Mom...well, she’s not thrilled with the job at the post office, but it keeps her busy. I still say you guys should hire her for your real estate division whatever that is. She would make sure that you’d find the right house for people, if you know what I mean.
It’s still hard without Dad but we’re getting by, one day at a time.
If you’re ever out this way, stop by to say hi. (A poet, huh?)
Angela Robertson
He sat back and took a long sip of coffee. The last time he’d read a teenage girl’s scrawled notes, it had ended in tragedy for her. He took a deep breath and nodded. He could only pray this girl’s story turned out better.
He swiveled in the chair to open his email.
The END
A note from the author
One evening I was watching some crime show on TV. In it, the Witness Protection Program run by the FBI was mentioned. I turned to my dear partner Jim and said, “Wouldn’t it be wild if they placed a family in a haunted house?”
Jim stared at me.
I stared back; and this book was conceived. I truly hope you enjoyed it; it was a pleasure for me to write.
While this book does not take place in Kingston, Ontario, we live right across the St. Lawrence River from Alexandria Bay, N.Y.. I’ve visited the area many, many times. It’s a beautiful spot on the Thousand Islands, and yes, there really is a castle situated out in the middle of the river.
In the book publishing business, honest reviews are more important than ever; and that’s true for the big, famous writers as well as little ol’ me. I deeply appreciate everyone who takes the time to let others know what they think of my work.
About ‘The Haunted Ones’
Ordinary people…confronted with extraordinary evil…
Lydia and her family had been going about their lives with ordinary concerns when evil entered, changing them forever. This has happened to others…
The Haunted Ones are tales of ordinary people who encounter spirits from the beyond. Often these spirits are evil in nature, but other times they’re spirits pleading for help. When I began these books, I originally intended for them to be complete stand alone novels; a collection of independent tales.
But the best laid plans of mice, men and Michelle’s often go awry! LOL
My problem was that I just wasn’t ready to let go of some of the characters when I finished the novel. Lo and behold, as I would write the next one, the character I missed the most would pop up and fit sooo well into the current work!
Below is a listing of the other tales of ‘The Haunted Ones’. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have!
The second book is ‘A Grave Conjuring’.
Two young sisters, wracked by guilt over their parents’ sudden and tragic death try to reach out to them. But when they open the door, other, spirits come through. Spirits that are enraged.
Click here to get your copy today!
The third book is ‘Haunted By The Succubus’.
It’s Adam Rafferty’s story. He’s gifted in the paranormal, but untrained. His youth and naiveté, combined with his gifts bring his world crashing down. If you enjoyed ‘Odd Thomas’ books, you’ll find this tale worthwhile.
Click here to get your copy today!
Coming November 12, 2018: The Haunted Gathering’
Three women, friends since college gather to honor their dead friend. When they do, a powerful evil is unleashed.
Click here to get your copy!
As always, I’m deeply grateful for your readership and support.
And now, I invite you to read my newest book, Legacy: The Mystical Veil. At the age of twenty three, Keira Swanson’s about to get kicked out of school.
Again…
Legacy
The Mystical Veil
By
Michelle Dorey
About this book
Keira is flunking out of school...again. She’s flitted like a butterfly from one college program to another. The only thing she’s ever finished has been the last call at dance clubs.
Everything changes in a New York minute when her parents decide it’s time for tough love and cut her off. No more credit cards, no more cash allowance and OMG they canceled her apartment’s lease. On top of all that, she’s banished to her grandmother’s. A grandmother she never knew existed.
Her grandmother is batty as hell—Pamela York lives in an antiquated manor, dresses for dinner like she’s the Queen of England and makes crazy talk about ghosts.
Ghosts? As. If.
Keira’s about to learn a few things. Haunted houses do exist and she’s living in one. Pamela isn’t psychotic; she’s a powerful psychic whose lifework has been assisting reluctant spirits pass through The Veil to a higher plane.
When Keira discovers she has a lot more in common with the old woman than she ever imagined, her real education begins.
But it’s not just reluctant spirits Pamela has had to contend with. There also exists malevolent forces; paranormal entities which crave the chaos of a Veil torn asunder. Keira finds out not only are ghosts real— so are demons.
Uh oh.
Copyright 2017, Michelle Dorey
ISBN: 978-1-927984-97-0
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
120117 Bonus
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
ONE
DAMN! THE DOORS OF THE CAR SLID SHUT just as I reached the bottom of the stairs. If I hadn’t stopped for that latte, I could have made it and managed to get in at least half of the class. The squealing of the subway’s wheels as it left the station went through my already aching head like a cold knife. Argh! Why did I let Cerise talk me into those last two gimlets last night? The alcohol was probably still oozing out of my pores.
