Page 19 of The Ghost of Ellwood
I just hoped I wouldn’t have to break the glass to do it. The stained work was too beautiful to ruin.
The attic was just as I’d expected; dark, dusty, and littered with old furniture, boxes, and clothes strewn all over the floor. I clicked on the light. The bulb brightened and made a buzzing sound, and I braced myself for it to blow out. When it didn’t, I relaxed and moved farther inside.
The clothes were absolutely filthy, but I found myself intrigued. They were antiquated, some dresses from what appeared to be the fifties and others were men’s overalls. I even found a fedora hat. I’d box them up and either donate them or toss in the garbage.
Boxes were stuffed with old toys, magazines, and knitted blankets. I spent an hour sorting through them and didn’t even get through half. One box on the bottom of a stack shoved into the farthest corner of the attic caught my eye.
In small handwriting,Blackwellwas written on the side.
I opened the flap and stared at the contents. Family photos and documents. They were a bit faded and the quality wasn’t the best, but even in the poor lighting and black and white coloring, I saw just how intimidating George Blackwell appeared.
Standing tall, he towered over the brunette woman at his side. He wore a sack suit and had one hand in his jacket pocket. The other was around who I assumed to be Elizabeth’s waist. She looked miserable. Sad. And very pregnant.
I flipped through more pictures, and when I came across who I knew to be Theo Blackwell, my heart gave a little jolt. The photo had been taken in the front of the manor. I recognized the greenhouse in the background. Theo stood beside George, both dressed fashionably well. Neither of them smiled.
A creak sounded behind me. I’d gotten used to the creaks over the past week, though they still caused a bit of unease. If I turned around, I knew I wouldn’t see anything. So I didn’t even bother. I went to tuck the photo back in the box but decided to hold on to it instead.
By the time I stepped out of the attic, I was covered in dust and soaked in sweat. I sneezed as I descended the steps, pulling my shirt off as I went. Lunch would have to wait until after I showered. I placed the photo in my room on the way to the bathroom then hopped in the shower, washing off all the grime.
After, I made a turkey sandwich and went into my office. The dread I used to feel when sitting down to work was absent. Because this idea excited me. The book had no title yet. I never gave my books a name until the first draft was completed. For now, it was calledGhost WIP.
As I stared at the blank page, I searched for the feel of the story. This one would be a ghost story, but unlike my other ones that were filled with evil spirits ripping people apart, I got the sensation this one would be more…haunting. Sad, scary, and perhaps even beautiful, tragically so.
I began to type…
I didn’t believe in ghosts.
Spirits, ghouls—they were but fairytales. I knew not where we went after we died. Perhaps there was nothing after death. I knew we didn’t stay on earth, though, floating through the ether, unseen or felt. All we left behind when we parted this world were the memories, alive in the minds of those who loved us. Or hated us.
But then I methim.
He was unlike anyone I’d ever known. Beautiful, although tragedy shadowed in his eyes.
Meeting him changed everything for me.
Hours passed as I typed. Writing hadn’t come this easy in months—for over a year, if I was being honest. The words poured out of me. I didn’t stop to eat or drink. Time was lost to me. When I eventually glanced up from my laptop, the sun had shifted position and it was dusk.
My half-eaten turkey sandwich was beside me, the bread now a bit hard and stale.
I saved my work before standing from the chair and groaning as I stretched my arms above my head. Shit, my wrists and finger joints hurt. I’d need to find my compression gloves. But I hadn’t been this happy—this fulfilled—in so long.
Nothing could bring me down.
Entering the kitchen, I grabbed a frozen dinner from the freezer, poked holes in the plastic top, and tossed it in the microwave. I was too starved to actually cook something substantial. As I scarfed the Salisbury steak, lumpy mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese, I was still trapped in my head.
As I pondered the main plot points I wanted to cover the next day, there was a shift in the air. The temperature noticeably dropped several degrees.
Something touched my bicep, like cold fingers.
I jumped up from the table and my gaze darted around the kitchen. My fucking heart was in my throat. As usual, I didn’t see anything. Not even a faint glimmer this time.
“Theo?”
Silence.
“Look, I know you’re there,” I tried again. Maybe I was insane, but I didn’t feel threatened by whatever spirit possessed the manor.
And if it was Theo…well, I wished he’d fully show himself. I had so many questions.
