Read Online Murder on the House: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (Haunted Home Repair Mystery) by juliet blackwell - Free Book Online
Authors: juliet blackwell
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something rolling across the wood floor.
It was a marble, falling down the stairs. It tapped my foot.
I climbed another tread, but several more small glass balls fell down the stairs toward me.
“Careful of the marbles,” I said as I climbed another step. Freezing cold air enveloped me.
Once again I heard a loud scraping noise as though something was being dragged. But this time it sounded like it was headed for the top of the stairs.
I stopped. Josh, Claire, and Stephen followed suit, several steps below me.
And then something appeared at the top of the stairs. One of those glassy-eyed dolls, walking along as though propelled by invisible hands. And then the monkey with its cymbals crashing. And the dump truck.
As though the whole nursery was coming after us.
My heart pounded. My bluster was gone. Anabelle’s ghost was one thing, possessed toys something else entirely. This had turned seriously creepy.
I turned and rushed down the stairs. My entourage beat me to it, running straight out the front door and into the wet night. A dozen more marbles poured down the steps, their clackety sounds seeming to mock us as we ran.
Out on the portico, we tried to catch our breath. The air outside was damp and chill, but no colder than the stairs had been.
“Look, this might be a little more complicated than I first thought,” I said as soon as I was able to speak. I really wanted a shot at that AIA award, and getting this job was contingent on staying the whole night. Plus, I had an undeniable link to ghostly spirits. But Stephen and Claire were in this only for friendship. “If you guys want to leave—”
“Hey, where’d Josh go?” Claire said.
“Maybe he went screaming into the night,” muttered Stephen. “Maybe he’s smarter than he looks.”
“Well, I guess that would mean I’ve got the job,” I said. “Seriously, I shouldn’t have asked you guys here. It’s too much—”
“I’m staying if you are,” Stephen said, cutting me off.
“Me too,” said Claire. “This is beginning to piss me off.”
“If you’re sure . . . look, from what I’ve read, ghosts can’t actually hurt you.” I said this as much to myself as to them. “They might freak you out enough so that you hurt yourself, though, so we should try to remain calm. If you can resolve not to be afraid, it seems to be a much easier interaction.”
Claire smiled and lifted her eyebrows.
“I know, I know. I should take my own advice. What can I say? I lost it.”
I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked back into the haunted house.
The French doors leading to the backyard blew open with a gust of wind, picking up and scattering paper clippings around the foyer.
Solar path lights subtly illuminated the yard. Stone pathways meandered through and around planting beds, while in the center of the garden a circle of plants surrounded an old fountain. The stone was cracked, but still beautiful: a spritely young Pan playing his pipes.
Clank, shuffle, clank.
Mrs. Bernini was still outside, shuffling down the garden path.
“She shouldn’t be out there so long in this kind of weather,” I said under my breath, then called out: “Mrs. Bernini.”
She didn’t pause or look up.
“Mel?” Claire said. “Who are you talking to?”
“Mrs. Bernini.”
“Where?”
“In the garden.”
Claire and Stephen exchanged glances.
“She’s walking down the garden path.” I pointed to her. “Right there.”
“No one’s there, Mel,” Stephen said softly.
But I saw Mrs. Bernini, clear as day. She wasn’t transparent, wasn’t appearing only in my peripheral vision, wasn’t levitating off the ground.
As I ran out the French doors, I was hit by a frigid blast of air. A chill ran through me, to my core. I spun around, but I could no longer see the elderly woman.
The flashlight in my hand wavered, flickered, went out.
It couldn’t be what I was thinking. Surely it wasn’t that.
Please don’t let it be
It was a marble, falling down the stairs. It tapped my foot.
I climbed another tread, but several more small glass balls fell down the stairs toward me.
“Careful of the marbles,” I said as I climbed another step. Freezing cold air enveloped me.
Once again I heard a loud scraping noise as though something was being dragged. But this time it sounded like it was headed for the top of the stairs.
I stopped. Josh, Claire, and Stephen followed suit, several steps below me.
And then something appeared at the top of the stairs. One of those glassy-eyed dolls, walking along as though propelled by invisible hands. And then the monkey with its cymbals crashing. And the dump truck.
As though the whole nursery was coming after us.
My heart pounded. My bluster was gone. Anabelle’s ghost was one thing, possessed toys something else entirely. This had turned seriously creepy.
I turned and rushed down the stairs. My entourage beat me to it, running straight out the front door and into the wet night. A dozen more marbles poured down the steps, their clackety sounds seeming to mock us as we ran.
Out on the portico, we tried to catch our breath. The air outside was damp and chill, but no colder than the stairs had been.
“Look, this might be a little more complicated than I first thought,” I said as soon as I was able to speak. I really wanted a shot at that AIA award, and getting this job was contingent on staying the whole night. Plus, I had an undeniable link to ghostly spirits. But Stephen and Claire were in this only for friendship. “If you guys want to leave—”
“Hey, where’d Josh go?” Claire said.
“Maybe he went screaming into the night,” muttered Stephen. “Maybe he’s smarter than he looks.”
“Well, I guess that would mean I’ve got the job,” I said. “Seriously, I shouldn’t have asked you guys here. It’s too much—”
“I’m staying if you are,” Stephen said, cutting me off.
“Me too,” said Claire. “This is beginning to piss me off.”
“If you’re sure . . . look, from what I’ve read, ghosts can’t actually hurt you.” I said this as much to myself as to them. “They might freak you out enough so that you hurt yourself, though, so we should try to remain calm. If you can resolve not to be afraid, it seems to be a much easier interaction.”
Claire smiled and lifted her eyebrows.
“I know, I know. I should take my own advice. What can I say? I lost it.”
I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked back into the haunted house.
The French doors leading to the backyard blew open with a gust of wind, picking up and scattering paper clippings around the foyer.
Solar path lights subtly illuminated the yard. Stone pathways meandered through and around planting beds, while in the center of the garden a circle of plants surrounded an old fountain. The stone was cracked, but still beautiful: a spritely young Pan playing his pipes.
Clank, shuffle, clank.
Mrs. Bernini was still outside, shuffling down the garden path.
“She shouldn’t be out there so long in this kind of weather,” I said under my breath, then called out: “Mrs. Bernini.”
She didn’t pause or look up.
“Mel?” Claire said. “Who are you talking to?”
“Mrs. Bernini.”
“Where?”
“In the garden.”
Claire and Stephen exchanged glances.
“She’s walking down the garden path.” I pointed to her. “Right there.”
“No one’s there, Mel,” Stephen said softly.
But I saw Mrs. Bernini, clear as day. She wasn’t transparent, wasn’t appearing only in my peripheral vision, wasn’t levitating off the ground.
As I ran out the French doors, I was hit by a frigid blast of air. A chill ran through me, to my core. I spun around, but I could no longer see the elderly woman.
The flashlight in my hand wavered, flickered, went out.
It couldn’t be what I was thinking. Surely it wasn’t that.
Please don’t let it be
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