The Wayland Manor Haunting
Gulf Coast Paranormal
Season Two Book One
By M.L. Bullock
Text copyright ©2021 Monica L. Bullock
All rights reserved.
Dedication
For Agnes.
Table of Contents
Chapter One—Janie
Chapter Two—Sierra
Chapter Three—Sierra
Chapter Four—Joshua
Chapter Five—Jai
Chapter Six—Macie
Chapter Seven—Sierra
Chapter Eight—Macie
Chapter Nine—Sierra
Chapter Ten—Jai
Chapter Eleven—Sierra
Chapter Twelve—Macie
Chapter Thirteen—Jericho
Chapter Fourteen—Macie
Chapter Fifteen—Sierra
Chapter Sixteen—Sierra
Chapter Seventeen—Carrie Jo
Chapter Eighteen—Sierra
Author’s Note
Chapter One—Janie
Janie smothered a giggle as she raced up the crooked staircase. Robbie was right—this staircase did have a kind of funhouse effect. Janie had been at Wayland Manor more than a dozen times, so she knew what steps to skip and where to walk without making a sound.
The owner—her name was Amanda Hayes—liked Janie, but she trusted the nineteen-year-old a bit too much. Janie liked Amanda too and did not want to let her down. Although she had done that a few times, like forgetting to lock the back door and setting the alarm off.
The older woman was one of the few people who did not take her at face value. Meaning Amanda did not treat Janie like a child. She paid no mind to her baby face and petite stature. Janie wished with all her heart that her parents would take a cue from Amanda.
Janie liked her job with the Mobile Historical Society. But she resented the fact that she did not get paid much and never got to do the speaking tours. She aced her public speaking course, so why wouldn’t they give her a chance?
Fine, if she had to make a scene, she would. Janie needed a break. Wouldn’t it be great if she could lead a tour at Oakleigh or Bragg-Mitchell? The Wayland place had plenty of history, but no one was really allowed to talk about it.
Crazy, huh? Well, if Janie was not allowed to give an oral history, she’d be the best damn actress on this tour. The best nonspeaking actress ever. Like her Aunt Valerie always said, “If you want something bad enough, you have to take risks.”
Most girls her age dreamed of leaving their hometown and making it big in a much bigger city, and she was no different. Honestly, she didn’t know what she wanted to be. Being an actress would be a dream come true, but it was an unlikely dream. A professional violinist? That wasn’t likely either. She never made first chair. Not even close.
Today was one of those quarterly paranormal events, the kind that was immensely popular with the weirdos. Okay, not all weirdos. Some of Mobile’s snobby families liked the spooky stuff. They did not go around wearing goth clothes or black lipstick, but they loved hearing about hauntings and murder and mayhem. Wayland Manor had that in spades, but again, the staff was strongly encouraged to keep that part of the history on the down low. However, knowing Mobile’s history more than others on her team, she knew the old stories. The juicy ones that involved cousins eloping and the murder of a nun. Imagine that? A nun was murdered, tortured right here on this property. And then there was the little girl. The poor dead girl whose body was found in the strangest way. She could also tell the people on the tour how old Mr. Hollinger really got his money.
Yeah, it wasn’t just Wayland Manor that had its creepy places. How about the Angel Bridge and the Boyington Oak?
The truth was that ghosts and goblins did not turn Janie on at all. She didn’t believe in any of that stuff, but she did believe in keeping her job, as goofy and mindless as it was.
Okay, she coached herself. This is simple enough, step out of the master bedroom and exit to the smaller bedroom when the guests make their tour upstairs.
Her costumed appearance would startle people, but she was a real living person. If she played her role correctly, she might even frighten a few.
Janie never imagined she’d become a paranormal reenactor. This job was like working in one of those haunted houses that popped up in the Mobile Festival Center every October. Only this was steadier work and there weren’t angsty teenagers rolling their eyes at you or otherwise doing naughty things. At least Janie didn’t have to tote an ax covered in fake blood or don a hockey mask.
But no, the Mobile Historical Society would probably not approve of her intentional scare idea. They would not approve of her powdered wig and the dark circles painted under her eyes. She was originally hired to do basic tour guide stuff, not this kind of work at all. However, when the opportunity arrived, she did not hesitate. Janie was meant to be an entertainer. To bring the history of Wayland Manor to life.
Ooh…just the thought gave her chills.
Normally, she would stick to the routine without question. From one room to the next and then up the stairs to the attic, stomp around a bit and then scurry down through the servants’ entrance and light a lamp in the barn. Go there and wait for the docent and the tour group.
But not tonight.
Janie wanted to give the tourists a real thrill. Mostly because Tony Edwards was on the guest list. She had crushed on him hard freshman year of college, but he never noticed her. Not in any significant way. Tony once pointed out that Janie dropped a pencil near her desk, but that was the limit of their communication. He didn’t even offer to pick it up for her. She mutely did it herself, and by the time she collected it, Tony had left the classroom.
He never noticed me, until tonight. He would know me. He would remember.
Janie put the vintage wedding veil on over the powdered wig. Every time the fabric touched her skin, it made her itch. She blew it away and fiddled with it until she had it positioned exactly right.
