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    Horror in Lowden Hall
    Horror in Lowden Hall
    Horror in Lowden Hall
    Ebook385 pages4 hours

    Horror in Lowden Hall

    By Gerald Lopez

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    About this ebook

    Writer Henry Ayala is looking for a new direction in his life. He thinks he’s found it in the haunted property Lowden Hall located in a sleepy Florida town. Will the hall and its ghosts reveal terrifying secrets to Henry? Romance even rears its head when a handsome stranger appears. But what horrifying things will take place in the Hall on Halloween?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGerald Lopez
    Release dateOct 10, 2018
    ISBN9780463917299
    Horror in Lowden Hall
    Author

    Gerald Lopez

    Gerald was called to write at various times in his life. When he was young, the writing consisted of plays and short stories. Then he explored the fine arts and literature, earning a bachelor’s degree in the latter while minoring in art history. In his studies he was fascinated by and enjoyed analyzing characters, their personalities and motivations. To him it’s always been the characters who make a story special. Once again writing has taken hold of him. In the past it was just an amusement, but now—for Gerald—writing is a passion to live, eat, and breathe.

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      Book preview

      Horror in Lowden Hall - Gerald Lopez

      Copyright © 2018 by Gerald Lopez

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

      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 book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      Cover Art Copyright © 2018 by Gerald Lopez

      Acknowledgments

      My special thanks go to the following:

      To Beta readers Joyce and Brandi, for their helpful comments and suggestions.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Chapter 40

      Chapter 41

      Chapter 42

      Chapter 43

      Chapter 44

      Chapter 45

      Chapter 46

      Chapter 47

      Chapter 48

      Chapter 49

      Chapter 50

      Chapter 51

      About the author

      Contact the author

      Other books by Gerald Lopez

      Horror in Lowden Hall

      Gerald Lopez

      Chapter 1

      Inheritance

      EVEN THOUGH IT was still pitch black outside, Henry Ayala tossed and turned in bed. No matter what he did, it was impossible to get comfortable. Knowing he had to be out of his grandmother’s old house in two weeks was plaguing his mind. So Henry threw off his covers and hopped out of bed. After pouring himself some orange juice and making toast, he looked around the small house. Everything but the furniture had been packed up and put in storage. The buyers had opted to pay extra for the furniture which was practically new.

      What am I worried about? Henry thought. I received a huge amount for this house because of the location and the acreage with it.

      At one-hundred-years-old his grandmother had lived a long, happy, life and gone peacefully in her sleep. No one could ask for an easier way to go.

      I need to get out of here before I start talking to the walls, Henry said to no one but himself.

      After padding barefoot to the bathroom, he splashed water on his face, then looked at himself in the mirror. His black hair had become more salt-and-pepper in color, and he actually liked the way it looked. But his thick eyebrows which matched in color, tended to disappear in photographs because they were mostly white with only some black.

      Hell, I’m better off than most, I guess. So I shouldn’t complain. He ran his hand through his thick hair then down his trim and tight stomach. When he smiled he noticed tiny lines had formed in the corners of his eyes. But he had no really significant wrinkles yet.

      Inspiration hit, and Henry decided to put on shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers, in order to go for a bike ride. Soon he was riding alongside the back road the house was located on. It was a beautiful day in central Florida—not too hot or cold. There was even a light breeze, so Henry was able to relax and let his mind drift as he pedaled.

      No one in the family had known about the existence of his grandmother’s second house. His grandmother had sold her other house, the one everyone knew about, and moved in with his mother after the death of his grandfather. She had not shared the information about the second house with anyone—not even her two daughters. The house and acreage had been left to Henry’s grandmother at his grandfather’s death which had occurred only a year earlier. In her will, his grandmother stipulated that the house and land go to the oldest male grandchild, and that was Henry. Being a struggling writer, Henry could definitely use the money. And none of his cousins argued for a piece of the house, property, or funds from the sale. They were well off and didn’t have time to deal with taking care of the property or selling it.

      Though he’d done quite a bit of traveling in his life, Henry wasn’t familiar with Llaunvan, Florida. It was a somewhat small town between two larger cities. Hikers loved using the numerous nature trails, and the preserved downtown area and park hosted various festivals and gatherings throughout the year. It was late September, but hadn’t yet started to get cold—typical crazy Florida weather. While in parts of the country people had already dug out their sweaters, Henry was comfortable outside in short sleeves and shorts. Being outdoors gave Henry a sudden rush of energy, and he turned onto the trail leading to the historic downtown area. He’d just gotten off the trail and onto the main street when he spotted a ‘For Sale’ sign. There was a bright red arrow on it that pointed left. On impulse Henry followed the arrow.

