Restless Spirits Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Haunted House Mysteries

by Skylar Finn

  “No one’s next,” Daniel said. “Let’s not incite a panic.”

  Nick lightly slapped Oliver’s cheek. “I think he’s in shock.”

  “All right, listen up everyone!” Daniel kicked an ottoman out of its place by the fire and stepped on top of it. He planted his hands on his hips. His fingers brushed the handle of his gun. In a second, he could draw and fire. Everyone in the room—me, Jazmin, Riley, Nick, Oliver, and the ragtag group of confused employees—gave him our full attention. “Last night, Tyler Watson was stabbed to death in his sleep.”

  The employees, who hadn’t heard the news yet, gasped, cried, and held one another, but Imani simply shrugged and said, “Mood.”

  A sharp look from Daniel silenced her. “I’ve informed my superiors of the situation, but due to the road blockages from the storm, no one will be able to reach us for several hours or even days. That being said” —he raised his voice over the scuffles of protest— “no one is to go in or out of this resort without my say so. The first-floor hallway is off limits completely. If I find anyone within a hundred feet of Tyler’s room, I will arrest you and arrange an improvised holding cell for you somewhere on the premises. I will be conducting interviews with each and every one of you about your whereabouts during the evening, so please await my instructions. Congratulations, everyone.” He jumped down from the ottoman. “You’re all officially murder suspects.”

  With nowhere to escape to, I had no choice but to return my luggage to my suite. I went alone, leaving Jazmin to watch Riley since Oliver had quickly faded into a catatonic state. In the elevator, I felt numb and cold. My fingers tingled as if I’d slept on my arms funny and the circulation was blocked. In the top floor hallway, the walk to my suite seemed longer than usual. Every step required more effort. My boots were heavier, laden down with dread. We were trapped here, in a haunted hotel, with a detective, a dead body, and a murderer, not to mention whatever being had visited me in the hallway last night. I opened the door to the suite and dumped my luggage in a pile.

  “You’ll die too.”

  My body exploded with pins and needles, sending me into a violent spasm. I collapsed on the kitchen floor, heaving for breath as I tried to regain control of my body. Every nerve in my body itched and prickled. The muscles around my spine contracted and let go. Shuddering from head to toe, I caught a glimpse of the living room out of the corner of my eye and pulled myself behind the cover of the kitchen counter. Something stood upright in front of the balcony doors. I gathered what little courage I had left and edged around the corner of the counter, just enough to get a look at what waited for me.

  It was a little girl. At first, I thought it was Riley before I remembered I’d left her with Jazmin. This girl was around the same age. She was a pretty child with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, but there was something off about her. For one, a soft glow hovered around the perimeter of her being that had nothing to do with the sun outside. She flickered in and out of focus like a poorly-tuned antique television set. And two, I had no doubt that she was the root cause of my partial paralysis.

  “You’ll die too,” she said again. Her voice was as pretty as her perfect, heart-shaped face. “You’ll all die.”

  “W-who are you?” I managed to croak out.

  She smiled. A priceless porcelain doll. “My name is Odette.”

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!

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  Again, thank you so much for letting me into your world. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!

  The Haunting of Riley Watson Book 1

  Prologue

  Tyler Watson was used to handcuffs. He’d been arrested and restrained more times than he could count in his nineteen years of life. More often than not, his last name or his father’s money bailed him out of any long-lasting charges. It was petty stuff—a stolen bottle of rum from the local corner store, a few strokes of spray paint on the wall of the corner store afterward since the owner called the cops the first time. Crimson Basin was so damn boring. If you weren’t a snobby skier or a stoned snowboarder, you fell into the category of nobody, and the last thing Tyler Watson wanted was to be a nobody. He wanted thrills. Adrenaline. Things that made his blood pump like river rapids through his veins. Dangling his twelve-year-old sister by the ankles over the mezzanine railing in the restaurant lounge of his father’s hotel was about as exciting as it got at King and Queen’s Ski Lodge and Resort. He was in complete control, swinging her twenty feet above the ground as that bitchy psychic and her friends pulled the most hilarious faces. God, it felt good to see those slack jaws and terrified eyes, to hear Riley scream for safety. It was all in his hands. He could mold each and every one of them like putty. The detective—the moron who moped at the bar every night over a glass of water instead of ordering whiskey or gin like a real man—was the first person to move. Everyone else stood transfixed, watching with bated breath as Tyler swung Riley as easily as a flag. The detective raced for the stairs. Tyler figured he had another twenty seconds to play before the jig was up.

