Ravenswood (Ravenswood Series Book 1)

by Christine Zolendz

  Ravenswood

  They're DYING to get in...

  In the southern swamps of Louisiana, an ominous and foreboding mansion beckons the young and curious tourists. But once they enter Ravenswood, they never return.

  And New Yorker Rainey Halerow knows nothing about it...

  That is until her grandmother is brutally murdered under her nose and the answers to her mysterious and heinous death lie within the walls of Ravenswood. As the mansion lures her in, Rainey knows one thing is certain: more than death is trapped inside.

  Ravenswood

  Christine Zolendz

  To all the book dragons

  who hide in the bathroom to read at a party

  who rather stay in on Friday nights

  who fall in love with characters

  and believe in magic

  and words

  This is for you.

  Welcome to Ravenswood…

  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

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  FREE EBOOK!

  Also by Christine Zolendz

  More by Christine Zolendz

  Christine Zolendz

  Ravenswood © 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Photography: Elena Schweitzer, Stock photo @ 123rf.com

  Cover Design: Dark Road Designs

  Formatting: Dark Road Designs - Inserts by Kiss.png

  Blurb: Blurb Bitch

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  I should have walked away the first time the hollow-eyed girl posed the question, but I didn’t.

  “Care to have your fortune told?” she asked again in a high musical voice laced with a slightly peculiar accent. Her clothes were tattered and filthy, and her shoes so worn down that the tips of her dirt-stained toes peeked through. A small ache tugged at my heartstrings.

  Megan and Amy giggled excitedly in front of me—the two of them unzipping their purses—digging their hands in. Both stood, one foot in a fairy tale, in search of their very own once upon a time.

  “How much?” Megan asked the small girl, then tilted her head to smile back at me. The neon lights of the carnival reflected off her glasses, bleeding color down her pale cheeks. The effect was almost sinister.

  “Twenty,” the girl purred low, running her dirt-caked fingernails along the faded canvas of the tent. She shifted closer to my friends, stepping out into the trash-strewn pathway that ran in front of the fortune-teller’s dark entrance. “Small price to see your future, yes?”

  Back there, in the narrow alleyways between the tall pavilions that housed games of chance and magic, the discordant roar of the carnival dimmed, and the sound of the girl’s whispered words sent chills up my spine. I immediately wanted to leave.

  “We’re going to chip in and pay for our friend,” Amy said, pulling out a crisp ten dollar bill from her purse, nodding her head in my direction. “It’s her birthday tomorrow.”

  My fingers clenched around the crinkled paper bag of popcorn I held in my hand. I wasn’t one for believing in magic, or palm readings, or whatever nonsense I'd be subjected to after walking through the dark slit in the canvas. I sighed loudly, causing Amy to turn her head and smile. “We’re going to need to know anything and everything about her future love life.”

  Well, this shouldn’t take too long, then.

  I should have stayed home—feet up—staring into a glass of wine, deciding what book to read next. My to-be-read list was a mile long.

  A strong breeze swept through the walkway, fluttering the flaps of the tent and stirring up the strong scents of deep-fried grease and stale popcorn. I raised the collar of my jacket to the cold, damp wind and shivered. It was really too late in the season for the carnival to be open—just beneath the flashing strings of light and discarded hot dog wrappers stained red with ketchup—the air smelled of a frost coming, the ground just starting to chill and welcome the dying wintry grass.

  The girl swiftly plucked the money from Megan and Amy’s fingers and smiled a wide, mischievous grin. Four of her front teeth were plated with gold and shaved into sharp, tiny peaks.

  “Madame Evangeline can tell you anything,” she hummed, low. Moving between my friends, the girl reached out her hand and whispered, “Please, Miss. Follow.”

  The thought of her soiled palms touching mine or those razor-edged choppers nipping at my skin made my mouth instantly dry. I tried to mask my uneasiness but only ended up shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket and offering her a tight-lipped smile.

  Something ill-boding knotted deep within my stomach. It wasn’t the grime on her hands that bothered me, nor was it the perverse style of her smile. It felt more like the girl was stained with something my eyes couldn’t yet see, something foreboding, ominous.

  An icy wind fluttered against my neck then, the dark scent of brimstone in the air, settling over me like déjà vu. A stir of leaves, and the cold shiver against my throat felt more like a tingling soft cold kiss. I shook away the sensation and stepped forward, but oily rust colored handprints smeared across the tent flaps stopped me cold. I pointed to the stain, narrowed my eyes at my friends and grimaced as I said, “If I’m not out in ten minutes—”

  “Just go in and ask about Eric,” Amy said, laughing. She rubbed her hands together and blew into them for warmth. “Hurry, it’s getting cold. But ask, Rainey, okay? Ask if he feels the same way. Oh, and ask about how your audition is going to go!”

  “If Madame Evangeline,” Megan pronounced the name dramatically, and laughed, “is any good, I’m going next.”