Waiting for the right moment to reveal herself was the hard part.
For this new scare tactic to work, she needed to step out at just the right time. Janie would hear the footsteps of the dozen or so people trooping up the stairs, and then she would move as ethereally as possible from room to room, walking from one closet to the other.
The closet in the master bedroom had a secret chamber behind it. Janie would slip inside and wait there on the dusty bench until the tourists did their exploration.
They would never find her. Not until her big reveal at the end. Janie would introduce herself when the tour ended. That way Tony would know it was her. Maybe she would be able to clean up a little before then. Powdered wigs were not that flattering. She looked quite horrible, really.
Janie silently closed the small bedroom door and then tiptoed to the closet. The door squeaked a little but not so loudly that anyone would notice it. Or so she hoped. Even if Tony thought she was lame, she really didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that he noticed her.
She could hear Mrs. Sutherland, tonight’s docent, welcoming the guests now. Are we ready to step back into the past? It is my pleasure to lead you through the history of this great house, Wayland Manor. Back in the early 1800s, long before there was this fine house on the property, it was a farmhouse. Before the Waylands, the Owens family worked this land. There were seven in that family, Horatio and Angelina Owens and their five children. Unfortunately, only one of the Owens children survived, a girl named Greta.
Janie sighed as she listened
to the familiar muffled speech. She’d have a small lamp in her hand, since it added to the ambiance. There would be other lamps too, positioned around the house to make the experience that much spookier and more genuine. Mrs. Sutherland was indeed sharing more of the scary side of this story with the visitors. Man, why did she pick today to be long-winded?
People who worked in the house said that the Owens family haunted Wayland Manor, much more so than the Waylands. But then again, Janie wasn’t sure. She never saw anything at all. Nothing paranormal in any way, shape or form. Kind of disappointing, but it was the truth. Sure, there were places in this house that were chillier than others—“cold spots,” the ghost enthusiasts called them. Hadn’t they ever heard of a draft? A few dark corners were not evidence of the paranormal.
“Come on, Mrs. Sutherland. I’ve got to pee,” she whispered to herself.
And she did indeed need to visit the bathroom, in a big way.
Why did this always happen? Janie’s nerves got the better of her every time. How ridiculous to be this excited about pretending to be a ghost. She tugged at her tight, high dress collar. The cameo felt crooked and probably needed adjusting, but it would just have to wait.
As people began walking up the steps, she hurried out of the closet and waited by the door of the room, which had been left ajar. When she heard her cue, she deliberately stomped across the hallway in her old-fashioned boots. They were a bit tight, but she did not plan on wearing them long. As expected, Janie heard someone gasp as she moved smoothly across the landing, but she did not linger.
Keeping her face blank, she fought the urge to smile at them. Janie hurried across the long hall and entered the master bedroom. Naturally, the docent would save the master bedroom for last, since there were other rooms to see. The guests would pause and tell Mrs. Sutherland they had witnessed something, perhaps a ghost. They would most certainly be curious about what they all had just seen. Surely the docent would realize that Janie was only trying to improve her role. She wasn’t deliberately trying to scare anyone to death—only frighten them a little.
In case Mrs. Sutherland did change her routine and come in here first, Janie raced toward the master bedroom closet. But the door would not budge. The handle felt stiff, immovable.
Why? She had opened this door many times without any worries whatsoever. Crap! She needed to get inside!
Janie banged on the door lightly, and then to her surprise it popped open. Hmm. Maybe it was the humidity. Whatever the reason, she had to hide. Opening the door, she slid inside and arranged her skirts so no one could see them from outside.
Yes, this was going just as she’d planned. Keeping silent would be the hard part. She could hear Mrs. Sutherland telling the story about Billy Fowler and the murder of his spinster sister. Did Billy kill her? Nobody knew, but it was rumored that he hid her skull here at the house. Just rumors. A horrible rumor, but that was all it could be.
Why was she thinking about this now? She’d heard the story before, and it usually did not bother her. Today, it got under her skin.
Get out.
Janie froze with her hand on the doorknob. She planned on peeking out, watching their faces, especially Tony’s. He would certainly never forget her after this. Janie planned on making a memorable impression.
Get out now.
Oh, crap! Had someone else gotten in here?
“Hello?” Janie whispered into the dark. “Is somebody there?” The closet was empty. There was absolutely nothing inside. No hangers or clothing, no storage at all. Just the secret door at the back of the closet.
The voice didn’t speak again; Janie heard a hiss. A strange hiss. Like the kind you hear when you stab an inflated pool toy. Suddenly her teeth began to chatter. It had dropped at least twenty degrees in this tiny closet. How in God’s name was that possible? There wasn’t even a vent in here; the AC vents were only in the main rooms, not in the closets.
“Hello?” Janie began to plead with the emptiness, the black emptiness that reached for her. Yes, hands were coming for her. She could see them, two small hands. Dirty and pale. No, make that pale and gray, like they belonged to a dead child. The hands were not reaching for help—they were reaching to hurt.
To hurt her—maybe even kill her.
