Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances

by Amanda DeWees

  Jackson laughed and held up his mug in a toast. “I think this will now be written into my memoirs as one of my favorite Christmas dinners ever. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” Hannah clinked her mug against his. “So, you’ve never strayed from the typical turkey dinner?”

  “I’m not sure that I’ve ever had a typical holiday, at least not since I landed in Hollywood. Most holidays I spent alone with a manuscript, a takeout turkey dinner, and a bottle of Cabernet. But Becky’s family does it the old-fashioned way. Like a scene from a Rockwell painting.”

  “You miss them?”

  “I miss the sense of belonging. Having a big noisy family around you.”

  “You didn’t come from a big family?”

  “My father was a salesman and he moved us around a lot. We were never settled long enough for me to develop deep friendships. That and being a comic book nerd didn’t help either.”

  Hannah put her fork down. He seemed happy in this moment and she didn’t want to ruin it. She was nervous about the topic she needed to bring up. “I want to help you with your bad luck problem.”

  He laughed like someone who’s heard the most ironic thing in the world. “How do you help someone with that?”

  “I think your fiancée ended things because of it.”

  He slowly lowered his fork and his eyes narrowed as if trying to figure her out. “This is a strange conversation.”

  “Strange things happen around you, Jackson.” Hannah sat in silence for a few minutes as they stared at each other. “What did Becky say to you? Why did she call it off?”

  He lifted his mug and Hannah noticed the tremor of his fingers. “Her exact words were that she couldn’t be around me anymore.”

  “And you interpreted that to mean she didn’t love you anymore. That she’d lost interest in you after you lost your job.”

  “Something like that.” His lips were pressed together in a grim line.

  “What if I told you I think there could have been another reason?” She waited for him to give her a sign that he was willing to hear it. He nodded. “I think your bad luck curse is actually a ghost.”

  All of the air in his lungs expelled with laughter “Oh, god. You’re one of those.”

  “One of who?”

  “One of those tabloid readers who believe in the show curse theory.” He started to rise.

  “Please stay.” Hannah grabbed his hand, and thankfully he didn’t yank it away.

  Jackson laughed, the sound loaded with cynicism. “Why do you believe that crap?”

  “Because I’ve seen her.”

  He hung his head and disappointment showed on every corner of his face. “Her? You mean the ghost. Are you a damn psychic?”

  “No, Jackson. I’m an innkeeper who just happens to have one small extrasensory gift. I can see ghosts.”

  Disappointment melded into sarcasm. “Do you scam people with this gift?”

  Hannah’s pride was tweaked. “First of all, you came to me. You came to my inn. Secondly, I’ve never used my gift in any way, so no, I don’t scam people. And there is something going on around you.” She glared at him as if daring him to disagree.

  He didn’t. He nodded. “Okay. Who is the ghost that is supposedly creating hell in my life?”

  “Mona Black.”

  Just mentioning the woman’s name chilled the air. Jackson’s jaw muscles tensed and flexed in quiet agitation. “I thought that chapter of my life was dead and buried. Literally.”

  In a deliberately soft, clear voice, Hannah pushed for the information she needed. “What happened to her?” She’d already read about it, but she wanted Jackson to tell her.

  “She was arrested for killing her husband.”

  “Which was how she got the name Black Widow, right?”

  “Yes. But the only evidence pointing to her was circumstantial, and her defense was that he committed suicide. On the stand, the coroner couldn’t absolutely say that it was murder by the evidence. It could have been suicide. Although he went on record saying that he believed she was guilty.”

  “How do you come into all of this? Out of all the people in the world, why did she fixate on you?”

  “Through the wonderful writers of my television show. They wrote an episode mirroring the court case but with our typical paranormal twist. Our version had the ghost of the dead husband terrorizing her from beyond the grave, and it was my job to save her from the ghost.”

  “What was she like in the episode?”

  “She was a beautiful con artist, but the husband’s death was accidental. That made her sympathetic with the audience to justify my saving her and…”

  “And having sex with her?” Hannah purposely added a shame-on-you tone to her voice. She wasn’t current with the show, but wasn’t his character in a committed relationship with the heroine?

  “Well, of course. My character was a bad boy hero, not in line for sainthood.” He flashed her the cocky grin used on most of the promotional images of him online. Then it faded so quickly that Hannah was reassured his character’s ego was not reflected in his own.

  “So, her husband dies, which breaks her heart. She’s almost convicted of his murder, which kills her spirit. Then she’s immortalized on television as a con artist, which is embarrassing. And finally, you are the one to romantically swoop in and save her from all of that. No wonder she’s obsessed.”

  “Sums it up.”

  “One more thing bothers me. Why did the producers drop you from the show? I read about the accidents and the welts on Becky. Did they connect all that to you?”

  “No. It was typical creative differences. I didn’t like the direction they wanted to take the show. I fought for my ideas, and I lost.”

  “Did you ever meet Mona?”