I probably should have flagged a cab but it was near the end of the month. If I hit Mom up for an advance again, it would be the third time this semester. Her lectures had gone from disappointment to nagging; if I ask for more money one more time she’d be well and truly pissed. Nope, taking the subway was the wiser move, in spite of the stench.
When the hand touched my arm from behind I let out a squeak and jumped away. Spinning around, I backed up three steps as I pushed my shoulder bag behind me.
A filthy panhandler, his eyes more bloodshot than mine stared at me obsequiously, his hand held out, palm up. “Spare some change?”
I sighed as I rubbed the sleeve of my jacket where he touched me. Shit, now I was going to have to Purell my hand. I shook my head in resignation as I opened the flap of my bag and dug around while keeping an eye on him. Cerise would have laughed at my bleeding heart. Just last night when a beggar on the street asked for some change, she asked if he could break a fifty.
There were precious few bills in my purse but I managed to find a few coins to drop into his gnarly hand. It was then that the stench of his B.O. hit me and my stomach convulsed; it was still pretty queasy from last night’s vodka and his smell brought me right to the edge of hurling. Ewww!
“Blessings ma’am.” He shuffled off down the platform as I dug out the Purell and spritzed my hands, watching his back.
I wish I had turned away, but I didn’t. He was wearing a jacket he probably got out of the dumpster at the Salvation Army, but that’s not what made me stare. It was his feet.
He had some kind of beat-up sneakers, but he didn’t have any socks. His pants were too short and I saw how thin his ankles were. They were beyond thin—he was so skinny. My breath caught in my chest.
“Hey!” I called out to him. “Hey, mister!” I pawed back into my purse sighing. Maybe I could put the squeeze on Dad without Mom knowing, I thought to myself as I pulled out my last five and ten.
The guy had turned around. I gulped a lungful of air and holding the two bills up in my hand stepped up to him.
“I want to give this to you, but you have to make me a promise.” I didn’t inhale yet.
“Huh?” Okay, this guy wasn’t a genius.
“Look,” I said, “If I give you this extra money, you have to promise me you’ll buy food with it.” I leaned forward a little. “And only something to eat. No booze or drugs. You gotta eat something, mmister.”
He cackled. “You just called me ‘mister’.” He grinned, and after looking at the mess his teeth were, I wish he hadn’t. “Been a long time since I been called that.” He reached out for the money.
I snatched my hand back. “No. You have to promise me. A real promise.”
His eyes were riveted on the money. “Sure. Cross my heart, hope ta die, alright?” He even did the thing with his fingers across his chest, and held out his hand again.
I shook my head no. “I want a real promise. Swear on…” I paused and looked into his eyes. “Swear on the memory of the person you’ve loved the most.” I have nooo clue where that came from, okay? But it had an effect.
His head rocked back like I had slapped him. “Dorothy?” he said. “I gotta swear on Dorothy?” His eyes misted. “I ain’t thought of her in a long time, ma’am.”
“Swear on Dorothy, and get something to eat, okay mister?”
He kept his eyes downcast. “I swear on Dorothy LaRussa that I’ll use this money only to get something to eat.” He lifted his head. “Promise.” His eyes were filled with sorrow and loss. Looking at his face broke my heart.
“I believe you. Here.” I passed the two bills to him and they disappeared.
He cackled at me. “Maybe I’ll buy bourbon balls at some chocolate shop, huh?” He waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat pizza.” He then smacked his lips. “No! There’s a White Castle just a few stops down!” His eyes got soft. “I ain’t thought about Dorothy in a long, long time, ma’am.” The forlorn expression was replaced by a smile. Sure, it was wistful and bittersweet, but it was a smile. “God, I loved her.” He tipped me a two-fingered salute, “Thank you for that memory, ma’am,” and turned away. I watched him approach his next victim, a well-heeled corporate woman in a black silk Donna Karan jacket.
Just as the next train’s doors closed and pulled out of the station. Damn. I almost laughed. No good deed goes unpunished.
‘Ma’am!’ Did I look that old? Sure, I didn’t have time to put any makeup on but how many ma’ams wear Zara leggings with three-inch stilettos? I pulled out my Clinique compact and flipped open the mirror. Yeah, I looked like hell. But not like a ‘ma’am,’ okay? I looked like your average, hungover, twenty-three-year-old student in a rush to get to class. That’s all.
