Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
TO STOP
A SHADOW
CARRIE PULKINEN
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
To Stop a Shadow
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Carrie Pulkinen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Edited by Victoria Miller
Cover Art by Leah Kaye Suttle
www.CarriePulkinen.com
First Edition, 2017
Published in the United States of America
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Get a FREE Copy of Sweet Release
Other Titles
About the Author
DEDICATION
For Michel. I couldn’t have finished this book without you. I love you forever…in this life and the next.
CHAPTER ONE
Snow crunched under Trent Austin’s black dress shoes, the cutting February wind stinging his eyes, as he made his way to the front steps of the 1889 Victorian home. Peeling paint, once bright green, littered the half-rotten porch in a dingy, lead-filled mess. He exhaled a curse and took a step back to examine his new burden.
The grimy-gray gingerbread trim framing the door and every window probably used to be white. Arches of the same curling pattern accented the top of the porch and the eave. The three-story structure could have been quaint and inviting in its prime. Now it sat vacant and crumbling near the back of the property, rows of hedges and willow trees obscuring it from the street. The isolation of the house and the darkening sky above made it appear more like a scene from a horror movie than the lush, Victorian mansion it once was.
Trent ascended the stairs, stepping lightly on the creaky wood panels to avoid putting a foot through the floor. He slid the key into the lock and twisted the knob. The hinges creaked as the door swung open, the knob pulling from his hand as if someone on the other side yanked it from his grasp. Definitely like a horror film.
He peered inside. Hollow darkness greeted him. Haunting. A shiver ran down his spine, and it wasn’t from the chilling winter air whispering through the trees.
The whole scene creeped him out.
His great-uncle, Jack Austin, had died in the living room two weeks earlier, and his will had granted the house to Trent. He’d only met the man a handful of times, and the hostility he’d felt from his uncle made those few encounters more than enough. The man was off. Perpetually mad at the world. Insanity didn’t run in the family, but Uncle Jack could have been an exception.
And judging from the ghoulish condition of his house, disturbed seemed like an appropriate description of Jack. Trent had always thought his great-uncle menacing. The unnatural silence engulfing the home only intensified the feeling.
He hesitated at the threshold, almost afraid to cross it. What if Jack’s spirit still lingered inside? What if the basement was full of bodies, and their spirits were crouching in the shadows, waiting to attack?
If someone had asked him if he believed in ghosts four months ago, he would have laughed. He’d never given the idea much thought until he encountered one himself. Now, not only did he believe in ghosts, but he also believed in the power they could exert over the living. The way spirits could control people. Destroy their lives. He’d seen it firsthand. And if his uncle had left him the house so he could haunt him…
Get a grip, man. Don’t be an ass.
He stepped one foot into the foyer and held his breath. He reluctantly pulled the other foot in and flipped on the light switch before he exhaled. The stale, musty scent of mold and dust made his stomach turn. The place would have to be aired out before anyone would consider buying it. The smell of death—or what he imagined death would smell like—still lingered in the air. He shuddered.
He hung his coat on the rack to his left. The dark, cherry wood stand reached nearly six feet high and had intricately carved, claw-like feet with talons that looked like they could slice open a whale. Not the most inviting piece to welcome guests into a home. Then again, Uncle Jack didn’t seem like the type of man who’d had many visitors.
Immediately to the right lay the living room. Blood-red upholstered furniture stood on clawed feet that almost matched the sinister-looking coat rack. The whole room had an eerie feel to it. Of course, that was probably because all the drapes were drawn. Hanging from tarnished brass rods, the heavy, dust-filled, crimson curtains appeared to be velvet and had dirty, gold tassels that brushed the hardwood floor.
The dark, papered walls and cherry wood enhanced the gloomy aesthetic of the space, making it look more like a chamber from Dracula’s crypt than an old man’s living room.
“A little light ought to cheer this place up. Maybe.”
