The Haunting at Morgan's Rock

by M. L. Bullock

  Joanna asked, “What do I do, Father? What do I do?”

  Before he vanished he said, “Remember, Punchanella. Remember it all!”

  And as his words settled in my mind and heart, that’s exactly what Joanna did. And so did I.

  I remembered everything.

  Epilogue

  “Hey, Megan! Over here! Can you give us a prediction? What are you going to find in there?” This was Chris, or Chase or whatever his name was. He was always too familiar with me. Hmm…that felt far too familiar.

  “Hey, Megan, please! Tell us the truth—you know something, don’t you?”

  The questions kept coming, and I kept shrugging. Alex had his hand on my shoulder. I wanted to kiss him and badly, but that would have to wait. I realized I loved him, now that the spell over me was broken. I believed that somehow the love spell Vivian meant to cast over Dan also fell on me for some of the time I had been Joanna, but not anymore. I was free of her. I didn’t feel her. She didn’t summon me. I didn’t hear the Victrola play at odd hours, and the Great Room was no longer my favorite room of the house. I’d even moved my office down here to the bottom floor, next to my bedroom. I was getting so much more done now.

  Alex, Micah, Loretta and I stood next to the wall, each of us with a sledgehammer in our hands. All the electrical wires had been removed, and we could safely take the wall down without worry. I guess in a way, it was kind of a publicity stunt. But it was also going to bring me closure in ways most of these photo hounds would never understand. This was for me. Alex looked down at me and kissed my forehead. I loved him a hundred percent. How could I not? He loved me, broken, silly, not-always-together me. I wasn’t Joanna Storm, and he wasn’t Paden Kincaid. Our love was real, and we were going to work at it to make it even better. Micah was a friend, but that was all he would ever be. A friend.

  “On the count of three, let’s get started. Cameras ready?” the director called out to his small crew.

  “One, two, three,” we chanted along with him and then began tearing at the wood. Immediately, it began to crumble and I saw that I’d been right. There had been a hidden room there, a large one with a long corridor that led to room after room. I knew then that I was looking at the Hall of Shadows. This was what Joanna’s father meant when he told her—told me—to remember.

  There had been a Hall of Shadows in Egypt, beneath KV 119, that’s in the Valley of the Kings. The Storms had read the name Hall of Shadows in the cartouche over the door. It was a magic room, a room used for the preparation of the dead. These stones, the ones reported to come from some ancient Kent castle belonging to the Storm family, were actually sandstone blocks that had been stolen from the original Hall of Shadows. Clearly this was something Mr. Storm now regretted.

  The symbols on the wall, these were the same, only changed slightly by Vivian to hide their true meaning, but I could read them perfectly now. The symbols painted on the wall were clear enough for me to know that they read: “Hall of Shadows.”

  We tore down the wall, and the cameras and video recorders began exploring the darkness. I knew what they would find. Not Joanna’s body as some hoped, as even I’d believed for a time, but the bodies of Vivian Kemal and Mr. Lee.

  And when the deed was done, Albert Robbins, a once-faithful servant of the late Mr. Storm, had helped Joanna erect this wall. Then Joanna left this place and never returned again, defeating the ancient magic that destroyed her family.

  Surprisingly enough, she died an old woman in Egypt. I’d uncovered these details with Micah’s help, and now the mystery was solved. Joanna Storm had escaped the dark destiny that others wanted for her. In Egypt she was known far and wide for her seizures, which to the locals were a sign of special favor and divinity. Joanna never married again, but I knew she had been happy. I explored the dirty room and spoke to the camera, doing exactly what I should do, but it was all for show.

  Yes, I knew Joanna Storm wasn’t here. She had escaped her horrible fate, survived a deep betrayal and learned a horrible truth about her own parents. But we’d found Mr. Lee and Vivian, and that would please the reporters. That would have to do.

  I would tell all that I knew to my publishers, since they were excited about the find, but for now I wanted it all to end. I was ready for this event to be over. Alex must have seen it in my eyes.

