Afraid of the Dark: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Spirits Series Book 1)

by H. P. Mallory

  “Depart from this space at once!” she finished, continuing to ring her bell.

  “At my command,” Christopher said suddenly, holding his silver sword up above his head as he made the sign of the cross in the air. “I banish all evil from this place!”

  The sudden sound of exploding glass blasted through the air as Ryan shielded my body with his and I heard myself scream. And then there was nothing but silence again. I opened my eyes and noticed there was glass all over the floor. Glancing up at Ryan, I found his attention on me.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes wide with worry.

  “I’m fine,” I answered in a mouse voice as I faced Christopher who stood up stock straight, his mouth held firmly in a tight, white line.

  “It is complete,” he said simply.

  “The windows,” I started as I glanced at each window in the kitchen and noticed the glass from each one had been completely blown out.

  “We forced the entity from the house,” Christopher started in his usual tone of indifference. “It is only natural that it blew all the windows to escape.”

  “Drake, are you able to detect any residual ghostly energy?” I asked, wondering if maybe he would be able to tell if the house really had been cleansed.

  He definitely hadn’t been much of a help during the cleansing ritual itself so I assumed I was just being hopeful.

  “I do not, ma minette,” he answered. “But, of course, that could be due to the fact that I now reside ... inside you.”

  It was becoming more and more obvious that Drake was thrilled to find as many different nuances as he could regarding the subject of him residing inside me. In fact, he never seemed to get tired of it. As for me, I was still so completely floored, scared and shocked by what we’d just undergone that I couldn’t think of much else.

  “I will leave some of this kosher salt here,” Christopher continued while eyeing Ryan and then me. “You both should cleanse yourselves with a ritual bath of kosher salt or you can also use it in the shower. It will cleanse you of any residual spiritual dirt.”

  “Are you able to tell if you forced the entity out?” I asked expectantly because I was still scared to death that they hadn’t.

  Christopher eyed me with little interest. “I believe we forced the spirit out. Its energy is gone.”

  “How sure are you?” Ryan asked, the look of shock resident in his eyes just as I was sure it was in mine.

  “Sure,” Christopher answered with a drawn eyebrow. He started for the door but then eyed me over his shoulder. “I shall send you a bill,” he finished. “Of course I will have to amend my customary prices given what we experienced.”

  I couldn’t say I was at all concerned with money at the moment. Instead, I found myself speechless and just watched Christopher as he stopped short in front of his two bags, which sat on the floor in the foyer. He bent down and loaded all the paraphernalia he and Lovie had used in the ritual into the receptacles and then, standing up, started for the front door Again.

  “Thanks, Lovie,” I said in a soft tone. She turned around and nodded, offering us both a smile.

  “You keep your eyes open for anything that feels wrong,” she said and then eyed me in particular. “If you even get a hint that this thing hasn’t cleared out, you’ll call us?”

  “I will,” I answered with a nod as relief started to suffuse me once they were both standing at the mouth of the doorway.

  Lovie smiled before she closed her eyes and held her hands out to her sides as if she were checking the air with her psychic abilities. She opened her eyes moments later. “The house feels clean to me,” she announced. “But one can never be too careful.”

  Christopher opened the door as the wind picked up his cloak and blew it out behind him. He walked into the dark afternoon sky and unlocked an old black Lincoln Town Car, placing his two bags in the trunk. Then he approached the driver’s door and, opening it, took a seat and closed the door without even saying good-bye. Lovie offered us a quick wave before she disappeared into the passenger seat and the two of them drove off.

  Ryan and I watched the car drive away from inside my house, neither of us saying anything. Finally I closed the front door as Ryan exhaled, throwing his arm around me. “Are you alright, Pey?” he asked.

  I was beyond exhausted. It was as if the lack of sleep, the worry, and the anxiety that had been culminating for the last three days and now the intensity of this exorcism had finally come to a head.