  “She had one of my signed promotion photos, but I don’t remember ever giving it to her personally. She also had quite a Jackson Moore shrine in her room.” His body shivered with disgust. “Worst thing was that she painted my name in blood on the wall before she hanged herself. I had a restraining order on her at the time. If I hadn’t been filming that day, they probably would have arrested me as a suspect. The cops did manage to keep that detail out of the papers.”

  “Mona was so obsessed with you that she couldn’t even let go in the afterlife. That’s some powerful negative energy.”

  In that moment, the sun dropped below the Gulf horizon in a beautiful flash of color. Darkness came quickly, but the millions of holiday lights kept the shadows at bay. The night was made for music, and the house jazz band began to play.

  He stood up and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

  She tucked her hand in his and followed him to a clear spot in front of the band. The top of her head barely reached his chin, like a perfect fit. Leaning against him, her ear was right over his heart. She listened to the thump-thump with her eyes closed. The sound of life beating its eternal rhythm, and in the moment she imagined that it beat only for her.

  And maybe it did. One hand held hers tenderly, but the other held her possessively against him. His head tilted forward enough for his lips to be close to her ear. His breath was warm and ragged.

  When the thrumming of his heart beat a quicker pace, she lifted her face up to look at him. The moonlight softened the hard edges and shadows. She imagined him kissing her, and drew in a shocked breath when she realized that he had.

  His lips were already pulling away, but she wanted more. Damn that Nellie Pearle for putting romantic notions into her head.

  She stood on tiptoe to capture his lips with hers before they could retreat any further. She wanted to get lost within his crushingly-deep response, but her body stiffened at the first tingle of frigid, jealous energy. Quickly the cold wrapped around her, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

  Jackson’s arms fell away, and even through the cold pain Hannah experienced a sense of loss.

  “Hannah?”

  The pressure around her was too intense. S
he could only nod and squeak one word. “Mona.”

  He looked like he didn’t know what to do, but he slowly helped her back to their table. It took her a while to regain her breath and composure.

  With Jackson no longer touching her, the pressure was gone. Mona had released her.

  Jackson covered his face with his hands, surrendering to his frustration. “If all of this is true, why would Mona be doing this? I didn’t do anything to her.”

  Hannah reflected on Mona’s latest attack. One thing was different this time. It hadn’t felt like an attack. “Mona is jealous. She’s so connected to your energy that she appears only when you get romantic. Then she shows up, ready to destroy her rival.”

  “There were other times with Becky. Sometimes her body would be covered in rashes and other times she seemed to be having an asthma attack.” His eyes widened as he made the connection, accepting the truth. “Are you okay, Hannah?”

  His hands shifted toward her but hesitated. She knew he was afraid to touch her.

  “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. Her skin tingled in a weird way.

  A memory surfaced – the look on Nellie’s face when she wished she could taste the tequila. She could touch it, but she couldn’t experience the flavor anymore. There were obviously huge limitations for non-corporeal spirits.

  Hannah’s skin still tingled all over, but her neck felt perfectly fine. No choking this time. If the jealous ghost wasn’t trying to get rid of her rival this time, what had she been trying to do?

  Hannah suspected that Mona Black was evolving and she had no intention of going to the light. She wanted back into the living world. Why beat your enemy when you could join them?

  She wasn’t trying to hurt Hannah anymore.

  Mona was trying to get inside Hannah.

  Mona needed a body – and she apparently preferred one that Jackson liked.

  Chapter 14

  It took another hour and three more beers before Jackson saw the first boats pull away from their dock and begin a slow circuit around the bay. The light display on each boat glittered and reflected in the dark calm waters of the bay.

  In the moment, he desperately wanted to hold Hannah’s hand, to feel the connection with her by threading his fingers with hers. But he couldn’t risk putting her in pain.

  She didn’t deserve that. He wanted to think more about her mouth and her kiss, but that might invite trouble in more than one way. So he tried to clear his mind and just enjoy the holiday boat parade.

  “Is there a story behind this tradition?”

  “Not really a romantic one. I’m pretty sure there are lighted holiday boat parades all over the country. But ours started about a century ago as a friendly tournament between yacht owners. I’m pretty sure the local Ringling brothers were involved somehow. Eventually, anyone with a boat or even a canoe could join in. The prize would go to whoever could create the best display on their boat with lanterns.”

  “Sounds a bit dangerous.”

  “Probably was for the canoes.”

  It was wrong to laugh, but he couldn’t help but picture a poor guy leaping out of a canoe in flames. “I think they have events like this back home, but I’m usually too busy to get involved.”

  It made him sad to admit it. Maybe he never knew before what it felt like to be a part of a community, but he knew now that he wanted to feel that way. To know that he truly belonged somewhere. That people were expecting him…and not because he was famous or rich or could do something for them. They just expected him to be there and they even had a table waiting – or a gumball machine. He’d spotted Wandering Willie by the marina rummaging through a pile of driftwood.

  He started to laugh but choked as the next boat came into view. “What is that?”

  “That’s Freaky Pete and his floating bus. He owns that carnival museum I took you to yesterday.”

  “I’ve decided that I really have to stick around and find out how much freakier it gets around here.” He loved the mix of happiness and curiosity on her face. Would she like for him to stick around a while? Not as a paid guest, but maybe as something else?