  “Tyler,” Riley sobbed, tears dotting the carpet below. “Please, I didn’t do anything to you. Put me down.”

  He lifted her up as if contemplating her request, but he said, “You were born, Riley. That was enough.”

  Each person attempted to dissuade him. Madame Lucia—what a stupid name—threatened him. Her friend Jazmin, too sexy for any career that didn’t involve a pole, reasoned with him. Nick Porter, who owned the rival ski lodge on the other side of the mountain, addressed Tyler as “young man,” as if his firm tone would prevent Tyler from dropping Riley. Jazmin and Lucia whispered, hiding their mouths behind their hands to keep Tyler from listening. It made his blood boil. He felt it simmer and pop in his veins. He squeezed Riley’s ankles tighter as Detective Hawkins made it to the top of the mezzanine stairs.

  “It’s over, Tyler,” he panted. “Let her go.”

  “Let her go? Okay.”

  A rush of endorphins hit Tyler as soon as he released his sister’s ankles. She plummeted to the floor, but Tyler didn’t see where she landed. He sprinted along the mezzanine, running as fast as his long legs would move. Though Detective Hawkins was older and full of the restaurant’s exquisite desserts, he was quick. Tyler ran down the steps and into the lobby and almost made it to the first floor hallway when the detective lunged at him and caught him around the shins. Tyler slammed to the floor. Too slow to put his hands up, his chin caught the rug. He grimaced as Daniel climbed onto his back, handcuffed him, and yanked him to his feet.

  “You told me to let her go,” Tyler said matter-of-factly.

  The detective jostled the handcuffs so they raked against Tyler’s wrists. “Shut up.”

  Riley was okay, but she’d run off before anyone could examine her properly. Nick Porter had performed a swoon-worthy dive to catch her before she hit the floor. Tyler didn’t care. The drop wouldn’t have killed his little sister. A broken arm or leg maybe, but nothing that time wouldn’t heal. It was all fun and games, even the handcuffs, but Tyler’s father, Oliver, managed to wipe the smirk off of his son’s face. When the others informed Oliver of Tyler’s misdeed, he seized his son’s face in one hand, a gesture so jarring that everyone in the room took a step away from the father-son duo.
Detective Hawkins stepped between the two of them, ending the confrontation once and for all.

  Tyler’s arrest was a joke too. Since the storm had snowed all of them in at the resort, there was nowhere for Detective Hawkins to take Tyler except back to his own room on the first floor.

  “I should shove you in a broom closet,” the detective declared as he escorted Tyler out of the Eagle’s View. “Your dad told me I can put you wherever I like, so you should be thanking me for letting you go back to your own room.”

  “Is this how you speak to your wife, Detective Danny?” Tyler asked. “Because I can understand why she wanted a divorce. You probably can’t get it up anymore either, right? I’ve heard that can happen for alcoholics—”

  Daniel twisted Tyler’s arm upward so his shoulder rotated at an uncomfortable angle. “Say one more word about my wife, Mr. Watson.”

  “Don’t you mean your ex-wife?”

  That was it for the detective. He kicked open the door to Tyler’s room and threw him inside. Tyler stumbled, landing on the thick carpet. His room wasn’t as big as the resort’s suites. It didn’t have a kitchen or a separate bedroom, but it was across the hall from the gym and it had a back door to sneak out, and that was all Tyler needed.

  Daniel strolled in and sniffed. “It reeks of weed in here. Where is it?”