  “Time to take a break, boys. Let’s take thirty. Everyone out of here, please.” He smiled at me, and I held his hand.

  As we watched them break and find food in the kitchen, he whispered to me, “You know, I can send them away if you like. I can see this is wearing on you, Meg.”

  “I just want to go to my room and take a nap. Do I have to say anything else? Give any more interviews?”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “But I’m not, Alex. I told you what we’d find, and we did. It is what it is.”

  “The cycle is broken, Megan. No more blood magic for the Storm family. There are no more Storms.”

  I smiled at him and kissed him. “You’re right, of course.”

  Now wouldn’t be a good time to tell him that I was pregnant. It was an even worse time to tell him that he wasn’t the father. Paden Kincaid was the father and I had been Joanna Storm. I knew it as well as I knew my own name.

  And when I’d woken up from my encounter in the secret room, I knew the truth immediately. I knew why the seizures were worse; I knew what Mr. Lee and Vivian didn’t know. That a mother will always find a way to protect her baby.

  And that’s what I did.

  And in a matter of months I would have a child, a daughter. Yes, I could feel that in my blood. A daughter.

  Yes, I would have a daughter, and she would be a Storm. I wasn’t sure yet, but I thought I might call her Joanna.

  The Ghost of Joanna Storm

  Morgan’s Rock Series

  Book Three

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2019 Monica L. Bullock

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to anyone who can do the Charleston.

  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

  While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

  As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

  “Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

  Only this and nothing more.”

  Excerpt from The Raven

  Edgar Allan Poe, 1845

  Chapter One—Megan

  “Are you sure you can’t wait until we get home?” Alex tilted his head toward Morgan’s Rock, which shone above the street fair we were attending this evening. It was late and I was tired, but nature called. I had had a wonderful time; the air was warm and balmy here by the sea, despite the fact it was autumn. It took me a few seconds to realize that Alex was kidding with me, but my bladder and I didn’t find this funny at all. Not to mention that laughing would be disastrous at this point. Alex was surely smarter than to make fun of a woman who was only two months away from her due date. But that was Alex Wagner. He liked living on the wild side. He kissed me despite my frown. “I’ll meet you at the car, Meggie.”

  “Perfect. Would you mind taking this with you?” I handed him a cloth tote bag full of handcrafted goodies, none of which I needed. But I wanted to take them home regardless.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t buy the mandala rug too,” he said, grunting at the weight of my bag.

  “Don’t make me change my mind. I’ve still got a few dollars in my wallet.”

  “Please don’t. It’s an ugly rug, Meggie. Oh, damn. My phone is ringing. I’ll meet you in the car.” Alex was a guy who could manage four things at once—most of the time. He tossed his shaved ice cup in a nearby garbage can and carried my tote bag, all while examining his phone screen and digging in his jeans pocket for his keys. “Huh, it’s Lucy.” He grunted as he
answered the call.

  For the life of me, I didn’t know why Alex sounded surprised. His new assistant, a lanky college student with silky brown hair and sulky eyes, called him at least six times a day. Personally, I could not imagine working with someone who could not make a simple decision without calling me about it.

  Should I order bright pink or blush ivory roses for the conference room? Would it be okay if Jeffrey Lee Owens submitted his manuscript twenty-four hours later? He needs the extra time to let his book “juice.”

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  Lucy Marlow’s list of needs grew daily, but Alex didn’t seem to mind. It didn’t bother him that she couldn’t walk and chew gum without him. But it bothered me. The thought of bringing up the subject with him again gave me horrible anxiety. I did trust Alex; that was not the source of my unease. I did not bring the issue up for an entirely different reason. As if she too could experience my stress, the baby kicked and shifted, making my need to find a restroom more urgent with every passing second.

  You’re thinking crazy, Megan. You love Alex, and you two have a great life. Let sleeping dogs lie. Dead. Let them lie dead. You haven’t seen a single ghost in all these months. They aren’t here. The baby belongs to you and Alex.