Before he could take a step toward the window, an icy breath on the back of his neck stopped him cold. His stomach tightened as the first tendrils of dread crawled up his spine, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This house is old. It’s just a draft. He opened his eyes and moved forward. A frigid hand grasped his shoulder.
He froze, his breath stopping mid-inhale, his heart rate speeding into a sprint. It was his imagination. It had to be. He’d let his mind run wild since his encounter with the ghost in his friend Logan’s house three months ago, but he had to control it now. He would not lose his shit in this dilapidated mansion. “Leave me alone.” His voice came out much steadier than anticipated, and he straightened his spine, relaxing his shoulders.
The hand lifted. The cold breath dissipated. Was it gone?
Yeah, right. He had to turn around. Had to face whatever it was that didn’t want him opening the windows. He held his breath; every muscle in his body tensed as he slowly pivoted, ready to bolt at the first sign of a spirit. His eyes widened as he found himself face to face with the coat rack.
He shook his head. Paranoid idiot.
“H
ey, buddy. I don’t suppose that was you breathing down my neck?” He chuckled. “Nah. You’re just a block of wood, aren’t you?” He patted the bulbous top of the stand.
Ever since he’d helped Logan vanquish the ghost from his house, he’d had the disturbing feeling he was being watched. Like he’d opened himself up to spirits, and they were slowly creeping into his life, waiting for the right moment to scare him to death.
Not that he’d encountered one since then, but something deep in his gut warned him that his run-ins with spirits were far from over. Especially now that his best friend was engaged to a psychic medium.
Satisfied the icy breath was nothing more than a draft, he took half a step toward the window. Before he could plant his foot, the coat rack fell—no, flew—into his shoulder, missing the side of his head by mere inches. The stand skidded across the wood floor and landed five feet away.
Trent turned on his heel and sprinted out the door. There was no way in hell he was sticking around to see what had pushed that coat rack. Whatever it was, it didn’t want him going near the window.
He jumped into his car and slammed the door. Once he pulled back onto the road, his erratic breathing finally slowed. There had to be a logical explanation. It wasn’t a ghost. The house was old and drafty. The floor was uneven. The coat rack had fallen over…like the door had swung open on its own.
Could it have been the spirit of Uncle Jack? Was it a ghost at all? It didn’t matter. He didn’t plan to keep the house very long. In fact, the quicker he could get rid of the decrepit heap, the better. He’d put it on the market as soon as he found a real estate agent willing to take it. It wouldn’t be an easy sell, so he’d have to hire someone good.
A slow smile curved his lips as a name danced through his mind. He knew just the agent for the job.
* * *
Tina Sanders sat across from her best friend in a little café in downtown Detroit. The bright lights, cheerful yellow décor, and bustle of the lunch crowd should have been a welcome distraction, but a phone call from Trent a few days ago still had her mind reeling. She toyed with her napkin as she tried to calm the flutter in her heart. She hadn’t heard from him in nearly three months. Not since she blew him off after the ghost incident at Logan’s house.
She hadn’t actually dumped him because of the ghost, but being a grounding force that sent a spirit to the other realm had been a good excuse to get out of that relationship before it started. When she looked at Trent, all she saw was forever. And forever was something she refused to commit to.
She chewed her bottom lip and glanced at Allison. “There are tons of real estate agents in Ann Arbor.”
“I’m sure there are, babe, but he called you. He’s got his reasons, whatever they are.” Allison patted Tina’s hand. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“Says the queen of overanalyzing.”
Allison laughed. “You got that right. Now show your queen some respect and pass the pepper.”
Tina handed her the shaker. Thinking things through, weighing all the options, analyzing. Those were all good traits. There was nothing wrong with contemplating the man’s motivations. “I’d just like to know what his reasons are.”
Why did he call her? Was it because he was still interested? Could he be trying to reconnect? Or was it the simple fact that she was good at her job?
Allison took a bite of her salad and tapped the fork against her lips. “Maybe it’s because you could sell water to a drowning person. Trent’s a man of action. He gets things done quickly. If he needs a property sold, he knows you’re the best person to do it. And if he happens to have an ulterior motive, all the better.”