  Again, he stopped any thoughts leaning toward the romantic. It was a beautiful moment and he refused to give Mona a reason to interrupt it. So he simply brought Hannah’s fingers to his lips briefly and reapplied his attention to the vibrant display of illumination.

  Chapter 15

  It was nearly eleven o’clock when they finally came back to the Beachcomber. Hannah had just over an hour to figure out how to get Mona to cross over. Midnight typically wasn’t an essential part of helping a ghost cross over, but this wasn’t a typical ghost. And a little astral energy on a holy night like Christmas Eve could help increase their chances of success.

  “We don’t have to do this tonight, Hannah.”

  “I need her gone from this house.” Tension radiated from her house. “My ghosts need her gone.”

  “What ghosts?” Shocked, Jackson’s eyes darted around the empty room. “Explain.”

  “This is an old house. It’s collected a few spirits.” At his raised brow, she knew she wouldn’t get away with a cryptic response. “One spirit is a man. I don’t know who he is, but he walks through the great room every evening at dusk and stands by the window brooding. I call him Mr. Darcy. There is also a spirit that lives in the hallway mirror. She appears later in the night, around midnight, and she just sits in the mirror in her fluffy white dress crying. I call her the Lady in White. And then there’s Tom Sawyer, the spirit of a young boy. He’s the only one who interacts with the living world.”

  “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

  “He’s harmless. He likes to do the typical ghostly stuff – make things move, throw things across the room, slam doors. Before my last guests left, he took all of their clothes out of their suitcases so they wouldn’t leave. He causes mischief, which is why I call him Tom Sawyer.”

  “Typical ghostly stuff.” He imitated her voice. “This is the first time I really wished I knew more about ghosts. Isn’t that sad? The famous hunter of the undead knows almost nothing about ghosts.”

  “Your show was not exactly factual on the subject.”

  “That’s the first hint I’ve had yet that you watched at least some of my show.” His lips were inches from hers and curled into a teasing smile. “I’m sure facts were not important. Toward the end especially, the producers wanted it to be more about action and special effects.”

  Since Jackson didn’t seem to have anything more to offer about Mona Black, Hannah sent him on a task to open every window in the main house. Meanwhile, she launched a new search online to find out more on Mrs. Mona Black specifically. There had to be some information on her that they could use to help her choose to cross over. Hannah scanned court records and articles about the court case.

  Mona had obviously been a woman of strong emotions. Her dark journey began at the death of her husband, which made Hannah wonder what the marriage had been like. Finally, she found a ray of hope.

  Hannah skimmed through pages and pages of a website belonging to a true crime writer. She decided to ignore the theories and focus on the gallery of photographs. Dozens of pictures filled the screen with happy times between Mona Black and her husband Seth. Holiday photos. Vacation photos.

  Seth seemed like a passive and fragile man. Even in a photograph, Hannah’s gift showed her the ghostly darkness around Seth’s eyes. He had been a man already facing death.

  Hannah didn’t need to read any more. Suicide seemed a real possibility. But could she rely on that belief?

  Jackson returned from his task. “What’s next?”

  Hannah clicked off the computer and led him to the kitchen. She paused to review her grandmother’s old journal. “Now, we smudge.”

  “Does that involve pouring salt around doors and windows?”

  “Amateur.” Hannah avoided rolling her eyes and handed him a small wrapped bundle of sage and lavender. “My grandmother followed Nativ
e American traditions. She brought home a coin once that had a particularly nasty spirit attached to it. We learned really quickly that he needed to go. The first thing she did was smudge every room in the house. It cleanses the space of negative energy, like a metaphysical reset button.”

  Carefully, Hannah lit the bundle in his hands and the one in her own.

  “I’ll take the third floor,” Jackson offered. “What do I do?”

  “Go into each room and closet and wave the sage in slow circles, letting the smoke spread throughout the room. If it flames up, blow on it to keep it smoldering. In each room, you need to repeat these words: I am cleansing this room of negative energy.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Were you expecting something in Latin?”

  “Or Native American, at least.”

  “It’s not the language that counts. It’s the confidence in how you say it. Make the room positive with your own energy.”

  Hannah cleansed the first two floors of her house and returned to the living room to extinguish the smoking sage in a bowl of water.

  Jackson returned and added his bundle to the bowl, bringing the ritual to an end. “Step three?”

  “We cast a circle.” Hannah opened a small box on the bookshelf and withdrew her grandmother’s spirit stick, supposedly blessed by an Indian medicine man. Moving the coffee table out of their way, she drew a circle on the rug.

  “It didn’t make a mark. We can’t see the circle.”

  “We don’t need to. Mona will see and feel it.”

  “You seem like you’ve done this before.”

  “Never.” Hannah wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down the side of her face. “I only watched my grandmother do it once, and I was maybe ten years old at the time.”

  “What happens next?”

  Hannah took the extra bundles of mistletoe and bells she’d made the other day and hung them around the room for a little boost in protective energy. “According to my grandmother’s journal – we ask Mona to join us.”