  “Incroyable!” Drake sounded inside my head so I immediately thought the words that would shut him out. I couldn’t deal with him at the moment.

  “Peyton, I want you to promise me that you aren’t going to shut me out again,” Ryan said as we started for the guest bedroom where I wanted nothing more than to relax against his chest and feel his large, powerful arms around me. “If I hadn’t randomly shown up, you would have gone through all that yourself,” he said, eyeing me warily. The thought was enough for my heart to suddenly ride into my throat.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come over when you did,’ I answered honestly.

  He tipped my chin up and smiled down at me. “We’re supposed to be in this together from here on out, right?”

  I nodded and then sighed. “I promise I won’t shut you out again.”

  “Good,” he said and hugged me tightly as he kissed the top of my head. Even though I still hadn’t worked up the cojones to tell him I was possessed with Drake’s spirit, I made myself the promise that I would do so tomorrow. For now, I just wanted to enjoy the fact that for the first time since I’d taken residence in my house, it was spirit free.

  Or so I hoped.

  The End

  To be continued in:

  A Ghost of A Chance

  Midlife Spirits Series # 2

  Coming Soon!

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Also available:

  To Kill a Warlock

  Dulcie O'Neil #1

  by H.P. Mallory

  (read on for a sample)

  ONE

  There was no way in hell I was looking in the mirror.

  I knew it was bad when I glanced down. My stomach, if that’s what you wanted to call it, was five times its usual size and exploded around me in a mass of jelly-like fat. To make matters worse, it was the color of overcooked peas—that certain jaundiced yellow.

  “Wow, Dulce, you look like crap,” Sam said.

  I tried to give her my best “don’t piss me off” look, but I wasn’t sure my face complied because I had no clue what my face looked like. If it was anything like my stomach, it had to be canned-pea green and covered with raised bumps. The bumps in question weren’t small like what you’d see on a toad—more like the size of dinner plates. Inside each bump, my skin was a darker green. And the texture … it was like running your finger across the tops of your teeth—jagged with valleys and mountains.

  “Can you fix it?” I asked, my voice coming out monster-deep. I shouldn’t have been surprised—I was a good seven feet tall now. And with the substantial body mass, my voice could only be deep.

  “Yeah, I think I can.” Sam’s voice didn’t waver which was a good sign.

  I turned to avoid the sun’s rays as they broke through the window, the sunlight not feeling too great against my boils.

  I glanced at Sam’s perfect sitting room, complete with a sofa, love seat and two armchairs all in a soothing beige, the de facto color for inoffensive furniture. Better Homes and Gardens sat unattended on Sam’s coffee table—opened at an article about how beautiful drought resistant plants can be.

  “You have nine eyes,” Sam said.

  At least they focused as one. I couldn’t imagine having them all space cadetting out. Talk about a headache.

  Turning my attention from her happy sitting room, I forced my nine eyes on her, hoping the extra seven would be all the more penetrating. “Can you focus please?” I snapped.

  Sam held her hands up. “Okay, okay. Sheesh
, I guess getting changed into a gigantic booger put you into a crappy mood.”

  “Gee, you think?” My legs ached with the weight of my body. I had no idea if I had two legs or more or maybe a stump—my stomach covered them completely. I groaned and leaned against the wall, waiting for Sam to put on her glasses and figure out how to reverse the spell.

  Sam was a witch and a pretty damned good one at that. I’d give her twenty minutes—then I’d be back to my old self. “Was it Fabian who boogered you?” she asked.

  The mention of the little bastard set my anger ablaze. I had to count to five before the rage simmered out of me like a water balloon with a leak. I peeled myself off the wall and noticed a long spindle of green slime still stuck to the plaster; it reached out as if afraid to part with me.

  “Ew!” Sam said, taking a step back from me. “You are so cleaning that wall.”

  “Fine. Just get me back to normal. I’m going to murder Fabian when I see him again.”