Janie snatched the veil off her head and threw it into the blackness. Then she could see him. The boy—he couldn’t be more than nine or ten—his head was on backwards. As if someone had twisted it, broken it. His mouth moved again, and another hiss accompanied the words he screamed.
GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!
She struggled with the door, never taking her eyes off the dead, mangled boy. With a wild shriek of her own, she tumbled out of the closet as the hands rushed away from the dim light and once again hid in the darkness.
Janie screamed endlessly. When it was over, when Mrs. Sutherland was standing over her, speaking quietly to her, the crowd gathered around her as she sobbed.
Eventually her legs found the strength to work, and she found her voice and left Wayland Manor. She was stunned when Tony volunteered to drive her home. It turned out he did remember her, even with all the powder and antique clothes. They did not talk as he drove, except when he needed directions.
And when she got home, she couldn’t get out of the car. What if the boy was in her closet? What if it followed her home? What if…
Then Tony kissed her, and she remembered real life. Yes, this was real life. Despite the horrible thing that had happened to her, it was hers to live. One thing was for sure, though.
She would never return to Wayland Manor. Never.
Chapter Two—Sierra
No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to move into Midas’ office. There was still a part of me that believed our fearless leader would return one day and Gulf Coast Paranormal would once again be a family. A weird, paranormal searching family. No one would ever take Big Brother’s place. I understood what he was going through; I missed Jocelyn too. I had guilt as well, but at the end of the day, no amount of guilt would change a thing. Besides, if Jocelyn held a grudge about it, I was sure I would know. I was a psychic medium, and Jocelyn had been a friend.
That had made accepting her sister Macie’s application easy. If Macie wanted answers, if she needed something from me, from the Gulf Coast Paranormal family, I would make sure she had the opportunity to receive it. I got no bad vibes from Macie at all. I sensed love and grief but nothing that made me question her motives.
No, my current office was plenty big enough, and it’s not like we did much work in the offices themselves. Most of our work was done off site, at whatever paranormal or haunting location we visited. We reviewed evidence together in the main conference room.
I closed Midas’ door again. He was moving on, and it was time for us to do the same. I, Sierra Kay McBride, was the boss now, and I took that responsibility very seriously. Not only did I have clients waiting for help, but I also had the challenge of putting together a new team.
Boy, there were plenty of applicants. More than I could shake a stick at, to quote my grandmother. Too many of the applicants these days were fanboys or fangirls. Or weekend warriors who did not quite believe in the paranormal yet. I was all for skepticism, but did I want to employ nonbelievers? The paranormal was real—of that there was no doubt. I was not willing to spend hours and hours trying to prove the existence of the paranormal to them.
Then there were the thrill-seekers. This group was the worst to work with. These folks were not team-minded, or client-minded, for that matter. They were in it for themselves. They liked to call themselves influencers. I had nothing against Instagram or YouTube or whatever people were using these days, but I did not want my clients worrying that their secrets could be aired to millions of viewers. That wouldn’t be good for them or us.
Discretion was crucial to what we did here at Gulf Coast Paranormal. I would not be interested in hiring someone with a massive social media following. Despite those concerns, I was l
ooking forward to meeting new people as I settled into my room.
My daughter, Emily, stayed home with her grandmother today. I hoped she was being a good baby. If the mood struck her, she’d throw a full-blown temper tantrum. She was an expert at that. She was that much like me, I suppose. I scrolled through a list of online applications. Wow, we had more than our share of people interested in working with Midas Demopolis. Many people mentioned his name in their bio. Midas had definitely touched many lives with his work.
Okay, let’s rule those out. I put anyone who mentioned him by name in a separate folder. Since Midas was no longer a part of Gulf Coast Paranormal, they might not want to work with us without him. Plus, name-dropping didn’t go that far with me. I momentarily thought of Sara Springfield, Midas’ former girlfriend. She would have been all over that. She was one to enjoy name-dropping. I guess that’s why she went to Hollywood, to work with those big names. Unfortunately for her, her 15 minutes of fame lasted more like a few episodes’ worth of time on a sorry paranormal show that got canceled before the season even finished.
I did not feel sorry for her, not in the least. Finally, for once in her life, she got what she deserved. Karma had come around and slapped Sara right in her pretty face with a big old chocolate pie.
After I filtered out Midas’ superfans, I discovered a new pile of applicants. Yes, I recognized a few names and immediately rejected them too. Ugh. Venus Delight, stripper turned investigator. Um, hell no. What she did with her body was her business, but she was known to use her Double D’s for bad and not good. Oh, no. Definitely not her. Joshua and I had enough challenges in our marriage…we didn’t need the help of one Venus Delight.
Yikes, not this one either. Julie Sumner. No way was I going to work with someone who used bloodletting as a catalyst for paranormal investigation. Not a chance.
Next name: Marcus Jacobs. He was famous—or maybe infamous—for discrediting people in the paranormal field. Nope. We didn’t need that kind of negativity either. I was not going to put Joshua or myself through that, much less anyone else.
The Wayland Manor Haunting (Gulf Coast Paranormal Season Two Series Book 1) Page 1
