Read Online Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) by Tiana Laveen - Free Book Online Page B

Too’ played on the R&B oldies station on the radio.
    “Is there anything to eat around here?” his son grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.
    “I’ve got coffee.”
    “I can’t eat coffee,” the boy scoffed.
    “Freeze it, then you can.” Sloan licked his finger and slowly turned another page. Joel teetered back and forth in the chair, his annoyance given a voice via huffs boiled in boredom and frustrated sighs.
    “It’s a nice house, Dad,” his son offered in a somber sort of way.
    “Thank you.” He took notice of the young man moving about once again, this time like a bunch of ants were trapped in his trousers. Looking away from him, he turned the page, the only sound that of the paper moving beneath his touch. Eyes now focused on the black typewritten words on the ochre sheet inside the book, he fell back into the moment. Joel got to his feet, crossed his arms over his chest once again, and scowled at him. He knew Joel was doing just that… he didn’t need to look up in order to verify such a thing. With his head still bowed, he could practically see the penetrating hazel eyes glaring his way. He could feel the heat of the gaze, the words unsaid, almost piercing the air, begging for relief.
    “Dad, can I ask you something?”
    He hesitated for a spell, then turned another page, despite not being done with the previous one.
    “Mmmm hmmm,” he groaned.
    “Why did you really move here?”
    He peered over the top of his reading rims, suddenly realizing how fatigued his eyes were. “What do you mean?”
    “It’s in the middle of nowhere.” Joel threw his hands up and spun in a half circle. “This house is huge…and it’s…” The Adam’s apple in son’s throat bobbed at the base of his long neck. He looked about, as if trying to find what words next to utter. “It’s a little creepy in here.”
    “Well, hell… it’s old, Joel. Old houses make noises but I’m still working on it, painting, cleaning, stuff like that. I just need some more time but—”
    “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s cold in here.” The guy’s brows bunched as he ran a hand down his arm, gathering the fabric of his dark mustard sweater.
    “I can turn up the heat. The electrician was out here yesterday and fixed it. Old wiring.” He forced a smile as he prepared to make the trek down the hall and give the house a bit more warmth. He scooted his chair back to rise but paused when Joel began to speak again.
    “No. I’m not talking about temperature and I’m not talking about frayed wires, old house creaking and grating and all of that.” He waved his hand dismissively in his direction. “I’m talking about a heavy feeling, Dad…like something is in here. Something besides you and me …”
    “It’s called a bill, Joel. I know it’s frightening, especially since you’ve never paid any of your own, but—”
    “All right, just stop it! I’m serious.”
    “Oh, not you, too!” Sloan laughed gruffly as he leaned back in his seat. “Look, you’ve been reading too many ghost stories, Joel. You like to go on YouTube and view those scary true life ghouls and shit like that, too. I bet—”
    “Dad, did you read up on Peter Jones? Do you have any real clue as to what truly happened here?” He pointed his finger towards the floorboards, as if the wood ran with blood.
    “Now what kinda silly question is that? Of course I did. I know all about Peter Jones. I already told you all of that. So what?”
    “Houses keep energy, ya know? They record things…”
    “Like DVRs?”
    “You know what I mean. Like the happiness at kids birthday parties for little children, or domestic abuse, too. The walls, the windows, everything… they hold onto it.” He stretched his fists out before him and shook them in the air. “They grasp the emotions of people that live inside of it, never letting go.”
    “You and your hippie dippie do da shit. What a crock of crap and what does that have to do with Peter Jones? He