      Something he’d once heard his film class teacher in college say, popped into Henry’s head. Left hand turns or movements in films usually signified something bad was coming, or rather the characters were headed in a bad direction. Right turns symbolized a happy ending. Henry had actually used that idea in a couple of his books. But the ‘left turn thing’ was in reference to fiction not reality—or so Henry figured.

      More ‘For Sale’ sign arrows had led Henry down another left turn and then he arrived at his final destination. He’d never seen anything like it before. Located at the end of a street, it backed up to protected park land. Although it was free-standing there were buildings to the left of it and to the right, making it seem crammed onto its lot. Still, the building dominated the street because it jutted out in front. The dark gray stone building was pie-shaped—narrow in front but wider in back. And it was four-stories tall. The fact it was almost nestled into the tall trees behind it, had kept the building fairly hidden from view. Something about the structure spoke to Henry. Despite its sinister and menacing look it seemed to draw him in.

      Chapter 2

      It Beckons

      THE BUILDING, WHICH seemed more like a tall, stone tower, beckoned Henry forward. He hopped off his bicycle and walked with it toward the row of well-worn steps leading to the entrance.

      Henry felt the air grow heavy and stale around him. It was hard to breathe for a moment. When he inhaled deeply through his nose he almost gagged on the smell. For a second he felt like vomiting but coughed instead. He could almost taste what seemed like rancid piss, sweat, and shit in the space around him. Death—it felt as if he were surrounded by death.

      The corpses is what it is, an old woman with long, wavy white hair said, as she walked toward him. Dark—almost black—eyes shone from a pale, wrinkled face. Corpses—that’s what your senses are picking up in the spirit, young man.

      Not so young, Henry said, and smiled. I just turned fifty in the beginning of this month. The smells weren’t emanating from the well dressed woman in front of him, who wore an ankle-length floral print dress with a long, lightweight coat, and flats.

      Aw, fifty is young compared to some, the woman said. My name is Olga Floria. You must be Hispanic. They age well.

      My parents were born in Puerto Rico but raised in New York. I’m a Florida boy—been here since I was four.

      I haven’t seen you in town before, Olga said. Are you on vacation?

      Nope, I’m seeing to my grandmother’s estate. She passed away and left me her house and acreage. I just sold it.

      Oh, so you won’t be staying then, Olga said. Got somewhere else to go, huh?

      Not really, Henry said. My partner died two years ago, I sold the place we co-owned, and moved into Grandma’s house for a while—so I’m free as they say. What corpses?

      I thought you’d almost forgotten about that, Olga said. This building housed a mortuary for a while… a long time ago. Spiritually aware people can sometimes pick up on the building’s past.

      There’s more to this place than just that, isn’t there?

      Much more, Olga said. You’ve picked up on that fact, I see.

      I’m a writer, Henry said, maybe I see too much sometimes—mostly in my imagination. I hear a slight accent in your voice, Olga. Where are you from originally?

      Romania, Olga said. I came here when I was just a small child, but a little of the accent remains.

      Have you been inside this place? Henry pointed to the building.

      Not since I was much younger. It’s too dark a place and I’m too old a woman. She smiled. There’s an open house today so the building is open.

      Should we be brave and go in? Henry said, and smiled.

      Olga chuckled before replying. Why not—let’s do it.

      Let me just park my bicycle first, Henry said.

      The smells from earlier suddenly swooped down on Henry, almost encapsulating him as he walked his bicycle to the side of the stairs. A barking dog startled him as it emerged from the shadows, followed by a hunched figure with a blanket over his shoulders.

      He’s all noise and no bark, the old man said to Henry as he scratched his long, scraggly beard.

      That’s good to know, Henry said, eyeballing the white dog.

      There’s a pole in the corner you can chain your bike to—me and Shylo will keep watch over it for you.

      Henry reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, got a five and handed it to the old man.

      This is for watching my bike for me, Henry said. Suddenly the old man’s dirty, bony hand clutched his hand. Long, unnaturally curving, yellow fingernails wrapped themselves around his palm like talons. Something felt very odd about the situation and the old beggar man.

      Welcome, boy, the old man said, then laughed and let go of Henry’s hand.

      After chaining his bike to the pole, Henry waved to the old man then walked away.

      I don’t think the sprits of dead people or corpses is what I smelled earlier, Henry said to Olga when he was back at her side.

      Olga laughed. You’ve met the old soldier and his dog.

      Soldier? Henry said.

