Smashwords Edition
Becca's Paranormal Collection
Presented by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery
Digital ISBN: 9781311786593
Copyright © 2015 Rebecca J. Vickery
Cover Art Copyright © 2015 Laura Shinn
Design Consultant Laura Shinn
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Paranormal Collection is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.
[A Haunting Love, Raising the Lost, Dad's Favorite Holiday, Night of the Blue Moon, and The Rescue were previously released in anthologies and as single e-books. The Rescue, Releasing the Beast, and Cappuccino and Christmas Snow were award winners in various speculative fiction competitions.]
A twist of romance and mayhem...
Becca's Paranormal Collection includes:
A Haunting Love ~ A witch and a police officer meet in a haunted house
Raising the Lost ~ Can the inhabitants of Atlantis bring it back?
Dad's Favorite Holiday ~ A murder occurs at a Halloween party
Night of the Blue Moon ~ Pandora's Box is opened at last
The Rescue ~ A crash on a planetoid spells bad news
Releasing the Beast ~ A man releases a beast of his own creation
Cappuccino and Christmas Snow ~ A woman is either crazy or foresees the future
*** Author's Note ***
Speculative Fiction is a broad genre defined in many ways and is often mislabeled. My favorite definition: "Weird" fiction, often short, with ironic or horrific endings such as the stories written by Edgar Allan Poe, Alfred Hitchcock, and even O'Henry, and as seen on TV in Twilight Zone, Inferno, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. This genre may contain elements of romance, humor, horror, suspense, sci-fi, and the supernatural – but always, the unexpected.
Flash Fiction is a style of literature requiring the writer to tell a complete story with utmost brevity. It is a perfect exercise to hone the art of storytelling by imparting who, what, when, where, and why in a very limited word count.
To all who listen for bumps in the night, see figures in the mist, and know not to take themselves too seriously...
Trudy thinks she must have lost her mind by agreeing to house-sit a huge, old, Victorian mansion during Halloween week. Lights switching on and off along with odd noises lead her to meet a certain, handsome police officer named Simon. The attraction is mutual and undeniable. Maybe the scare was worth the chance to go out with this guy.
When odd things at the old house continue, Mina, Trudy's best friend and partner in a vintage clothing shop, teases her about having a poltergeist. Deciding she can deal with that better than an actual person out to do her harm, Trudy relaxes a bit—until the ghost takes over on Halloween, revealing a curse and an ancient, haunting love.
A Haunting Love
Chapter One
Salem, South Carolina; October 2010
Trudy paused at the top of the staircase. She leaned against the wall and tried to keep her breathing quiet. Shadows encased the lower floor of the old house. She couldn't see anything, but she knew she heard a strange noise. Not the ordinary creaks and groans of the house settling, which she became accustomed to the last few nights, but a real, bona fide noise.
Uhhhnnn...
There—she heard it again. Pressing back against the wall, she tried to decide whether to look for the source of the sound or call the police. A weapon... If she just had a weapon, she would look for it. Wrapping the towel more securely around her wet hair, she tightened her robe and waited, thinking, trying to decide her best course of action.
Uhhhnnn...
Trudy hurried back along the hallway into the bedroom. She searched quickly and found an umbrella in an antique stand in the corner. She'd much prefer a baseball bat, but this would have to do. Grabbing her keychain with the penlight on it, she held the closed umbrella out in front of her. Thankfully, it wasn't one of those compact, fold-up things most women kept. This was a good solid, wood-handled bumbershoot.
As she heard the noise again, somewhat louder this time but still not clear enough to identify, Trudy returned to the staircase and crept down one at a time. Hiding in the shadowy darkness on the bottom step, she strained her ears, listening. No footsteps, but over the wild thumping of her heart, she heard a rustling noise outside.