  I slowly shook my head and stepped through the small opening of the tent, wanting to know absolutely nothing about Eric or whatever future some batty old carnival lady told me about him.

  Eric was an idiot.

  He was supposed to meet me at the carnival, depending on how long the game was on for; made a girl wish her birthday was in the off-season. I wondered where he was, more so who he was really with. My stomach churned—he was supposed to be here with me, he used to be my best friend, the fourth person in our quartet—until we kissed; until we did a lot more than kiss. Now it just felt like he thought it was all a mistake and I felt like I lost my closest friend. Just thinking about him believing it was a mistake made me want to cry or scream, or both.

  Well, maybe I could come up with a few questions for this fortune teller.

  I could ask about my audition next month. I was still in shock I was picked
to move forward to the final audition. A pianist for the New York Philharmonic. I knew it was never going to happen—but still—I made it to the final rounds. It was kind of a big deal unless it was all a big mistake. I sighed loudly. I bet this fortune teller was going to tell me I shouldn’t bother going…and break up with Eric on the way.

  The flap of the tent fell closed behind me, silencing the outside world.

  There was hushed energy beneath the canvas. Thin streams of pale yellow light cast long shadows across the ground and crawled eerily up the sides of the tent. A stagnant smell of body odor mixed with an almost unbearably suffocating warmth made me stumble over my own feet and grab the nearest thing to keep me from falling flat on my face.

  From just outside came the loud, jarring laughter of my friends shaking off the creepy feeling that crawled all along my skin. I straightened up, chuckling about the absurdity of it all, and took another step deeper into the darkness of the tent. My eyes quickly scanned the strange enclosure. Dark velvet furnishings littered every inch of the place. Thick, musty pillows haphazardly thrown everywhere; on all the chairs and tables, even the dry, grassy ground. Dozens of small wooden signs with peeling paint hung from the apex of the canvased roof, and one small candle sat tall on a small round table in the middle. Its flame stretched up steadily toward the ceiling.

  “Hello?” I called out, sliding the sleeves of my jacket off my arms. Sweat was pooling under them and across my chest, the air so thick and warm, I could just about taste it on my tongue. I cleared my parched throat and called louder, “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  The place was empty.

  “That little gold-toothed kid just scammed us for twenty bucks,” I laughed under my breath, trailing my fingers through the thick dust that coated the table. Gray ash clumped to my fingertip, and with a soft breath I blew it into the air. The particles scattered up and sparkled spectrally through the small flame of the lone candle. “The fortune you seek is that you will be robbed of twenty dollars,” I cackled dryly, watching the wild dance of the flame.

  Story of my life: everything is always so blah, nothing special ever happens, not to me.

  As I turned to leave, a dark shape edged slowly out from the shadows. It slithered forward, a solid black mass, almost too imperceptible to see.

  It inched its way out and slid itself on the velvet throne, set behind the table. It was only then, in the glow of the candle, that I saw the corpse staring back at me.

  “What do you want, girl?” its voice chortled darkly.

  Okay, not a corpse, though the resemblance to one was startling. My palms started sweating, and I rubbed them down my pants. “Uh—” I stammered.

  “Well?” she barked.

  “My friend’s twenty dollars back,” I said, laughing nervously and narrowing my eyes.

  “Eck,” she spat, sending a thick gob of saliva right over her shoulder, hitting the back of her chair. “Sit closer. I can’t quite see…” she mumbled, gesturing her gnarled, bony fingers in the direction of the chair opposite her.

  “No, that’s okay. Thank you,” I said softly and stepped closer to the flame—not to give her the ability to see better, but for me. “I don’t really believe in any of this.” I could see nothing but endless shadows. Could she be for real?

  Suddenly, the woman leaned forward, snapping her head up, her gaze darting past me and across the tent, focusing on something behind me. A small, shuddery gasp slipped from her lips, sending shivers up my spine. I fought the maddening urge to look over my shoulder and rub at the tingling feeling at the nape of my neck. Surprisingly, I found myself folding my legs on the soft velvet cushion of the chair across from her.

  “Dead people have secrets,” she whispered, still staring behind me.

  What the hell?

  I guessed that was the trick of the way it sometimes begins. The curiously sudden outburst, the first glance of milky white eyes settling on your skin, making it crawl with gooseflesh. She gave me a toothless expression and laid a frail hand on mine. Her skin was icy and dry, tinged a sickly yellowish blue and paper-thin. She drew in another quick breath, and just behind her shadows seemed to move amongst the piles of cluttered darkness. Her head tilted slightly up, and her cloudy eyes caught and locked onto mine.

  My heart hammered wildly in my chest, almost painfully. “Secrets kept from you, you kept from him,” she mumbled, her hand tightening on mine. “I’ve never met something like you before,” she continued murmuring low. She then gasped loudly and pulled her hand away, hugging it to her chest as if she'd gotten burned. Lifeless eyes darted quickly over my face, and she leaned in closer. “Where is your soul, child?”

