Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I’m focused on the smoke, thinking how much it reminds me of the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, the one who blew letter shapes with his hookah pipe, when two ice-cold hands shove into my chest.
I stagger backwards, my breath rushing out with a startled grunt. I’m about to drop the sage and lift my hands to defend myself, but there’s nothing there. Nothing and no one. The landing is empty, and the shadowed bedroom is quiet and empty.
My thoughts race, the logical part of me insisting I must have imagined the shove or tripped or something. I’ve nearly convinced myself I was imagining things when a cold breeze chills the side of my neck and a breathy voice whispers, “That’s my room. Mine! Take the smoke away!”
“Yep, will do,” I squeak, terror crawling up my throat to explode from my lips in a burst of hysterical laughter. “I’ll just head back downstairs. Thanks for letting me know.”
I dash-stumble-trip back to the stairs and hurry down them as quickly as possible. By the time I’m halfway down, the air is warm again, but that does nothing to dispel the fear rampaging beneath my skin.
We have to get out of here. Now.
I have to get Aaron out of the shower, grab Chase from the bed, and get to the car before a ghost eats my family.
I hurry into the downstairs bedroom to check on my son, but he’s sleeping peacefully, a slight smile on his face, and there doesn’t seem to be any ugly energy hanging around. Just in case, I waft more sage around the bed, whispering, “Peace and light only allowed in this room. Any spirits lingering around here should head upstairs to hang out with Mrs. Cold Hands.” I circle the space until I’m sure every corner has been smoked, then back quietly out into the living area.
Leaving the door open a crack so I can see Chase from most places in the room, I dash back into the kitchen. I run the sage under the tap until the fire goes out and then dump it and the small plate in the sink and aim myself toward the bathroom.
I’m so freaked out—shaking and terrified, with fear sweat breaking out under my clothes—that I don’t bother knocking.
I just push through the thankfully unlocked door and whisper-shout, “Aaron, you have to get out of the shower! There’s a ghost upstairs.”
“What? What’s wrong?” He sticks his head out from behind the shower curtain, his face wet and his dark hair slicked back in a way that highlights the perfect symmetry of his features.
I blame his man beauty for the fact that I murmur, “You have amazing eyebrows,” aloud before adding, “There’s a ghost. Upstairs. I know it sounds crazy, but I was smudging the house with sage and when I reached the landing, it was suddenly so much colder than—”
“You were what?” His brow furrows as he laughs.
“Smudging the house. To get rid of any bad spirits that might be hanging around.”
He grins at me like I’m an adorable puppy who just peed on the rug, but in a cute way. “Of course, you did.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “Don’t patronize me. You’re the one who booked the witch house.”
His smile fades. “What?”
“The witch house. Remember? When we were kids?”
“Um, no…not ringing a bell.” He runs a hand over his soapy chest, making my throat tight for reasons aside from ghost-induced terror.
I love his chest so much. It has the perfect scattering of dark brown hair and the kind of muscle a girl can really brace herself against while she’s—
I shake my head, averting my gaze as I force my thoughts back to the crisis at hand, “Well, this is it. The witch house. It used to be a creepy old ruin. This is where high school kids came to drink beer and have bonfires and dare each other to climb the chimney and peek into the cursed attic.” My eyes widen and a fresh chill rattles my bones as I put the pieces together. “The attic that is now your bedroom. That’s where people said they saw a girl in white, crying and throwing pancakes at the wall.”
“Pancakes,” he echoes, sounding increasingly unamused.
“Yes, pancakes.” I shift my gaze back to him, grateful to see his chest soap-free. “Look, I’m not trying to make this weird. It just is weird. Maybe you were too busy playing hockey to hang out in the woods with the rest of us, but this place was definitely haunted back then. And it still is.” I explain how I was repelled by cold hands before I could enter his room. I drop my voice to a whisper, worried what the ghost might do if she hears me add, “Then a creepy voice told me it was her room. She said I should fuck right off with my sage and stay out of her space. So, I did, and I ran downstairs to check on Chase.”