  Tyler rolled to his knees, his hands bound by the cuffs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

  The detective opened the drawers of the dresser, tossing Tyler’s clothes aside in a messy heap until he located the gallon baggie full of green herb. He brandished it at Tyler. “No idea, huh? No one needs this much unless they’re selling it. I’ll add it to your list of crimes. Your daddy can’t pay your way out of this one.”

  “It’s legal now,” Tyler snarled, struggling to his feet.

  “Not for you to sell it,” Daniel replied. “You got anything else in here I should know about?”

  “No, I’m strictly an herbal man.”

  “Sure you are,” Daniel said. “I’ll be right outside the door in case you change your mind and would like to share something else with the class, so don’t even think about trying to get out of here.”

  “Aren’t you gonna take off these handcuffs?”

  Daniel regarded the red marks around Tyler’s wrists, one foot in the hallway as he contemplated the consequences of leaving Tyler bound. Then he got out the key and unlocked them. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want to have to help you take a leak.”

  “You’re a stand-up guy.”

  The detective left Tyler alone to think about what he’d done like a five-year-old being punished for crying over a lollipop. Tyler flopped on the unmade bed and turned on the TV. As his game system booted up, he sighed and looked through the glass doors. It was dark as hell outside, and the snow crept like white ivy. Tyler rolled to the edge of the bed and tugged a bottle of gin, stolen from the Eagle’s View bar, from beneath the skirt. From the accent table drawer, he popped a pill from a prescription bottle he’d swiped off an injured guest, washed it down with the gin, and settled in to enjoy the effects. A few hours later, once the video games got boring and the high settled down, Tyler’s phone rang. The detective had forgotten to confiscate it.

  “Hello?”

  “Tyler, I need something to take the edge off.”

  Tyler scoffed as he leaned against the headboard. “You got some balls to call me, Liam.”

  “Please, I swear I won’t ask again.”

  “That’s what you said last time,” Tyler said. “I don’t owe you anything. In fact, I think you owe me something. You know how easy it would be to get you fired, man? All I have to do is tell my dad that you and my mom—”

  “Don’t!”

  Tyler grinned as he counted a stack of bills beside his pill stash. The subject was a touchy one, considering Tyler’s mom had died a few weeks ago. He didn’t care. She never loved him anyway, but it felt damn good to get back at all the people who thought she walked on water.

  “Fifty bucks,” Tyler said.

  “For one?”

  “Seventy-five, actually,” Tyler added. “Since you argued.”

  “That’s crazy, man.”

  “You want it or not?”

  There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, I want it.”

  “Then come get it,” Tyler said. “But come in through the back. Some cop is sitting outside my door in the hallway.”

  He hung up before Liam answered and tossed his phone across the room. It clattered against the back door. Tyler got up and tugged on the handle. Snow dumped in, coating his bare feet. He shook off the ice, shivered, and shoved the door shut. If Liam wanted the product, he was going to have to work for it. Additionally, if Tyler wanted to bail out of this room, it wouldn’t be through his usual route. He crossed to the main door and pressed his ear against it. Outside, Detective Daniel snored. Perfect. Tyler tried to pull it open, but it wouldn’t budge. The detective had blocked it from the outside.

  Tyler kicked the door hard enough to rattle the frame, hoping to disrupt the detective’s sleep, but he went on with his snoring. Tyler took another pill and chased it with the gin. As the drugs took him up again, his vision swam. He lay on the floor, staring at the white ceiling as his brain drew invisible designs on it. Sometime later—minutes, hours, days—someone came in through the hallway door. Tyler sat up and gazed at the visitor. Everything was hazy and distorted. The lethal combination of drugs and alcohol in Tyler’s system made the visitor’s face blurry.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Tyler slurred.

  The knife—long and thin like an old-fashioned dagger—plunged into Tyler’s stomach before he noticed it was there. He coughed, and the blade slipped through a vital organ. Blood spilled from his lips as he looked into the face of the visitor. It was the last thing he saw before he died.

