Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (3 page)

With little money, she roamed about, camping out in woodland places that were deemed dangerous, abandoned, or just plain seedy when funds were too low for paid shelter. Upon one of these many nomadic trips, she discovered a large piece of land wedged on the border of Pennsylvania and New York (but on New York’s property line), partially surrounded by peaty, infested water with very few inhabitants due to the swamp-like terrain. She found the place beautiful, an overlooked gem that simply needed a little ingenuity. Using her knowledge of environmental studies and love of nature, she came up with an idea. Raven remedied this marsh and everglade land issue with a specialized drainage system that she invented herself, resulting in her owning a patent that is now used globally. She sketched it out on a piece of paper, then, several months later, built a prototype by hand. And, by golly… it worked.

Her discovery provided her wealth beyond measure. She immediately had homes and schools built on the acreage to encourage people to live there and, ever since, the city has been a refuge and home for many, to this day. The city of Raven Maxim is notorious, however, for attracting all sorts of people: oddities, derelicts, millionaires, inventors, homebodies, and an assortment of individuals wishing to make a new start, or never leave all they’ve ever known. It was once said that if you lived in Maxim, you were always invited, but you never knew by whom.

This is partially due to a warm, broad acceptance from many of the locals in political office, a ‘come one, come all’ mantra, as well as a belief that, if you ended up there, it was simply meant to be. Raven Maxim is viewed by some as a utopia, but by others, it is a place that imbues closely guarded dark secrets. For instance, it was once professed that, ‘It’s a damn good place to hide a dead body.’ Pushing the macabre aside, this city in modern day is like many others, teeming with expensive shopping centers, luxury car dealerships, and grandiose brick homes on one side, and, on the other, poorly maintained, barely occupied trailer parks and areas known to be frequented by those who have a mile long list of felonies. There are splendid high-rise apartments and gorgeous, lush farmlands for wildlife to roam. Some of the suburban areas are known for their amazing schools and serene wholesomeness that exudes from these desirable neighborhoods. The city of Maxim has received sundry awards for culture and enrichment, one, most notably, awarded to the Maxim Natural History Museum.

There is a shop that only sells dead flowers, and does quite well with online sales. Also, one finds the headquarters of a Fortune 500 company that manufactures one-of-a-kind bread-making ingredients and spices that are exported and sold all around the world. The city of Raven Maxim experiences all four seasons, some years more blustering or hot than others. Mayor William Washington is currently in office and a rather popular jazz singer, Miriam “Star” Dust, was born and raised in Raven Maxim, and still considers the place home.

The city has had its share of attention in the news press, as well. It seems that, at times, the strangest things occur there, and some of the most unlikely successes, too. Some say that the land is cursed, while others deem it blessed. Some believe the founder, Ms. Maxim herself, delved in a bit of black magic, stirring the hocus pocus cauldron with the intent of finding ways to rule her kingdom from beyond the grave. Some think all of that is a bunch of foolishness, and it’s simply a part of America, just like any other city you may find along your travels. Regardless of what others say or think, the verdict is ultimately left up to
you
. While deciding what to believe, however, you may want to consider a few notable things:

1.   The city map layout possesses the shape of a crudely formed heart. This has drawn people from all over the world during a special Valentine’s Day Celebration held downtown to get married, celebrate an anniversary, or renew their vows.

2.   Raven Maxim herself never married, nor did she bear children, despite being considered one of the most intelligent and well-known women in the world. It is believed she always wished to find love, but it eluded her, while others stated she was too busy with her career to worry about such silly things as being romanced and wooed.

3.   There is scientific proven evidence that a meteor crashed and landed there soon before Maxim discovered the area. This has led several scientists and UFO enthusiasts to closely study the area.

4.   The town’s most revered living historian, Angelica Dexter, has written chronicles of the ‘strange goings-on’ on the Maxim estate, which is currently still standing. A portion of the property is now used as a gift shop, a gallery with guided tour, café, and bookstore.

5.   There are many tales and legends not only surrounding the uninhabited Maxim mansion, but also the rest of the land and surrounding waters. Some are fantastical, others are humorous, yet others are dark and unnerving, while some are purely inspiring. Do not be surprised if aspects of this folklore manifests in the form of a story or two in this book series.

Welcome, darling, to the city of Maxim.

Expect the unexpected…

—Pavana

Words yet unspoken…

Maxim, New York, 1957

O
fficer Grant ran
his finger down the dust-covered desk with wooden crows carved upon the legs and sides.

“He hadn’t worked in here in a while.” He regarded the massive room with a discerning eye. The elaborate, domed, eggshell-colored ceiling seemed untouchable as it rose high, soaring towards the heavens. The room showcased looming walls lined with ash-covered shelves filled with large books bound in ebony, burgundy, and fawn leather. The damn things threatened to break through and splinter the wooden shelf they rested upon to splatter onto the dull wooden floor below as their weight bowed the mantelpiece to the point that the slightest touch might just send them on their way.

“No one had seen him out in quite some time. Did you see him? You know, his body?” He turned towards Officer Allen. The man still appeared whiter than an usher’s glove for Sunday morning service.

“Yeah…I saw him. I wish I hadn’t. Can’t say I’ll get that out of my mind any time soon.” He shook his head, dreading to delve down that dark road again.