  Fabian was a warlock, a master of witchcraft. The little cretin hadn’t taken it well when I’d come to his dark arts store to observe his latest truckload delivery. I knew the little rat was importing illegal potions (love potions, revenge potions, lust potions … the list went on) and it was my job to stop it. I’m a Regulator, someone who monitors the creatures of the Netherworld to ensure they’re not breaking any rules. Think law enforcement. And Fabian clearly was breaking some rule. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have turned me into a walking phlegm pile.

  Sam turned and faced a sheet of chocolate chip cookie mounds. “Hold on a second, I gotta put these in the oven.”

  She sashayed to the kitchen and I couldn’t help but think what an odd picture we made: Sam, looking like the quintessential housewife with her apron, paisley dress and Stepford wife smile, and me, looking like an alien there to abduct her.

  She slid the cookies in, shut the oven door and offered me a cheery grin. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, let me just whip something together.”

  Kneeling down, she opened a cupboard door beneath the kitchen island and grabbed two clay bowls, three glass jars and a metal whisk. One jar was filled with a pink powder, the next with a liquid that looked like molasses, and the third with a sugary-type powder.

  “Sam, I don’t have time to watch you make more cookies.”

  “Stop being so cranky! I’m stirring a potion to figure out how the heck I’m going to help you. I have no idea what spell that little creep put on you.”

  I frowned, or thought I did.

  Sam opened a jar and took a pinch of the pink powder between her fingers. She dropped it in the bowl and whisked. Then she spooned one tablespoon of the molasses-looking stuff into the bowl and whisked again. Dumping half the white powder in with the rest, she paused and then dumped in the remainder.

  Then she studied me, biting her lip. It was a look I knew too well—one that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “I need some part of your body. But it doesn’t look like you have any hair. Hmm, do you have fingernails?”

  I went to move my arm and four came up. But even with four arms, I didn’t have a single fingernail—just webbed hands that looked like duck feet. I bet I was a good swimmer.

  “Sorry, no fingernails.”

  “Well, this might hurt then.”

  She turned around and pulled a butcher knife from the knife block before approaching me like a stealthy cat. Even with my enormous body, I was up and out of her way instantly.

  “Hold on a second! Keep that thing away from me!”

  “I need something from your body to make the potion work right. I won’t take much, just a tiny piece of flesh.”

  I felt like adding “and not a drop of blood,” but was too pre-occupied with protecting myself. I glanced at the wall and eyed the snotty globule, still attached to the plaster as if it had a right to be there. “What about that stuff?”

  Sam grimaced but stopped advancing. “I’m not touching that.”

  “Okay, fine. How about some spit then?”

  “Yeah, that might do.”

  My entire body breathed a sigh of relief which, given the size of me, was a pretty big breath. She put the knife back, and I made my way over to her slowly—not convinced she wasn’t going to Sweeney Todd on me again.

  She held out the bowl. “Spit.”

  I wasn’t sure if my body was capable of spitting, but I leaned over and gave it a shot. Something slid up my throat, and I watched a blob of yellow land in her bowl.

  It was moving. Gross.

  It continued to vacillate as it interacted with the mixture, sprawling this way and that like it was having a seizure.

  “Yuck,” Sam said, holding the bowl as far away from her as possible. She returned it to the counter as the timer went off. Facing the oven, she grabbed a mitt that said “Kiss me, I’m Wiccan,” pulled open the oven door and grabbed hold of the cookie sheet, placing them on the counter.

  My stomach growled, sounding like an angry wolf, and unable to stop myself, I lumbered toward the cookies. I grabbed the sheet, not feeling the heat of the tin on my webbed hand. Sam watched me, her mouth hanging open as I lifted the sheet of cookies and emptied every last one into my mouth, swallowing them whole.

  Sam’s brows furrowed with anger, giving her normally angelic face a little attitude. “I was saving those to bring to work on Monday, thank you very much!”