  “Excuse me?” I laughed nervously and quickly slid my chair back away from her rancid breath. “What kind of a creepy question is that? You’re supposed to tell me about guys I’ll date and who I’ll eventually marry…maybe how many kids I’ll pop out.”

  “Leave, girl,” she snarled, slapping her palms down against the table. “There’s nothin’ for you here.” She shooed her hands toward me and held them out between us as she stood up from her chair. “You’re an empty one.”

  When I stepped closer, the old woman began wailing, her twisted fingers curling and yanking at her hair. To my horror, clumps came out and dropped to the ground. “Run, girl. Run like hell, and you’ll get there,” she snapped, grabbing pillows as she moved—spryly, I might add—backing into the shadows.

  When I hesitated, she started pegging the pillows at me.

  With nothing to do but leave, I stumbled out laughing, deeply breathing in the cold night air. I wanted to kick myself for thinking, for a second, someone could give me answers to all the questions I had about my life. It was stupid. Foolish. It didn’t stop me from feeling hollow though, wanting to know maybe something special was coming I could look forward to or something.

  “What happened?” Megan asked, eyes wide. She bounced on the balls of her feet and smiled at me, excitedly throwing an arm over my shoulder. “Well, what did she say?”

  “Dead people have secrets,” I said with a laugh, tilting my head up to the velvety dark sky speckled with diamonds. The echoes of their laughter instantly stopped, and both girls stared straight at me with worried expressions. I slid my jacket back on, ignoring their stares.

  “She told you what?” Amy asked, laying her hand on my forearm, stopping me as soon as I started for the exit of the alleyway. She left her hand there, on the sleeve of my jacket, her mouth hanging open. “Dead people? Have what?”

  “It was a total scam, guys. Or she was completely nuts. Your guess is as good as mine.” I shrugged my shoulders, wanting nothing more to do with it or the creepy feeling that crawled along my spine.

  “But did she say anything about—” Megan started but stopped when I shook my head and pulled them further into the rest of the carnival, away from the fortune teller.

  “She said nothing that made any sense,” I explained, laughing. “Trust me. You’ll just waste more of your money if we go back. Let’s go ride the Ferris wheel again.”

  They humored me, buying more tickets and climbing into one of the swaying gondolas. We were airborne instantly. The ticket taker barely gave us enough time to lock ourselves in; he seemed too preoccupied with staring down Amy’s shirt. I drew my breath in a quick puff as my stomach fluttered from the motion of being pulled forward and falling back toward the ground.

  From the top of the Ferris wheel, I could see the hollow-eyed girl lead in her next customer. Beside me, Megan and Amy sat squashed together laughing, oblivious.

  “What would you ask the fortune teller, anyway?” Amy asked.

  Megan sighed. “I wanted to ask about Nathan.”

  “Seriously? You’ve been together since high school. What’s there to ask?” Amy laughed and raised her hands in the air as our car plummeted down.

  Megan held up one of her hands and pointed to it with the other. “Um…how about why my ring finger is empty?”

 
; Empty. What a strange thing to say about a finger—or a person—yet that was twice I'd heard it in the span of a few minutes. It scratched at my brain for the rest of the night, making me walk around in a total fog. We rode the Tilt-a-Whirl until Megan felt sick, ate funnel cakes until Amy felt the same, then began our short trek home.

  Eric, of course, never showed, and even though Megan and Amy kept looking around for him or pulling out their phones to text him, I did my best to pretend it didn’t matter to me at all. I smiled and shrugged, acting like it was no big deal even though I was dying inside. What good would it do to tell our mutual friends how much it was hurting me? I didn’t want them to have to take sides.

  Our boots clicked through the quiet streets as we cast shadows along the pavement that glittered in the moonlight. The heaviness of carnival sounds lessened as we walked the avenue home, still in sight of the flashing lights and escaped helium balloons that tried to float amongst the stars. Our small crowd of three quickly dwindled as we reached Megan’s house first, then Amy’s, then it was just me. Alone, I walked home.

  When I reached the house, only the small blue tinted porch light flickered; the rest of the house looked oddly dark. I fumbled with the key in the door, and once I finally got it open, it creaked and groaned as I stepped through.

  I pulled out my phone to check the time, but it was completely dead. Immediately, my eyes fell on the green illuminated numbers on the cable box. Midnight. My twenty-second birthday. I threw my jacket over the coat rack, slipped my feet out of my boots, and tiptoed down the hallway. Strange that none of the lights were on or my grandmother hadn’t been hiding behind the front door of my apartment to scare the crap out of me with a drunken serenade of some birthday song. Not that she would do that, yet my imagination ran with it—her smiling at me, cheeks beaming. Her singing off-key.