If it was really bad, a visit to one of the doctors up in midtown could straighten it out, no problem. I’ll worry about that after I finish school and start auditioning. By then I’d have an agent who would tell me flat out if I needed some work done or not. I was still checking for crow’s-feet and laugh lines—none!—when the next train pulled in with its screeches and clatters.
Twenty minutes later I entered the brick brownstone which housed the American Academy of Drama and took a deep breath to clear my head. My heels tocked-tocked on the terrazzo floor, while the sounds of voices raised in reciting scripts drifted from the rooms I raced by. I had only gone two steps up the broad stairway when a voice stopped me cold.
“Ms. Swanson?”
Oh damn. I knew that voice. I’d sat across from the director of the school just last week. With my heart in my throat, I turned and managed a small smile. “Yes, Mr. Morris? Can I see you later? I’m late and I really have to—”
“No. I’m afraid we need to talk. Now. Follow me, if you would be so kind.” He pushed the thick-framed glasses up his aquiline nose and spun on his heels, the overhead light casting a glare on his bald head as he strode down the hall.
For a moment all I could do was stand there clutching the handrail and blink. This couldn’t be good. The last time I’d sat in that office, he’d given me the lecture about how privileged I was to be attending this exclusive school, and the whole Meisner spiel that “acting was living truthfully in an imaginary world.” And of all the times for him to be roaming the hall, it just had to be when I was running late! Shit!
I trudged down the steps and walked down the corridor into his office, just in time to see him pluck a wilted leaf from the ivy plant on the windowsill. His smile was tight under flinty gray eyes which zeroed in on me like a bird of prey. He pulled out the chair in front of the desk and with a slight gesture indicated for me to take a seat.
My muddled mind kicked into high gear. “I’m sorry I’m late for class today. My roommate’s mother was in a car accident and I was up late with her at the hospital.” Please God, let the acting classes pay off enough for him to buy it. I sat down into the seat and leaned forward, giving my best wide-eyed, innocent look.
“Miss Brady. While it is tragic about your roommate’s mother...” With fingers steepled, he placed his forefingers across his lips, and cleared his throat. “Keira, why exactly did you enroll in this school? What is it you want from this program?”
Duh. It was hard not to roll my eyes. “I want to be an actress, of course.” Something he was preventing right now, with this crap in his office. I should be in class, or anywhere, but right there.
“And how do you see yourself in that profession?” He genuinely looked perplexed as if he had no idea what his school was all about.
My lips twitched in a smile. This was so obvious, it was dead simple. “Successful. Maybe in Hollywood getting millions for every picture, or a sweet gig on a successful TV series.” I shrugged, because it really didn’t matter which one. “Either way, my...” I arched an eyebrow, “profession would encompass glamour, followed by fans and stalked by paparazzi.” I twirled a lock of hair around my finger and shrugged again, already seeing myself on the cover of People magazine. Movies or television, I wasn’t picky.
His eyebrows rose above the rim of his glasses, making an accordion of his forehead. “Like a Kardashian, perhaps?”
The grin now spread across my lips. I’d give my eyeteeth to be a household name like them. “Well, they are pretty famous and rich.”
His hand slapped the desk, making me pop back in my chair.
“Wrong! The world doesn’t need another Kardashian! The correct answer would have been a reference to the craft, your passion to become another person on the stage.” He sighed and pushed the glasses up onto the top of his shiny dome. “Do you know how many students applied for the program this year? We turned hundreds of applicants away. You wouldn’t be here except for your parents. I accepted you as a favor to Richard and Susan.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.
My heart was in my mouth but my words rushed past it. “But, Mr. Morris, I do like to act. I mean... like I might not have said it right awaaay... but it’s true.”
Even to my own ears it rang hollow. There were too many early morning classes, too many scripts to memorize. It was grittier and tougher than even the photography program last year. But if I didn’t finish this, what would I do?
He huffed a chuckle and shook his head. “Keira, that’s probably the best performance I’ve seen in a while. I’d like to think that you learned that acting skill here, but even I’m not that delusional to buy it.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I plodded ahead. “Please Mr. Morris. Give me another chance. I’ll prove to you I can do this.”
He just shook his head and his eyes were downcast. “I’ll send a partial refund of the tuition to your parents.” He stood up and extended his hand, ending the session.
Oh no. That was the final shot. Mom and Dad would know and then there’d be hell to pay. I pushed myself up and my hand was numb shaking his. “I wish I could say this has been a pleasure but...” My mouth pulled to the side and I tugged my shoulder strap higher.
Haunted Hideout Page 15
