When I think about the house I always remember the darkness and suffocating feel of the interior. Even in broad daylight the kitchen and living room were gloomy and uninviting despite the family’s efforts to decorate and illuminate it. I vividly recall the stench that arose from the window leading to the cellar, as well as the table positioned in the middle of the room. I also remember the way Laura shook all the way back to our house, the controlled fear I heard in Jimmy’s voice when he called us to come and get her, the way their voices shook when they relayed the events to us afterwards, and the physical appearance of the children when we took Laura home the first time.
For many different reasons I have changed the names of those involved in this story. The children are all grown now and all have children of their own yet they continue to live in the same area. It’s not a large place and they would be easily identifiable if their true names were given. For their own privacy I felt it necessary to keep their true identities to myself, although if any of them want to step forward in the future and talk about their experiences that would be fine.
I continue to be friends with all the girls. In fact, when I was a teenager I became closer to Brenda than almost anyone else. With Laura having a steady boyfriend and working long hours, Brenda started visiting me regularly. She and Laura have been the closest things I have had to sisters and I couldn’t love them more if we were blood. Brenda and Laura continued to stay with me over the years, go on family vacations with us, and support me. Laura was my maid of honor at my wedding; Brenda was a bridesmaid. Laura planned my first son’s baby shower and, at the age of twenty–six, was there with my husband, holding my other hand as I gave birth.
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Kentucky Witches
Like THIS series? Rebecca has a brand NEW series coming out in December. Meet the Kentucky Witches!
http://www.amazon.com/Broom-View-Kentucky-Witches-Book-ebook/dp/B0168UC1HU/
Pre-order now for a December 15th release and save on the list price!
Liza Jane Higginbotham is your average witch next door. Just a down home girl, she enjoys driving her pickup, listening to country music and, oh yes, the occasional brew.
When she moves back to take over the family farm in rural Eastern Kentucky she's expecting to live a peaceful life, content to play in her garden, restore the dilapidated farmhouse, and throw her money away at the town auction house every Friday night. But the town of Kudzu Valley just won't let a witch rest. From the high school football coach looking for a charm to help the team win the Homecoming game to Lola Ellen Pearson who wants to hex the local Pizza Hut for giving her food poisoning the night before her fourth wedding, everyone wants SOMETHING from the town's resident witch!
When 17-year-old Bobby Whittmeyer's body is found dead in the creek, though, all eyes turn to Liza Jane. After all, hadn't she JUST accused him of a terrible crime? With the townspeople and police turning their eyes to Liza Jane, it's going to take a lot for her to prove that she didn't put a "whammy" on him AND help find the real culprit!
COMING DECEMBER 15th. The first book in the Kentucky Witches series.
About the author:
Rebecca Patrick–Howard is the author of several books including a true haunting series and Taryn’s Camera, a paranormal mystery series about a woman who sees the past through her camera. She lives in eastern Kentucky with her husband and two children.
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Other books by Rebecca
To see ALL of Rebecca’s books and to order both ebooks AND signed paperback versions, visit her website at:
www.rebeccaphoward.net
Taryn's Camera Series
Windwood Farm (Book 1)
Griffith Tavern (Book 2)
Dark Hollow Road (Book 3
Shaker Town (Book 4)
Jekyll Island (Book 5)
Black Raven Inn (Book 6) Coming February 2016
Taryn’s Pictures: Photos from Taryn’s Camera
Kentucky Witches
A Broom with a View (coming December ‘15)
Broommates (Coming March ’16)
A Broom of One’s Own (Coming June ’16)
Nothing Says Lovin’ Like Something from the Coven ( Sept. ’16)
True Hauntings
Haunted Estill County
More Tales from Haunted Estill County
Haunted Estill County: The Children’s Edition
Haunted Madison County
A Summer of Fear
The Maple House
Four Months of Terror
Two Weeks: A True Haunting
Three True Tales of Terror
Other Books
Coping with Grief: The Anti-Guide to Infant Loss
Three Minus Zero
Finding Henry: A Journey Into Eastern Europe
Estill County in Photos
Haunted: Ghost Children Stories From Beyond
Rebecca’s other books include:
Taryn’s Camera Series
Windwood Farm (Book 1)
Griffith Tavern (Book 2)
Dark Hollow Road (Book 3)
Shaker Town (Book 4)
Jekyll Island (Book 5)
True Hauntings
Four Months of Terror
A Summer of Fear
The Maple House
Two Weeks
Three True Tales of Terror
Haunted Estill County
More Tales from Haunted Estill County
Other Books
Coping with Grief: The Anti–Guide to Infant Loss
Three Minus Zero
Estill County in Photos
Finding Henry: A Journey into Eastern Europe
Haunted: Ghost Children A Collection of Stories from Beyond
Visit her website at www.rebeccaphoward.net to sign up for her newsletter to receive free books, special offers, and news.
Windwood Farm excerpt
After several hours of what she thought was pretty good work on her part, Taryn stepped back and admired her own work, gave herself a pat on the back, and took a break. “Well done, old girl,” she said aloud and then literally gave herself a pat on the back because, after all, she believed if you didn’t do it, then nobody else would.
