff you’re talking about is not what’s happening to me. I’ve never gotten sick or anything like you’ve described, Emerald. I’ve seen and heard things, but that’s it. I don’t feel like I’m being driven crazy like the doctor guy you mentioned, either. But whatever it is, whatever is going on, it is
definitely
demanding my responsiveness. I mean, I feel honestly relieved with some of the things you’re tellin’ me. Lets me know I’m not the only one this has happened to but what you’re describing is not what’s been going on. I just know that it’s unnerving, but… I don’t feel like it necessarily wants me to leave, if that makes any sense.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and sat again next to him. “So, what are you planning to do about this?”

“Well, I already called a paranormal investigation team and they’re supposed to get in touch with me soon.”

“That’s a good first step.” She sighed and looked ahead. He appreciated her calm now, and found his emotions appeared to mimic her own.

“I guess this means you won’t be coming over for dinner now, huh?” He laughed sadly, causing her to smile and toss a wink his way.

“Well, this doesn’t exactly whet my appetite,” She chuckled. “But, let it be known,” she said, waving a finger at him, “I’m not your average lady, Sloan. Hey, that rhymes.”

His grin grew wider and he reached for her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I will come,” she added.

“You will?” He knew he sounded like a child filled with excitement, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t fully explain why he didn’t want to leave a house that tortured him so, but he didn’t… and having company, someone he enjoyed immensely, made it all the better. “I would never try and put you in harm’s way,” he quickly explained, drawing serious once again. “Nothing violent has ever happened to me, or to any visitors of mine, so I don’t believe you are in any danger. Matter of fact, when my friend Mike came the other day, the activity stopped altogether.”

“That’s interesting.” She drew quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “Oddly enough, I’ve always been curious about the place but of course if anyone got caught trespassing, they could be in a world of trouble so I never decided to test my luck. Regardless, the paranormal intrigues me a little…actually, a lot. Mysteries do, you know, because their understanding eludes us. We’ve got theories, but this is one of those aspects of life that has a huge question mark hanging over it.”

“Be honest with me, are you afraid? I don’t want you to come if you are, Emerald.” The possibility that this woman may just be a nice fucking lady trying to offer him an olive branch of mercy broke into his frame of mind. He couldn’t have her petrified out of her gourd just for his own selfish needs.

“Is it scary to me? A little, but I’m not moving in.” She shrugged and gave a sexy, tilted smile. “It’s just a visit.”

“Yeah… just a visit.”

“I do find it troubling that his death brought so many unanswered questions, even after all this time. I know many people, most of them much older than me, who were big fans of his. There are so many books about Peter Jones in that library,” She pointed over her shoulder at the ‘white house’. “All of ’em theories but no concrete proof of what really happened to him. Maybe he’s trying to tell you something?”

“Maybe… I’ve thought about that many times, even more so now that we’ve been sitting here talking about it.” He caressed her hand with his palm. “Are you sure you want to do this? I hate to keep asking you that but I’m not going to have someone I care about do something they don’t want to do.”

Her eyes seemed to light up at his words. “Look, Sloan, I appreciate your concern, but I think I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl, and the moment I’m not feeling all right about the whole thing, I’ll say so. I’ve seen ghosts before.”

“You have, huh? Did you know who they were?”

“Well, the two times I recall it happening, yes, I knew who they were. One was a relative of mine, a cousin who had passed on, and the other, a friend of mine from high school who’d died in a car accident. I’ve seen things I shouldn’t have seen at all, quite frankly, things that are not easy to explain. You just know what you know, when you know. Now, I’m not promising you that I won’t run outta your house screaming,” she said jokingly. “But I do want to see the place. Like I said, I’ve always wanted to see it on the inside.”

“All right, that’s reasonable. We’re still on for dinner at my place… good.” He exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Yes, we are.”

“I’m going to do some more research on the house and thought—”

“Wait.” Emerald glanced down at her watch. “How much time do you have left? I know the plan was take the tour then meet up again later tonight, but if—”

“For you? I have all damn night.” He inched towards her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He didn’t miss the glimmer of a smile that tugged at her upper lip.