Gasping, Trudy clutched the handle of the old umbrella tighter. Why on earth did I agree to house-sit the week of Halloween, anyway? And in this spooky mausoleum? I sure wish Mr. and Mrs. Gambrell owned a huge German shepherd instead of two cats and a room full of birds.
Trudy stepped off the remaining tread and tiptoed into the dark foyer. At the bank of switches on the wall by the door, she paused. Instead of wasting time trying to remember which was which, she flipped them all.
Nothing happened. No lights to fend off the gloomy shadows. Oh Lord, what now? Flipping the switches repeatedly did no good.
Uhhhnnn...
There was that sound again. Where is it coming from? She tilted her head to the side and waited, hoping to identify it if she heard it again, which she hoped she didn't. Then a thud sounded from the side porch.
Well, that does it! Trudy raced to the ancient-looking telephone in the front parlor, tucked the umbrella under her arm, and dialed 9-1-1 with shaking hands.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
"I..." Trudy swallowed and tried again. She fought back the urge to scream HELP at the top of her voice. "I think there's a prowler trying to get in. Please hurry," she whispered urgently.
"What is your location?"
"Th... The Gambrell residence on Whitney Street. Number 1313."
"Are you alone, ma'am? Are you sure about the prowler?"
Trudy heard scraping noises at the door.
"Would you please send the police? Someone is trying to get in the house. I'm house-sitting. The Gambrell's are on a trip. Hurry!"
"We have a patrol car on the way. Stay on the line. Are you on a cordless phone?"
"No... There's no cordless phone. Why?" Trudy couldn't help wondering why this woman would ask dumb questions when she was about to be attacked by a burglar or worse.
"You could take a cordless receiver into a secured room with you while waiting on the police, ma'am. Is there an extension in a room you can lock, a bedroom, or a bathroom?"
Well, that does make sense. Trudy tried to remain calm, but heard a louder thump against the door followed by the weird groaning sound again. She whispered into the phone, "I'm leaving the phone off the hook and locking myself in the bathroom. Tell the officers the prowler is on the porch at the side of the house away from the turret."
Not waiting for a response, Trudy laid the phone on the table and hurried to the powder room tucked beneath the stairs. She locked the door and waited in the dark, her penlight and keys clutched in one hand, the umbrella pointed like a sword.
Trudy soon grew tired of standing and dropped to sit on the throne lid. She couldn't hear anything fr
om in here, which irritated her no end. Deciding to do something useful, she rubbed her hair with the towel then tossed it in a corner before picking up her umbrella once more.
Twice, she almost unlocked the door, listening with her ear pressed tight to the wood. But at the last minute fear wouldn't allow her to open it. Trudy finally heard a loud pounding at the front door.
"Miss... Miss? It's the police. Are you all right in there?"
Trudy unlocked the door and raced from the bathroom. "I'm here. Don't leave, please!" She called out as she twisted the night-latches and opened the door, forgetting she wore only her robe.
"We're still here, Ma'am." The officer tipped his cap to her and smiled as his flashlight beam revealed her gaping, fluorescent pink robe and damp, stringy hair. "We found your prowler. We called animal control to come pick him up."
"Animal control? I don't understand." As Trudy spoke, every light in the front section of the house and around the veranda suddenly flashed on. She blinked owlishly up at the man, momentarily blinded by the bright lights.
"Uhm... May I?"
At her suspicious nod, the policeman reached past her and turned off several of the switches, leaving one light glowing on the porch and one in the foyer. She caught the faint scent of Old Spice. No one wears that anymore, do they? But, on him, it sure smells...mm-hmm, scrumptious.
"Thank you," Trudy sighed, attempting to pull her mind away from his sexy scent. "Now, what was that about animal control?"
"There's a large injured dog on the side porch. Looks like it may have been hit by a car and crawled over here. My partner is waiting with it until the truck comes."
"Will it be all right?" Trudy felt embarrassed not to have checked out what was there before calling the emergency number. What would an average house-sitter have done? "I'm so sorry I bothered you. I..." She put a hand to her chest, clutching her robe closer, and stared toward their feet as she felt a warm flush crawl up her neck to her cheeks.
