Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“I love that,” I say quietly so Lauren won’t hear me. “And it makes me want to get this place usable for her even more.”
“You must be Anora,” Lauren says as she comes up the steps. “I’m Lauren.”
“Anora,” I blurt and then shake my head. “Which you just said. This is Hunter.” I run my hand over his head. “He, uh, really in tune with paranormal things.”
“I’ve heard animals can sense things we can’t.” She pulls a key from the small purse she’s carrying. “You know, I was a skeptic until somewhat recently.”
“So were you,” I remind Keith. “We met at a ghost hunt.”
“Ghost hunt?” Lauren echoes and sticks the key in the lock. She turns it, locking it instead of unlocking it. She makes a face, confused, and Keith shoots me a look, quickly shaking his head. “Oh, come on,” she grumbles and gets the door unlocked. “So, I’m told you’re quite the sensitive.” We all go into the house again but this time it’s harder to pick up on anything.
“Yeah. I’ve always had a knack for it.” Hunter pads in ahead of us, going through the open door that leads out of the foyer. “Do you guys feel threatened or anything when you’re in here?”
“As skeptical as I am,” she goes on, leaving the door wide open behind us to let light and fresh air in. “It scares me.”
“I can’t say I feel in danger, considering,” Keith adds under his breath, and I know he’s talking about the demons I’ve dealt with lately. “But definitely unwanted.”
“Yeah. I’m picking up on that.” We go through the house, following Hunter. Another wall has been knocked down, opening one room up to another. The dark energy I felt before is still here, lingering in the shadows. Whatever it is doesn’t want to be found, which isn’t uncommon when it comes to intelligent spirits. It takes energy to manifest, and energy isn’t something they have an unlimited supply of. If I’m just in and out of this house in just a few hours, then it’s not worth it to use the energy it would take to try and scare me away.
“Are you going to gut the whole house?” I ask, curious to what the plans are as well as hoping that if the spirits hear us talking about a big renovation, they’ll come out of hiding.
“We have to pretty much clear out the kitchen on the first floor and replace pipes in the bathrooms. The layout upstairs will work, but there are two bigger apartments we can divide, as well as take the full kitchen out of the little ones. People will appreciate a sink and mini fridge in their rooms, but you don’t go to a bed and breakfast so you can cook yourself breakfast. Kinda beside the point,” Lauren explains.
“It’ll be really pretty once it’s all done.”
“I hope so.” Lauren’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “I’m a little worried I bit off more than I can chew.”
“Hey, you got this,” Keith tells her. “And you have me as your free interior designer.”
“And I’m very thankful for that.” Lauren looks at Keith and smiles. “He’s got a good eye for decor, though I think—”
“No,” Keith cuts off. “No farmhouse-chic allowed. My plan is to stick as close to the original 1940 style as possible but modern and practical. In a world full of Airbnb, you need to stand out.”
“Definitely,” she agrees and we step over a pile of dusty flooring material that’s still in the original boxes. “Which is why I’m thinking we need to offer something more than just a place to stay for the night.”
“Advertise this place as haunted and you’ll get more bookings,” Keith jokes. “Though if Anora can do her thing, this place won’t stay haunted for long.”
We come to a stop in a long corridor. The feeling of being watched is back and I hold my hands out slightly to my sides, trying to figure out if I’m actually behind watched or picking up on a memory of someone being watched. This is the part of being a medium that’s the most confusing. The emotions are real and deciphering them is tricky.
I blink and get hit with the vision of two girls excitedly holding up a set of keys and walking down this hall.
“When did this place become apartments?” I ask, reaching out and touching the wooden wainscoting on the wall next to us.
“I think the late 70s,” Lauren answers.
“Do you have any way of finding out who lived here? Female renters in particular?”
“Yes and no,” she replies, turning on a light in the hall. It flickers a few times before shining pale yellow light around us. “The records weren’t the best kept.”
“Right, and it wasn’t until 1974 that the Equal Credit Opportunity Act was passed for women to get their own credit cards,” Keith elaborates.