  1

  The top floor of King and Queens was silent as the grave. The crimson carpet absorbed sound, as did the golden wallpaper that lined the corridor from the elevator to the window at the opposite end. When I careened out of my suite and stumbled into the hallway, nobody heard me scream. Nobody heard my dragging footsteps as I tried to regain control over my legs. My body was on fire. Every hair stood on end, like someone had attached an electric stimulant to each of my nerves. I couldn’t walk, let alone run, from the entity in my suite, so I slouched toward the elevator on hands and knees, praying that someone—anyone with a pulse—would come help me. I crept along, begging my legs to work, and jammed the call button for the elevator. It opened at once, and a fresh yell ripped from my throat at the sight inside.

  A little girl, eleven or twelve years old, stood in the center of the glass elevator, on fire from head to toe. Her skin melted off her face as her clothes turned to ash, but she was stoic and unconcerned. A paralyzing wave pulsed through my body. My muscles seized, forcing me to curl into a ball as the girl stood over me.

  “You’ll die too,” she said. “You’ll all die.”

  “You already said that,” I reminded her through clenched teeth. With every bit of willpower I possessed, I crawled toward the emergency staircase at the other end of the hallway. It was miles away. If I could run, I would be safe in the lobby with Jazmin and Riley within minutes. When I looked back, the elevator door was closed and the button was dim, like I’d never pressed it to begin with. The girl was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief and reached the emergency stairs at long last, but the fiery twelve-year-old with melted skin and burnt hair greeted me on the next floor down. The smell clotted like blood in my nostrils.

  “Leave me alone!”

  “I can’t,” she replied, solemn. “You’re the only one who can hear me.”

  “I’m not psychic,” I said, writhing on the cold concrete steps. Every word was an independent effort. “Okay? It was all a ruse. The web show, the crystals, the candles. I did it to make money. I wasn’t trying to contact any ghosts.�
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  The girl tilted her burning head to one side to see me better. “If you stop struggling, it won’t hurt so bad.”

  I tried to edge past her, down the stairs, but her blaze blocked my path. “What are you talking about?”

  “The paralysis,” she intoned. “It’s a result of being within range of a self-aware ghost. If you hadn’t been shirking your abilities for your entire life, you wouldn’t be feeling like this right now. Stop” —she moved to block my escape again— “trying to walk past me.”

  I sat down on the steps and clutched my stomach to prevent another surge of internal friction from forcing my luxurious dessert to reappear. “I don’t think I can anyway. What are you talking about?”

  “Are you going to stop running from me?”

  A slab of skin dropped off her face.

  “Can you stop doing that?” I asked.

  The fire extinguished itself, and the girl appeared healthy and normal, save for a silvery glow around the edge of her presence. If I shifted to look at her from a different angle, her image wavered, as if she adjusted to make herself seem three-dimensional.

  “Better?” she asked.

  I grimaced as her voice triggered another muscle spasm. “To look at maybe.”

  “Stop panicking,” she ordered, leaning against the rail of the steps as if her dead feet were dead tired. “Take a deep breath. Maybe close your eyes. Pretend I’m someone else.”

  I tucked my head between my knees and took her advice, drawing in long, even breaths. The first few were interrupted by uncomfortable jolts akin to the feeling of sticking your fingers in an electrical socket, but after a minute, the pangs subsided to a bearable level.

  “That’s it,” the girl encouraged. “Do you feel the connection between us? It’s like a piece of string. Focus your energy on it.”

  This was all new to me. Seeing and speaking to ghosts was a far cry from the hoax of a web show I hosted in the living room of my apartment with fishing wire tricks and smoke machines. Madame Lucia, my alter ego, was an Internet sensation, not a real medium with the ability to contact the dead. To my dismay, my alter ego was closer to reality than I was. Were it not for the little girl in front of me who had died thirty years ago, I would not have believed it myself. I delved into the world beyond this one to look for the string she spoke of. It was there, more like a single strand of spider’s web than a string, hovering in the non-Euclidean space between us.