"You did exactly right, ma'am. I wouldn't want my mom or my sis to go to the door to check out a noise if she were alone either."
Trudy looked up then, taking in the officer's handsome appearance in his dark blue uniform. She remembered seeing this guy around town and he was a hottie. His blond hair beneath his cap was clean-cut over his ears, his chin freshly-shaven, and his shoulders broad and strong. He stood well over a head taller and she craned her head back to see the color of his eyes. Blue... A clear, cerulean blue, like the sky—her favorite color. And the scent? Definitely Old Spice.
"What's your name?"
"What?" Trudy tore her gaze away from his beautiful eyes and saw he held a pad and a pen. "Are you giving me a ticket?" Her voice rose at the end. That would be par for the course, but hardly seemed fair.
He chuckled as he answered, "No, ma'am, no ticket. I have to fill out a report about the 9-1-1 call. It's procedure. May I have your name?"
"Oh, okay. Trudy, er... Gertrude Simpleton. And don't you dare laugh."
"Uhm..." He barely held it in check, but it was due to her tone, which reminded him of his spinster aunt. "No ma'am, I won't. And the address here is 1313 Whitney Street?"
"That's right." Trudy saw the truck, bearing the city pound logo, stop in front of the house and two men emerge. "They won't hurt it will they?"
"No, Miss Simpleton. They handle injured animals all the time. They'll take it to the shelter where a vet will take a look at it. Hopefully, they can locate the owner."
"Oh, good. I wouldn't want anything else to happen to the poor thing."
After a slight commotion on the side porch, the men carried the now muzzled, large, white dog between them and placed it in a cage on the back of the truck.
Another policeman walked over to join Trudy and the officer in the front doorway.
He tipped his cap to Trudy and smiled. "Sorry he gave you a scare, Miss. He was just trying to find a place to lick his wounds or get some help. He knocked over a large potted plant around there."
"That must have been the loud noise I heard. Will he be okay, do you think?" Trudy wanted to know.
"Sure, I think so. He's got a bum leg, but looks like he'll get over it just fine. You almost done here, Simon?"
Trudy's green eyes sparkled up at the cute policeman. "Simon?" Simple Simon flashed through her mind for some idiotic reason.
"Yes'm, Simon Gunn." He grinned down at her, liking her perkiness and odd sense of humor. She smelled like something he couldn't quite place, but it made him hungry and also made him want to lean closer for a better sniff.
She sensed there was more to his name by the way he grinned. "Oh, no... Let me guess, your middle name is Peter?" Peter Gunn, like the old detective show, is even better than Simple Simon.
"Ma'am, please don't ever breathe a word of it." He winked and whispered confidentially, "I'd never live it down." Then in a more business-like tone, he continued, "I'll get the time of the call and the other stuff from the dispatcher. Since we resolved your problem, we'll be on our way." He reached to close the screen door at the same time she did.
As their hands brushed, they both looked up, their eyes met and held. The shared laughter lingered, and something more. A sudden interest, a flare of...
She didn't know a flare of what—maybe recognition of kindred spirits? Surely nothing else on such short acquaintance, but it sure felt like something else. Trudy securely locked the door as the officers returned to their patrol car. Well, definitely enough excitement for one night. But it was almost worth being scared witless to meet Officer Simon Peter Gunn. His parents must have a wicked sense of humor.
"Yeah, you come out now, Harvey," she told the large, yellow tomcat as he prowled across to rub against her legs. "What if there really was a prowler and he'd gotten me? Who would feed you then?" His black female companion meowed from the doorway where she sat delicately washing a paw. "And you're a lot of help, Mittens."
Remembering to place the telephone receiver back on the hook, Trudy checked to be sure the cat bowl held dry nibbles. Then she turned off the lights and climbed the stairs to return to her room. She needed to be up early to go to work. Tomorrow should be a busy day.