      He was in uniform, wasn’t he? Olga said.

      I don’t know. He had a thick, gray blanket on over him. It’s a shame for a former soldier to be living like that.

      Some folks wouldn’t really call it living, Olga said.

      I suppose not, Henry said. There but for the grace of God go you or I. Well, shall we go in?

      We shall, Olga said, then took Henry’s arm and they walked up the front steps.

      The front doors were extraordinarily high, going way above Henry’s head, and he was six feet tall. Henry opened the door and they went inside.

      Hello, Henry said, but no one answered. He took advantage of the moment and looked around from where he stood.

      The center of the building was open to all four floors. A wide central staircase made of what looked like shiny black marble took center stage in the open space. Wrought iron railings painted black went around the open hallways of each floor from the second to the fourth.

      I love the tile work in here, Olga said.

      Black and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern covered the floor in the immense, open entry room. But the closed, tall, wood shutters against the back wall caught Henry’s attention.

      The shutters and iron railings remind me of New Orleans, Henry said.

      One of the owners of Lowden Hall was originally from New Orleans, and had the shutters, iron work, and tiles added right before he and his new bride moved in, a woman said as she walked their way. Hello again, Henry.

      Hello, Cecily, Henry said, then turned to Olga. Cecily Kenley was my real estate agent when I sold Grandma’s house.

      Nice to see you again, Olga, Cecily said. What made you finally decide to venture inside Lowden Hall again after so many years?

      Cecily and I are old friends, Olga said to Henry before turning to Cecily. She admired the Realtor’s pale blue suit and matching heels. I used to wear high heels all the time when I was young like you.

      Henry looked at Cecily, who was a black American whose family originally came from Kenya. The Realtor had a short, black, bob hairstyle and nice makeup. She was middle-aged and attractive with a petite figure.

      Thank you for the compliment, Olga, Cecily said, then smiled.

      It was time, Olga said as she walked around the immense hall. The time had arrived for me to come inside and face what happened here.

      Chapter 3

      Loss

      I ONLY JUST GOT here a few minutes before you two walked in, Cecily said. My assistant, who was supposed to have opened the shutters and set up a table with refreshments, just called in sick.

      People will do that when it comes to this place, Olga said.

      Yes, unfortunately, Cecily said. I’ve got to run to the bakery one street over. Feel free to look around at leisure, Olga. You too, Henry.

      I’ll give you a hand with the shutters when you get back, Cecily, Henry said.

      Thank you, Cecily said. I appreciate that, Henry. Although, I guess I’d better warn you that people in town think Lowden Hall is cursed. If you feel like taking off I’ll understand.

      We’ll be here when you get back, Henry said. And I’ll let anyone who happens to come by know that you’ll return soon."

      Thanks, Cecily said, then left the premises.

      Do you believe in curses, Olga? Henry said.

      Yes and no, Olga said, while she walked toward the stairs followed by Henry. As a Christian woman I should say that I don’t. But I’ve seen and known angry men, and even angrier and spiteful women. They would curse a saint. But would God allow someone to be cursed—that’s the real question?

      God wouldn’t allow it, Henry said, or rather he wouldn’t sanction it. But man was given free will.

      They slowly walked up the grand staircase. Olga turned to look across the area below when they’d reached the second floor. Henry looked as well then spoke.

      It’s dark in here, but is that a black fireplace against the back wall?

      The entire back wall is a fireplace carved out of stone to look like the open mouth of a dragon—teeth and all, Olga said. It was put in when the first and second floor housed a curiosity shop.

      Curiosity shop? What exactly is meant by that? Was it literally the name of the shop?

      Yes. Olga sat on the floor for a moment and Henry joined her. It was something to see, Henry. The entry below us held giant suits of armor, old mannequins, stuffed animals—of the real variety—not the play toy types, and a large but portable Baroque puppet theater. Oh, how I loved the theater! I almost forgot—the fireplace surround was brought to the states from an old castle in Europe.

      The shop really must’ve been quite the place.

      Yes, and that was before eBay and online selling—when real treasures could be found in shops. An ex circus performer named Cosmo owned the hall then—back in the fifties. He lived on the third floor with a platonic male roommate who had a daughter and helped around the shop. But apparently no one was around to help Cosmo when he accidentally set fire to the building. The poor man dropped a cigarette into a pile of flammable fabrics. All his wonderful treasures went up in smoke.

      And what happened to Cosmo?

      He survived, but moved into an assisted living facility. His beautiful red-haired cousin Emilie Constantine was given Lowden Hall as an early inheritance from Cosmo. By then most of the walls on the lower floor were black from the fire.