  “Have fun with your flower shopping, Alexander.” If he was going to insist on calling me Meggie, I would return the favor. If he didn’t watch out, I’d brandish his entire, extraordinarily snobbish name, Alexander Royce Gareth Wagner. I thought it was hilarious when I first heard it—on our wedding day. But once I met his mother, I understood so much about Alex’s upbringing and his being saddled with such a “royal” name. I grinned at him as he waved me away good-naturedly. I waddled off to the portable restroom.

  The street fair had been delightful—just the distraction I needed to take my mind off my weird thoughts. Alex wasn’t a cheater. I refused to fixate on that ridiculous scenario.

  I smiled at a fellow fair attendee who also had a bag of treats in her arms. I didn’t know the organizers of the event, but whoever they were, they had done a great job of making it fun for everyone. The road had been blocked off; the street fair was so small that it only took up a few blocks, but those few blocks were packed with booths and tables. There were things to eat and things to look at, lots of handicrafts and artists displaying their work. Until today, I had no idea that so many artists called Rockville home. I liked that—I belonged here. More and more, I felt like I belonged here. I had no business eating that giant corn dog or drinking that fresh lemonade, but those had been the tastiest things I’d had in a long time. I could tell my daughter appreciated the snacks too because she had been rolling around ever since I’d scarfed them down. And although I would have loved nothing better than to enjoy another cup of that tasty lemonade, my bladder simply couldn’t handle it. Hence my need to find the appropriate facility.

  No, this situation isn’t ideal, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.

  “I’m convinced you’re going to be a ballerina, little girl. Please stop pirouetting on my bladder, Joanna,” I whispered. I had to be careful not to let Alex hear me call her by that name. He still wasn’t sold on the idea and wanted something trendier, like Angelina or whatever ridiculous name he came up with. But to me, the name Joanna would be perfect. Maybe Alex was right that naming our daughter after the late starlet was inviting trouble. But then again, he didn’t know what I knew. And I wasn’t sure he would believe me if I told him. I could scarcely even admit it to myself.

  My baby belonged to Joanna and Paden. Somehow, some way, during my time as Joanna, I’d made love to Paden and conceived a child. Could it be true? I felt a little sick now.

  “Wait!” I heard a voice calling me. “My balloon!” a nearby child cried out desperately as a lazy helium balloon bounced past me and then began to float up and away.

  “I’ve got it!” I promised as I raced toward the runaway balloon. I wasn’t very tall, but I stood on my tiptoes and managed to grip the end of the string and pull it back just in the nick of time. “Here you go,” I said as I offered it to the worried child.

  “Thank you,” he said with tear-filled eyes. His mother raced up to join us; she was a pretty lady with short hair and pink cheeks.

  “Zachary! Don’t run off like that! I’m sorry. Did he run into you?” She put her hand on her son’s shoulder protectively and moved his dark hair out of his eyes. He swatted her hand away.

  “No trouble at all. He didn’t hit me, but his balloon did. That was a lucky catch, sir. I’m not sure I could do that again.” The baby rolled in my stomach, and I caught my breath at the strange sensation. I would never get used to that feeling, but I was pretty sure all new mommies felt the same way.

  “Zachary, what do you say to the nice lady?”

  “I said thank you already,” the little boy announced as he bounced the balloon up and down and quickly ignored us. If he wasn’t careful, Zachary would certainly lose the balloon again. And I wasn’t really joking…I couldn’t chase it twice.

  “He did thank me,” I confirmed with a friendly smile at the two of them.

  “My name is Julie, and you’ve met my son, Zach. Have we met before? Your face is so familiar to me.” Julie tucked her short blond hair behind her ear as she studied me. Her eyes were an unusual color, a kind of purple with hues of gray. It was a lovely combination. My writer’s brain searched for the right adjective.

  Misty. That’s how I would describe them.