“How about we go into the library?” She pointed towards the sprawling hill. “We can ask one of the historians about your house. Someone is always there, usually Candice or Stew. Yes, I’m on a first name basis.” She rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. “I used to go there often to take out or return books, especially when my daughter was young and I’d read to her practically every night.”

He immediately envisioned a younger version of her snuggled against a little girl that he surmised shared many of her features. Tucked away beneath soft sheets, a peaceful glow about the room and the sound of beautifully illustrated book pages turning as she read fairytales and fables aloud.

“They may be able to help you. The best historian here though is a woman by the name of Angelica Dexter. She’s in her eighties, sharp as a tack, but has taken ill as of late. I’ll give her a call later on your behalf.”

“Wow, thank you so much, Emerald.”

“You don’t have to thank me. That’s what friends are for. Now, come on, let’s go into the library and see what we can find out.”

“Let’s do it.” He got to his feet and clapped his hands, eager to dig into hidden treasures of information that might give some credence to the whole twisted situation.

“Perfect, let’s go!”

Pour Some Sugar On Me

“A
nd so that’s
what he said, which was really no surprise,” Emerald explained as she ran her hand along the smooth surface of the small, butter yellow dresser.

Her place still smelled of ointments, but the piece had to stay put. It couldn’t be moved while the varnish was drying under the ceiling fan. She’d left two windows wide open, allowing some ventilation and cold air, though the fumes still gave her a slight headache, one she was certain wouldn’t go away without the aid of two Excedrin. In times like these, she wished for a small space dedicated to her refurbishing business; nothing big or fancy, just enough room the spread out and not get inadvertently high off her own supplies. But, for now, this would simply have to do.

“So, after everything you know, you gone take yo’ silly ass over to the man’s Scooby Doo big haunted house tonight?”

“Sugar, nobody has time for this. I’m keeping my dinner date with him, and it’s not up for discussion. We’re dating after all, and besides, he’s a bit freaked out and I think he needs the company.”

“Let him call a damn babysitter then! You just goin’ to go on over there and let the poltergeist consume you. That’s something white folks do!”

“Sugar, I really don’t understand why after all of these years I never learn my lesson regarding you. I keep telling you practically everything about my life, feeling like you’re the only one I can trust, and then I end up subjected to these ridiculous conversations. I must be a glutton for abuse,” Emerald hissed, trying to figure out where she set her wrench.

“There is nothin’ unreasonable about what I’m saying. I’m giving you the hardcore truth packaged up right.”

“Well, you can pause on your special delivery, because I’m going. I think it’s silly to even think I wouldn’t go. It’s not like I’m moving in.”

“See, ya hard headed, Emerald. After ere’thang you done sat here and told me? You ain’t got tuh move in, being up in there for more than a second is too damn long.”

“Sugar, we’d never be able to live anywhere at all if we based our choice on who died where, what we heard, or the land a house was built on. A lot of bad things have happened all over the place. You know I believe in what you’re talking about, but I can’t live my life afraid and neither should Sloan, or
you
, for that matter.”

As she spoke, the Ohio Players crooned, ‘I Want To Be Free.’

“That’s a bunch of hogwash.”

“There’s nothing to fear but fear itself. You have to confront these things.”

“I can confront what I need to confront from the comfort of my own damn home. Just listen to yo’self! God made fear so you’d know not to go runnin’ in the street to get hit by a car, or jump off a building and make a brain, blood, and bone pancake right there on the sidewalk. You ain’t usin’ good sense. The library historian done told you and Mr. Jolly Green Ho Ho Ho from New York City that the place ain’t been fit to live in since that famous scary book writer man died up in there. The library guy told both of y’all how he’d sat there in his fancy, million dollar house ’nd starved to death, and that all types of shit—”

“
Allegedly
 …”

“Allegedly, smegedely, don’t matter none to me!” The old woman’s voice rattled on the other end of the line. “That house is not right and you gone run off after the sun set tonight to eat dinner in there, sit yo’ silly ass up in there and break bread. You and that man are playin’ with fire and if he knows what’s best for him, he’ll take his son’s advice that you told me and get on outta there. Ya kids got more smarts than the two of you combined! Wisdom out the mouth of babes.”