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    Specter
    Specter
    Specter
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Specter

    By RM Brand

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    About this ebook

    Carrington Manor has its share of history and ghosts, which Hettie is quite familiar with through her late father’s business selling peculiar antiques said to be haunted. However, the job turns out to be more than she bargained for.

    The owner is determined to level the house as quickly as possible, but it seems the house refuses to go down easily. Crews flee frightened by unexplained phenomena that grow more violent as demolition day approaches but she's not afraid.

    Hettie learns that the man who joins her in the parlor for tea every night has been dead for over a century. She knows that a house can have a life of its own and can keep secrets buried deep within its walls. She reaches beyond the grave to her father, the only man she knows who can help her unravel the mysteries of the house and the objects within it. The answers lead her to a grisly discovery that holds the key that can free the specter from his torment, but she must do it before her spirit is trapped within Carrington Manor.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRM Brand
    Release dateOct 28, 2012
    ISBN9781301917358
    Specter
    Author

    RM Brand

    RM Brand is a published author in the contemporary fiction, fantasy, paranormal, romance, and mystery genres. She has also written a number of technical documents for specifications and proposals. Her current fiction project is Milagro, available December 25th, 2017.With over 25 years of corporate experience, RM Brand has established a solid brand as a designer and marketing professional. She has integrated her knowledge and expertise in her designs and writing, creating artwork that tells a human story.

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      Book preview

      Specter - RM Brand

      Specter

      RM Brand

      Published by RM Brand at Smashwords

      Copyright 2013 RM Brand

      Discover other titles by RM Brand at Smashwords.com at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/rmbrand

      To my late grandmother,

      Rosa Maria Menendez Beltran.

      1916 to 2003

      Though you are not here, you are still in my heart, never forgotten.

      Part 1 – Phantoms

      Chapter One

      I remember the first time my father told me of Carrington Manor. It was late one autumn evening, the air was thick with the threat of rain. My mother had died the prior week, two days after my fifth birthday. A year later, her radiance still haunted every corner of our home. When I asked my father why God had taken her away, he bitterly whispered, Cursed.

      My father and I lived in the backside of a house at the center of a sleepy town near the Blue Ridge Mountains. The house was part of a legacy left over from my grandfather who specialized in rare and odd collectibles, some claimed to be tied to the supernatural. It was an antique bazaar with stories that could fill a library.

      My arms tightened around the stuffed dog my mother had given me last Christmas. As a child with the limited understanding that comes from spending little time on this Earth, I believed him and feared what God would do because of this curse.

      He sat on the edge of my bed holding a picture of an old Victorian house. You must never go to Carrington Manor, Hettie, he warned. His eyes were fixed on a young woman at one of the windows who had the same look of sadness as my father.

      I pointed to the woman, remembering that my mother had also lost her mother at a young age. Is that Mommy’s Mommy?

      No, he replied. She was the one who cursed us.

      Even as he spoke those words, I could smell my mother’s perfume, something that had faded days after her death. I wanted to believe she was there, just like the priest at the funeral had said. Maybe she came to protect us, but nobody could stop God, especially if there was a curse involved.

      My heart pounded in my chest as though it feared ghostly claws would carve it out. I don’t want God to take us, I muttered, afraid.

      My father held me.

      Don’t worry, Hettie. I won’t let that happen, not for a long time anyway.

      We stared at one another in the dim lamp light of that humble room, seeking comfort that didn’t come.

      Promise me that you will never go to this house, he urged again.

      My gaze fell to the woman at the window. I felt for the first time in my life the fiery bite of hatred. I promise.

      I lied.

      Chapter Two

      Carrington Manor majestically stood at the edge of a forbidding coastline, where the sea turned to sand until it reached the hill where the house lay. Despite the wind and the sea, the manor had persevered to become one of the most elegant and historic landmarks in the South.

      The property and house was abandoned for decades. Weeds choked the life out of whatever green there was, only overshadowed by the pervasive rose bushes that grew unrestrained. Now they served as thorny defenses to keep intruders at bay. Tucked within this natural prison stood a pair of stone benches adorned with time worn, grimy faced, cherubs beckoning the weary passerby to stop and rest.

      I looked around me, the melancholy state of the place reminded me of my promise to my father. He passed away last month and I ran across the picture he had shown me long ago.

      You must never go there, his warning echoed in my head.

      History tends to repeat itself, so I decided to break from the family tradition of accepting our cursed state to face the demons that haunted us.

      My father preferred to hide among his antiquities, I was interested in places and people. I traveled the world as a buyer of artifacts and curios that ended up on display at museums and private collections. It wasn’t that my father didn’t appreciate the story behind the item. For him, it was about the secrets they held. In fact, every item in his shop had an identity—a person, a place, or an event tied to it that made it unique. But there was an unsettling corollary. They were cursed. Each time he sold one of his treasures, he made sure the new owner understood what he was buying and the legacy tied to the object. Invariably the item would find itself back into my father’s hands and back on the store shelf. I inherited these precious items full of mystery after his death.

      I hadn’t thought of Carrington Manor until I received the phone call. I remember feeling as though a weight had been lifted from me when I received the news he had passed away. It is a terrible thing to say, but I felt relieved. I loved my father, but too much had not been said or done after my mother’s passing. He simply didn’t know how to be both a father and a mother. As I grew older, we grew further apart until the only occasions we spoke were on Christmas and birthdays. So I was surprised to receive a letter from him a few days before his death. He wanted to speak to me in person about our family and its history.

      Much to my surprise, I learned that he had agreed to appraise the value of the Carrington estate and all its furnishings. I took this as a sign of hope that maybe he was coming around, that he would finally admit the curse was a farce and face his grief.

      I decided to do this one thing for him—out of guilt for not being there during his passing, to be honest—and do the job myself. I grew up working in his shop and knew the business well enough. My connections as a buyer would come in handy given the current owner of the estate intended to sell everything and demolish the house for redevelopment.

      Miss Nelson…? Mrs. Schroder, an older willowy woman who introduced herself as the property manager, asked me a question.

      Please, call me Hettie, I responded. And I apologize. I am so enthralled by the estate that I missed your question.

      She looked at me in shock, as though I had just uttered an expletive. You like the place?

      I turned back to the manor, a palatial Victorian structure with some Mediterranean influence, specifically the broad terrace on the second floor, and nodded.

      Mrs. Schroder seemed relieved, even overjoyed. There are a few things to consider, if you decide to take the job.

      I turned to the woman. And they are?

      The electricity is faulty, so the owner has switched it off. You will have to use oil lamps at night. The furnace no longer works, but there is plenty of firewood for your use. I suggest sleeping in the master suite, which has a fireplace. The plumbing works, but don’t drink from the tap. And, there are no phones. Mobile service is sketchy at best and you will have to use your car to charge it, I imagine.

      My eyes wandered back to the manor as she spoke. Despite the conditions, I kept thinking of my father’s warning, the look of fear in his eyes that mirrored the one I felt as a child. Whatever haunted my father was somehow connected to this place. I was able to find peace in my own life though my work. I wanted to give him that, so he could experience in spirit what he couldn’t in life—that there is good in the world.

      Is there anything else? I asked, anxious to begin.

      She hesitated and nervously glanced back to the manor.

      I turned to where she was looking. A breeze shifted the curtains at one of the windows. I turned back around in time to see the woman shiver.

      When she realized I was staring at her, she forced a smile but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. "Access to the basement is strictly prohibited. Now, I see a twinkle in your eyes, but before you get carried away with curiosity, it is nothing extraordinary. He simply has a few personal items in there, mostly boxes, which he will go through before the house is

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