      And Emilie didn’t try to paint them?

      Oh no, she felt the black color should be accentuated and maintained as part of the character of Lowden Hall. She said that her goal in life was to inspire artists of all types, so Lowden Hall became an artists’ retreat of sorts in the psychedelic sixties. More like a commune filled with lots of highly-sexed young people, and Emilie was the queen bee. But, I digress. The artists, under Emilie’s guidance transformed the hall’s second floor rooms into almost a maze of murals—but for the most part they took the color black as their inspiration. They painted the downstairs black and hung all sorts of mobiles, as well as displayed large art installations. Quite a few of them were worth seeing. She started to get up and Henry quickly rose to his feet and gave her a hand.

      When was the mortuary housed here? Henry said.

      In the twenties.

      Olga walked around to the left wing, and looked over the railing to the floor below.

      Be careful, Henry said. You don’t want to accidentally fall over the edge. We don’t know how sturdy the railings are these days.

      They’re plenty sturdy, Olga said. A few years ago someone was going to redo the hall and turn it into shops or apartments. They did an inspection, bought the place, and updated the electrical wiring. That’s when my husband—Gheorghe—died. He was retired already, but came in to help one of the electricians who was a friend. Both my husband and his friend were electrocuted so strongly and violently that they were thrown over the edge.

      Violently? Henry said. Were they murdered?

      No, but I figure the electrocution must’ve been strong enough to hurl their bodies over the railing. No foul play was suspected. Anyway, this is the first time I’ve been back here since even before the incident. She was silent for a few moments. My Gheorghe was a good man. After he died there were a few more fatal accidents—I remember hearing about one worker falling down a secret passage located on the fourth floor. He broke his neck and most of his bones. But even in those days nobody ever ventured to the fourth floor. The workman who died had told the other workers he’d heard music coming from the fourth floor. Hearing the music should’ve been his first warning not to go into the fourth floor rooms which had been closed for years.

      Why would music have been a warning? And where did it come from?

      Everybody at that time had heard about Vivienne’s music box and—

      I’m back, Cecily said from downstairs.

      We’ll be right down, Henry said, then turned to Olga. About the music box…

      That is a story for another day, Olga said.

      Stay a few minutes if you need to, Olga. I’ll go help Cecily.

      Thank you, Olga said, I will do that.

      Henry walked downstairs, and spotted Cecily setting up a folding table. He helped her open it, then they covered it with a tablecloth, and Cecily set out a box of assorted pastries and cookies. A jug of lemonade and some plastic cups completed the refreshment display.

      You seem to be expecting at least a few interested possible buyers, Henry said.

      The curious will come out for sure. As for serious buyers, who knows? The price is certainly right, as the seller is definitely motivated. You’re not by any chance interested in buying a property here?

      A cursed one?

      It might make an inspirational abode for a writer, Cecily said. "Lowden hall has worked its magic on all types of artists."

      There is that, Henry said. I suppose we have to open the wood shutters so the light can come in.

      Yes, but I know what you’re thinking. It’s so much more atmospheric as it is.

      That’s exactly what I was thinking, Henry said.

      I agree with you regarding atmosphere, but most buyers like to see the space they’re interested in purchasing.

      They went to open the first set of enormous shutters, and Henry stood back to look at them. The wood was worn and had several splattered colors of light green on it.

      The color is amazing—like old copper when it gets a green patina, Henry said. Beautiful.

      I like the color too, but whoever buys the hall will probably paint them white, Cecily said. The black rails will probably go white too—that is the trend these days.

      That would be criminal, Henry said.

      You could purchase the hall yourself, Cecily said as they moved along to the next set of shutters.

      You’re good, Henry said. But I doubt I can afford this place. Then there’s electricity, heating, cooling, etcetera.

      The hall costs less than half of what you got to keep from the sale of your grandmother’s home and acreage. Renting space to other businesses will help with the cost of electricity and other things.

      What about converting some of the building into living spaces—like apartments or lofts? Henry said.

      That’s a very real possibility, and wouldn’t take much work or investment, Cecily said.

      When Henry was opening the last set of shutters, a loose piece of wood caught hold of his arm and scratched him. Henry raised his arm to look at the injury. As he did so, blood began to fall in droplets onto the stone wall between the shutters.

      You’re bleeding, Cecily said. Let me get a napkin and some Neosporin from my purse.

      Henry watched his blood drip onto the gray stone, get suddenly sucked into it, and disappear.

      Cecily returned and wiped Henry’s arm with a wet nap, then applied

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