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Here is an excerpt from my novel, Wanted: One Ghost
April peered up the
small hill to see the stark white obelisk standing very pronounced against the
black, moonless sky. At the moment, it seemed to be the focal point in the
cemetery. Even from here she could see the intricate designs etched into the
old marble. She would love to get a rubbing of it perhaps before they left. Besides,
Henry Samuel’s grave was the closest thing to her research she had to go on
right now. His reference to a connection with James Addison was all she
had—that and she was staying in his historical home.
“Tony,” she spoke up,
making her voice sound weak and stuffy. “I think I’m going to head out. My
allergies are really kicking my butt, and I’m all congested.”
“Are you sure? We’re
just about done, only a few more graves to see.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks
for the tour and Happy Halloween everyone.” She began to walk backwards away
from the group as they waved good-bye.
She stayed in the
shadows and watched the rest of the group move on, until they rounded the bend
of the path. Once she was out of their sight, she reached into her large bag,
retrieved her small sketchbook, pencil, and mini flashlight. Double checking to
make sure the coast was clear, she made her way up the small dirt path to Henry
Samuels’s monument.
The roots of the firs
were tangled and exposed in areas, moss and lichen grew around the bottom of
the obelisk grave marker, a layer of dead branches and fan-like fir needles
surrounded the base. She could read the month and year of his death but the
date was a bit obscure.
She buried her nose into
a fresh tissue as she held back a sneeze so she didn’t alert the rest of the
group of her whereabouts.
Wiping her nose she
knelt in front of the tombstone and placed the end of the flashlight between
her teeth to give her direct light on what she was doing. The soggy ground
soaked into the knees of her jeans. She could hear the faint voices of the
group from just over the rise, yet she felt a prickling of unease. Glancing around,
she didn’t see anything.
She wiped moisture from
the front of the headstone with her scarf, revealing the blackened embossing on
the aged marble. Angling the paper over part of the intricate design, she
fumbled with the pencil in her gloved hand. The cumbersome gloves had to go. Removing
the offending obstacles and tossing them to the side, April rubbed her pencil
over the markings, steadying herself against the marble with her other hand.
A jolt of heat coursed
from her palm to her shoulder and she jerked back. Falling onto her bottom, she
dropped the pencil and paper. Nearly choking on the flashlight, she threw the
light to the side and fought to catch her breath. Still tingling from the
shock, she shook her arm to relieve the pain.
She picked up the
flashlight again and slowly approached the gravestone. Her heart thudded in her
ears. Reaching out for the paper and pencil she had dropped, she kept her eye
on the stone as if waiting for it to move. Cautiously, she leaned forward and
touched it. The marble was as cold and even-surfaced as an old tombstone in
late October should be.
Confused, she inched
away on her knees, backing away from the headstone, a frightening wariness
settling over her as she slowly stood up and continued moving cautiously away
from the monument.
“Henry Samuel is not
worthy of your fascination, Dr. Branford.”
April gasped and
whirled, shining the flashlight into the night. There, mere inches in front of
her, stood her mysterious tour guide. A moment of relief caused her to catch
her breath before the toe of her boot caught on a loose tree root, sending her
falling through a chilly mist of air. She landed on her hands and knees.
Quickly, she turned over
and stared up at her re-enactor, who stood between her and Henry Samuel’s
grave. So close she should have fallen into him. And then the truth of the
situation hit her. She crab crawled away from him and the tombstone, her eyes
wide with horror.
She couldn’t think. “Oh
my God! Oh my God!” Her voice shook with the only words she could say.
He smiled down at her,
tilting his tricorne back on his head, revealing those damn hypnotic eyes.
“I haven’t heard a lady say that to me for
some time. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch,” he preened.
“You’re…not…real,” April
gasped, holding her chest as she tried desperately to find her footing.
“You’re…a…ghost. You really are a ghost!”
He shrugged. “I suppose so. No one has told me
any differently. But then no one has been able to talk to me in two hundred and
thirty-eight years. You’re the first.” With an elegant flourish, he bowed to her.
“Oh my God!” She was
shaking so badly she couldn’t move. Her muscles had frozen. The seat of her
jeans was wet but she wasn’t sure if she had peed herself or the damp ground
had soaked into them.
He extended his hand in
a gentlemanly fashion to help her up, but she only stared at the proffered
limb. He sighed.
“Of course. It would do
me no good to try and help you up since I’m…”
“…not real. You’re not
real. This isn’t happening to me.” April closed her eyes and tried to repeat
the mantra over and over again, hoping her mental state would finally sort out
the situation and thrust her back into reality. She opened her eyes. He was
still there, his infuriatingly charming smile, just short of a laugh, etched
into one devilishly handsome face.
Scrambling for purchase
she grabbed her articles, keeping a close eye on her specter and quickly walked
backwards down the knoll until she was on the cobblestone path. She had to get
out of here. Where was the damn exit!
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