  “It’s a small world, that’s for sure.” I smiled sweetly without offering too much information. I still had to pee, and I didn’t want to get caught up in a long conversation. If I revealed my identity, I was sure I’d have to pose for selfies and answer a dozen questions. Not that I did not appreciate my fans, but this was certainly bad timing.

  “You know, I really feel as if I have met you before. I don’t look familiar to you?”

  I shook my head politely. “No, I don’t think so. But it is nice to meet you, Julie. I’m Megan Wagner. I don’t want to seem rude, but I have to go find a restroom. My daughter treats my bladder like it’s a bouncy house.”

  “You have a kid in there?” Zachary asked as his mother tied his balloon to his wrist again. His dark eyes studied my expansive stomach.

  “I do. A very active kid. Probably as active as you.”

  Zachary whined at me, “I don’t think so. I’m not a baby. I want to hold the balloon, Mommy. I am a big boy.”

  “I know you are a big boy, but you’ll lose your balloon if you don’t watch out. And I’m not going to buy you another one,” she warned him sternly. “Thanks again for saving the day, Megan. He’s obsessed with balloons, but he can’t manage to keep one for longer than five minutes. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

  I liked the idea of making some new friends, but nature’s call prevented that at the moment.

  “Maybe we will,” I said as I waved goodbye and hurried off to take care of business. “Have a nice evening,” I called over my shoulder, but they said nothing. Surprisingly, the restroom wasn’t too gross, but I got in and out as quickly as possible. I was sad to see that Julie was gone when I returned, but what did I expect? I’d given her the brush-off.

  That felt wrong. That whole encounter felt wrong.

  And the sadness of the missed opportunity surprised me. I felt teary-eyed about not introducing Julie to Alex and exploring the possible new friendship. God, I’d been so lonely lately. Kind of depressed, actually. Why on earth did I want to cry about this? It was further proof that my hormones were completely out of whack. It’s not like I didn’t have friends. I had some great ones. But Loretta, my research partner who was a part-time librarian, had been too busy with her new grandson to visit me much lately, and she was rarely at the library anymore. I did get a phone call from Micah Todd yesterday, but I hadn’t called him back yet. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what his research had turned up. Since the discovery of the bodies of Vivian Kemal and Mr. Lee in the hidden room, M
icah spent much of his time studying Vivian’s strange code. Once he even suggested that we work on a book together to explore some of the darker aspects of the Storm family history, but I wasn’t interested in delving into their past any further. I’d found the Hall of Shadows, and that would have to be enough. I had a life to live, a good life.

  Yeah, let those sleeping dogs lie.

  Alex was standing by the car; thankfully, he didn’t have his phone to his ear. He waved at me as if I would forget where we had parked. I lifted the hem of my maxi dress to keep from tripping over it when I noticed the yellow balloon floating near me again.

  Oh no! He lost it again.

  I reached for the balloon and snagged it a second time. I glanced around, but Zachary and Julie were nowhere to be seen.

  “Zach?” I yelled. “Julie?” My voice came back to me as a strange echo. The strings of lights that lined Starling Road blinked off, a clear sign that the festivities were officially over and that I should go home. A deep chill traveled through my body. I called for the two again, but there was no sign of the wayward child or his stressed-out mother. Alex waited patiently and glanced around curiously. He hadn’t been around to meet Julie or her son, so he would have no idea that I had rescued the balloon twice already. Now what? With a shrug, I joined him at the car but continued to scan the horizon. There was no sign of the pair. How could they disappear like that? For the balloon to hover this low, Zachary must have lost it just a few seconds ago.

  “That’s strange. I don’t see the little boy who owns this balloon. Or his mother.”

  “What boy? I didn’t see anyone. In fact, I think we’ve closed this fair down,” Alex said with a hint of impatience in his voice. Clearly, the inept Lucy needed something else from him, a phone number or a name. Something he could only find in his office. “What did they look like?”