Chapter Two
Trudy was right. The Simple Vintage Shoppe kept her busy all morning. Running a sale on clothing and fashion accessories during the week of Halloween turned out to be an excellent idea. She owed her partner for thinking of it. They hadn't ever sold this much, not even last Christmas.
Mina brought another box of costume jewelry from the back to replenish a counter display. Business slowed to a stop during lunchtime and they took advantage to straighten and re-stock.
"Wow, the last box of those sold out quick. Is everyone going to dress up vintage this year?" Trudy asked her co-owner and best friend while folding silk scarves and rearranging them on top of a small table.
"Those retro movies coming out helped. Lots of this stuff can go Gothic, too. It might be passé in the big cities, but it's just catching on here. We're doing even better than I hoped. This is the last of the beads from the stockroom." Mina grinned at her from behind her customary black lipstick.
"Thanks for dreaming this up. Even after we pay the taxes and order more stock, we'll have enough to actually pay the utilities with some to split."
"Glory be! Wonders will never cease!" Mina whooped with overdone glee then dissolved into giggles.
"I'd better go feed the birds and check on the house. Do you need me to bring anything when I come back? How about a bottle of the green tea you like?"
"Sure, that would be great," Mina told Trudy. She waited until Trudy was almost to the front door and then called, "Keys!"
"Darn. Every day..." Trudy spun and walked back to the office to grab the keys off the desk. She stood thinking if she'd forgotten something else. Finally, deciding she hadn't, she headed for the door again.
"Bird seed!" Mina yelled from deep in the stockroom.
"Double darn," Trudy grumbled. Mina enjoyed doing this to her.
Ever since she decided to be normal, she just couldn't remember things. She went to retrieve the bag of bird feed she'd bought earlier while on their morning coffee run. Twenty five pounds of bird seed wasn't really very heavy, but it was hard to carry without bursting the bag, she found. She hugged it to her chest and headed for the door once more.
Just as she reached it, she stopped to see if Mina was going to yell out something else she'd forgotten. Someone shoved the door inward—hard, as it tended to stick. Without time to back away far enough, the doorknob caught the bag she carried. The resulting rip allowed the seed to trickle to the floor like a miniature waterfall. The bag slowly collapsed as it emptied. Trudy found herself clasping air and empty plastic to her chest while seeds piled up and rolled across the old hardwood floor.
Tempted to use a bit of glamour to right the situation, she suddenly remembered she couldn't and resigned herself to do this the normal way.
"Miss Simpleton, are you all right? Did I hit you with the door?" Officer Gunn eased the door closed and placed a steadying hand on her arm. He felt a charge zing up his arm and straight into his jeans.
"I'm fine," Trudy sighed, attempting to ignore the warmth of his hand on her arm and the startled look on his face, "but you killed my bird feed." She looked up accusingly. "I have a whole roomful of birds waiting for this."
Their eyes locked and Simon stepped closer, drawn as a moth to a flame. A thump from the back room stopped him from acting on the impulse to haul her into his arms. "Well...uhm... I'll help you sweep it up into a bag—"
"I'll sweep it up and throw it out for the wild birds to peck through. Darn... Now, I'll have to run by the market again. Oh, sorry, did you need something?" Trudy stopped talking and turned questioning green eyes back to Simon.
This woman is a bit goofy, but sexy as the devil. He'd always had a thing for redheads. In the sunlight streaming through the glass door, her hair proved to be a bright, gleaming strawberry, wavy and full. It looked deep auburn the night before when it was wet. Her eyes glittered and pulsed like fine emeralds, holding his gaze, drawing him deeper under her spell. "I wanted to let you know the dog, the one from last night, is doing okay. I'll be glad to pay for your seeds," Simon dragged his eyes from hers and reached for his billfold.
Becca's Paranormal Collection Page 1