The sun had come out by then and the ground was starting to dry, but it was still very muddy so she headed to the car and sat on the hood while she ate her lunch—leftover Subway from the night before.
Reagan had taken the boards off the windows like she had asked, and now that the sun had risen in the sky it caught the upstairs window and the glare made it appear to wink at her. In fact, it seemed to look right at her. Shielding her eyes, she turned away. “Damn it,” she muttered, as she looked at the ground and took another bite. The glare was so bright, however; she couldn’t ignore it.
She had grown used to the uneasy feeling she’d developed on the first day and thought she might be making friends with the house. It didn’t feel as unwelcoming to her as it did in the beginning and she was almost certain it had even preened a little today while she was painting it, as though it knew it was posing for something that would make it immortal.
Taryn was not a religious person, and wasn’t even sure she believed in God, or one powerful entity at all, but she did believe in energy and nature and if there was something bigger than herself in the universe, she always felt it outside when she was alone.
She never found it inside the walls of a church or listening to someone preach. Sometimes, while she was painting, she’d get so lost in thought and deep into her picture that she even thought she might becoming a part of it, or with the world around her. It was the closest thing she’d ever had to a religious experience and the feeling of euphoria it gave her was similar to the one she’d gotten off some pain pills when she’d had her wisdom teeth removed.
All of a sudden, a loud crash from inside the house sang out and caused her to jump off the hood and drop her sandwich to the ground. “So much for the five–second rule,” she cursed as she watched it immediately get covered with mud and ants. She was hungry, but not that hungry.
Still, she was curious about the noise. She didn’t think anyone was in the house and it had been a couple of days since she’d been inside. “Eh, why not?” she mumbled, and made her way to the front door. “What’s it going to do?”
Always taken a little aback by the amount of darkness that existed even with the windows uncovered, it took her a moment to adjust her eyes when she stepped inside. The living room was cleared of any items and was stark and empty. Taryn thought this made it feel less intimidating than before, as though the boxes had made it feel more lived in, as though someone was coming back. Even the curtains were gone. The peeling wallpaper was still on the walls, though, and it gently flapped as she walked by, stirred by her movements, the only testament to the fact she was actually there.
The hardwood floors were still rock–solid, despite Reagan’s concerns, and didn’t make a sound as she moved through the rooms. Not a squeak was made. She was surprised by the lack of dust and smiled at the fact that Mrs. Jones had dusted them; that effort was made to sweep the house before it was demolished. It must be a southern thing to clean something before killing it; to fix something before destroying it. She marveled at the beautiful fireplace mantle, so detailed and ornate and yet at the staircase banister, so simple and plain. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to why money was spent on some fixtures and not on others. Clearly, the original owners had possessed money, yet had been selective about how it was spent.
The dining room and kitchen were also bare of belongings, as were the downstairs closets. There obviously wasn’t anything on the downstairs level that could have made such a loud noise that she would have heard it from the outside. At any rate, it was as quiet as a church now, or a library. It was hard to imagine this place ever filled with the sounds of a family: laughter, singing, dancing, chattering…Yet the house must have possessed such things and been host to such activities at one time, right? Someone lived in the house and loved it once. Yet there were no echoes of this former life in it now. She could barely even hear her own breathing.
Without the boards on the windows and door, it was easier to see. She thought (hoped) the extra light might make the house feel more gracious, yet the welcoming feeling she’d experienced outside disappeared as soon as she stepped through the front door.
Once she circled through the downstairs, she made her way to the first set of stairs in the living room and put her foot on the first step. All at once, a roar so loud, she felt as though her ear drums would pop from the deafening sound filled the room to a raucous level. Staggering, she fell backward and scraped her lower back against the wooden stairs behind her. As she clutched at her chest, she pushed against an invisible force that seemed to thrust against her. The rumble continued all around her, filling the air at an incredible volume, the sound neither man nor animal.
An astonishing wind swept through the room and up the staircase, whipping her hair around her and sending hot air down her throat, making her unable to talk or scream. Gasping for breath, she struggled to talk or breathe and began choking, gagging, wheezing. The front door, which she’d left open, closed with a bang. In horror, she watched small cracks appear in the living room windows and then watched as the glass shattered and flew out into the yard in hundreds of pieces. Using her hands and sheer strength, Taryn managed to grab onto the banister and pull her way up, inch by inch. Finally, by wrapping her legs around the banister, straddling it, and turning her back to the door and wind, she caught her breath. Using what breath she had left, she screamed with everything she had, “WHAT DO YOU WANT!?”
As quickly as it started, everything stopped.
Taryn was left on the banister, like a little kid who had simply been caught sliding down from the top of the stairs. There was utter stillness again with no sign that anything had happened, other than the fact that the windows were broken and the door was closed.
Shaken, she unwound herself from the banister and ran out the front door, not bothering to close it behind her. She’d let the ghost deal with that.
Available on Amazon!
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Two Weeks
Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Patrick–Howard
www.rebeccaphoward.net
Published by Mistletoe Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: September 2015
Printed in the United States of America
Two Weeks: A True Haunting (True Hauntings Book 3) Page 9