  Sam didn’t wear angry well. She was too pretty—dark brown shoulder length hair, perfect skin, perfect teeth, and big brown eyes.

  “Come on, Sam,” I pleaded, my mouth brimming with gooey chocolate. “You know I didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t even like sweets.”

  Something slimy and pink escaped my mouth and ran itself over my lips. It took me a second to realize it was my tongue. Rather than curling back into my mouth, it hesitated on my lip as I focused on a stray chocolate chip lounging against the counter. Instantly, my tongue lurched out and grabbed hold of the chip, recoiling into my mouth like a spent cobra.

  Sam quirked a less-than-amused brow and ran her palms down her paisley apron, as though composing herself. I have to count to ten, twenty sometimes. Otherwise, my temper is an ugly son of a bitch.

  “Besides, none of the guys at work deserve them anyway.” I knew because I worked with Sam.

  She appeared to be in the process of forgiving me, a slight smile playing with the ends of her lips. I turned to the potion sitting in the bowl. The yellow ball of spit was still shivering. I nearly gagged when Sam stabbed it with the whisk and continued stirring.

  I peered over her shoulder and watched the potion change colors—going from a pale brown to red then deepening into flame orange. “What’s it doing?”

  Sam nodded as if she were watching a movie, knew the ending, and was just dying to tell someone what happens. “Ah, of course, I should’ve known. The little devil put a Hemmen on you.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a short-term shape-shifting charm. You’ll be back to normal in about five hours or so.”

  “Five hours? Look at me! Can’t you get rid of it sooner?”

  Sam shook her head. “Would take lots of herbs and potions I don’t have. I’d probably have to get them at Fabian’s.” She laughed. “How ironic is that? Just hang tight. It’ll go away, I promise.”

  It figures the little bastard would’ve put a short-term spell on me. Currently, there weren’t any laws against turning someone into a hideous creature if it would wear off after a day. And even if he had turned me into this creature long term, he’d probably only get a slap on the wrists. The Netherworld wasn’t exactly good with doling out punishments.

  I was working on making it better.

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  She nodded. “One hundred percent. Let’s just watch a couple movies to keep your mind off it.”

  She hurried to her entertainment center and scanned through the numerous titles, using her index finger to guide her. “D
irty Dancing? Bridget Jones?”

  “The first or second Bridget?”

  “I have both,” she said with a triumphant smile.

  “I like the first one better.”

  With a nod of agreement, Sam pulled the DVD out and gingerly placed it into the player.

  I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself. I couldn’t fit on her couch, and with my slime ball still suspended on the wall, sitting was out.

  Sam pointed a finger in my general direction. “How did Fabian catch you unaware enough to change you into … that?”

  I sighed—which came out as a grunt.

  “Well?” she asked while skipping into the kitchen to microwave a packet of popcorn.

  I couldn’t quite meet her eyes and, instead, focused on drawing slimy lines on her counter top with one of my eight index fingers.

  This was the part of the story I was least excited about. Fabian never should’ve caught me with my guard down. I’m a fairy. We’re renowned for being extremely quick, and we’ve got more magic in our little finger … well, you get it.

  “My back was to him,” I mumbled. “I know, I know … super dumb.”

  Sam’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “That doesn’t sound like you at all, Dulce. Why was your back to him?”

  If I wasn’t excited about that last part of the story, this part excited me even less. “There was someone in his shop—a guy I’ve never seen before.”

  Sam laughed and quirked a knowing brow. “So let me make sure I’ve got this right.”

  She plopped her hands on her hips and paused for a good three seconds. Maybe she was getting me back for the cookies. “You, one of the strongest fairies around, turned your back on a known dark arts practitioner because he had a hot guy in his store?”

  “No, it wasn’t that at all. I’d never seen him before, and I couldn’t figure out what he was.”

  As a fairy, I have the innate ability to decipher a creature as soon as I see one. I can tell a warlock from a vampire from a gorgon in seconds. I don’t get paid the big bucks for nothing.