“ ’Spose he really starved to death?” Officer Allen peered over his thin-rimmed glasses at a sloppily stacked pile of books, nameless and thick, almost begging to be read. Unable to resist a moment longer, he flicked his thumb over the cover of one, opened it, and pilfered through, feeling disappointed as he scanned the thing. There was little of nothing, just strange jottings of a word here or there, floating about as if discombobulated from a singular thought.

“Looks that way… I wonder how that happens?” Officer Grant placed his hands on his hips and slowly paced about in his blue slacks, disturbing odd items and artifacts that appeared long forgotten. He jumped and sighed when a clock suddenly came alive, bouncing sound throughout the room, echoing and vibrating and booming in the dimly lit space. As soon as the sound shattered his sense of peace, the gonging died down. He curiously peered at the clock. It wasn’t on the hour. Strangely enough, it was only 2:37 in the afternoon.

Why in the world would that clock sound right now?

He shrugged it off and continued to peruse the strange place, reminiscent of a small-scale library, equipped with an elongated running ladder covered in cobwebs. Golden award statues lined one shelf, an assortment of trophies and plaques. One was situated in a little inlet in the wall. It was rather peculiar how they gleamed with cleanliness while the rest of the room was layered in filth and standing at the doorstep of complete ruin.

“You think his brother will auction the place? He’s still back in L.A. Seems a pity.” He shook his head. “They don’t make houses like this anymore.”

Officer Allen hesitated in responding, seemingly engrossed in another book he’d opened and flipped through with a gentle touch.

“Uh…yeah, a real shame. Hey.” The man motioned towards him, waving him over with a curl of his left index finger. “You should see this.”

Grant marched over until they were standing side by side.

“This must’ve been the latest book he was writing. Boy, I would’ve liked to have read the rest of this…too bad it seems to have no ending; it just drops off abruptly. Hell, he didn’t even finish the last sentence. It is an incomplete thought.” He flipped to the back of the text—nothing but blank pages.

“Yeah.” Grant looked about the place, always finding something new he’d missed before—odd things, beautiful things, rustic and charming things, and sad things, too. “He was a literary genius.” He glared at a collection of grimy timeworn dolls stuffed haphazardly into a soiled pillowcase.

Strange. Must’ve used this for inspiration or something…

“Horror isn’t really my thing though.” Grant shrugged his shoulders. “You and I see enough real life scary shit without a bunch of make-believe.” He reached into his pocket, drew out a cigarette, cocked his head ever so slightly to the left, and lit it, shaking the match until the flame died. The stiff air around them grabbed the scent and raced away with the burnt odor in tow. Swirls of gloomy smoke wafted high towards the ceiling until it grasped the colossal chandelier, decked out in abandoned spider webs from yesteryear.

“Yeah, you have a point. Peter Jones wrote all sorts of stuff, though… It’s just that his scary stuff got the most attention,” Allen explained as he flipped through the dusty pages of a different novel, this one dressed in bright, blood red paper. “Towards the end, he’d become a recluse of sorts, but right before that, he was always seen at the best parties.”

“Yeah, I saw the magazines. He was really something.” Officer Grant smirked.

“Yeah, I got curious about him, you know? I read up on everything. He’d fly out to Washington D.C., go to L.A., give an interview in Miami. He was all over the damn place. Sought after, ya know? Lively guy, from what I’ve been told. Full of great jokes, fun, a bit of a ham, too. Boy, did the ladies love him, and he loved them. He was an infamous playboy…never married, no kids.”

“He was peculiar.” Grant grimaced. Placing one hand on his hip, he turned from side to side, making mental inventory of the whole mess.

“Yeah, I guess you could say so, but to me it’s mighty strange how someone who had it all could end up this way. According to his friends, he changed about three months ago, disappeared from the circuit. No one really knew why. One minute, he was one of the most sought after writers in the country; then the next, he locked himself up in here and no one heard another damn word. His agent had to drop him. He wasn’t producing any new work, wouldn’t take calls, but they knew he was in here and alive, well, up until the final week or so. Really a shame…”

He snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk, taking note of the burns in the bottom of the ceramic container.

I put out a cigarette in the same spot where he used to extinguish his cigarettes and cigars, too…

The officers kept on unearthing piles of the mundane and stacks of the odd.

Hmmm, interesting…

“Look at this photo.” Grant snatched it from a low-lying shelf inside a dark gray chifferobe that appeared entirely too small for the considerable room. “Look at this man. The date in the corner says 1952. That was only five years ago. He had to have been only about twenty-five right here.”

Peter Jones had a natural look of mischievousness with his combination of a tilted smile that stretched fleshy lips, a pair of lustrous light brown eyes, and dark brown wavy hair brushed back from his chiseled face. By many standards, the man would be deemed rather dreamboat-ish; but, upon a closer inspection, one would note hints of a suffering soul. There was just something about his eyes…as if he had a deep, dark secret and if he dared utter a word of it, he’d be struck down dead. Well, if that were the case, he was now free to tell…

“The man the coroner took out of here looked like he was damn near eighty. It’s like it was his long lost grandfather.” Allen shook his head. “Yet, it was him. Goddamn it, Grant, I’ve never seen anything like that in all my life. He died in his own horror story, ya know? What a way to go. He must’ve gone insane.”