Tina sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to call him back.”
Allison dropped her fork, wiped her hands on her napkin, and dabbed the red cloth on the edges of her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, and then she closed it and shook her head.
“What?” Tina braced herself for the tough love that was sure to spill from Allison’s lips. “Go ahead and say it, Allie. You know you want to.”
“I don’t know.” Allison shrugged. “You and Trent seemed to really hit it off before. He’s a great guy, and—”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
Trent was an amazing guy. He was smart, funny, and incredibly sexy. His deep chocolate eyes smoldered with a heat so intense, Tina’s heart melted every time his gaze caught hers. And his wavy, dark brown hair beckoned her to run her fingers through it. She couldn’t think of a single reason not to like him. Except for that forever problem. When it came to her heart, she could think of a million and one reasons not to give it away.
“Oh, don’t be such a weenie. Call the man.” Allison took Tina’s phone and dialed Trent’s number.
Tina snatched it out of her hands. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I won’t.”
Allison tilted her head to cast Tina a sympathetic gaze. “We both know you will, so quit being stubborn. All you have to do is press the little green button.”
Tina narrowed her eyes. “You’re a bitch. You know that, Allie?”
“That’s why you love me.”
Tina swallowed, took a deep breath, and pressed the button. She didn’t exhale as she listened to it ring. One, two, three times. Please go to voicemail. It rang a fourth time.
“Hello?” Trent’s voice flowed like warm rum and honey, and Tina’s heart raced as she tried to form some semblance of a coherent sentence. She cut her gaze to Allison, who gestured for Tina to speak.
“Um, hi, Trent. It’s Tina. Returning your call. You had a house for me to look at?” She held her breath again, her insides twisting into a knot.
“Yeah. I inherited it from my great-uncle, though I have no idea why. Anyway, it’s in ill repair, and I want to get rid of it. Maybe one of those house flippers or someone will want it. Can you help me out?”
Listening to the familiar cadence of his voice, the knot in Tina’s chest relaxed. Something about the way he spoke always seemed to have a calming effect on her. She could breathe again. “Sure. I can take a look at it. When do you want to meet?”
“The sooner, the better. I don’t have time to deal with a run-down shit hole. But I’ve got meetings all week. Are you available now?”
Her breath caught. He couldn’t be serious. She wasn’t ready to see him again. She needed time to prepare. To make sure her walls were securely in place so her heart didn’t fall to pieces as soon as she laid eyes on him. “Uh, now? As in right now?” She looked at Allison and pleaded with her gaze. If anyone could get her out of this mess, Allison could. But all her friend did was grin.
“Yes,” Trent said. “But if it’s too short of notice, I understand.”
“No, no.” Tina let out a nervous giggle. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Great. Are you at home? I can pick you up.”
“I think I better drive myself. You know, in case I need to look around the neighborhood. See what other houses are going for.” And because she might need to make a quick get-away if things got too heavy.
“No problem. I’ll see you in about an hour. You still have the message with the address?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” He paused, his deep inhale resonating in her ear, sounding far more intimate than it should have. “And, Tina? I’m so glad you called me back.”
“Uh-huh.” She pressed the end button and glared at her friend.
Allison returned her gaze with a smug smile. “I’m proud of you, girlfriend.”
“He said he was glad I called back.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, of course he’s glad. Get up, put some powder on that shiny nose, get your ass to the car, and call me as soon as you’re done.”
Jeez Louise, what was she thinking? It had been easy to forget about Mr. Perfect as long as she avoided him completely. Now, the mere thought of seeing him again had the worms in her can banging on t
he lid to open it. What was she getting herself into?
She rose from her seat and nodded to her friend. She was a grown woman who knew how to handle herself around a man. She could do this.
CHAPTER TWO
It had taken Tina three days to call him back. Three days for him to dwell on the incident at the manor. Three days for Trent to convince himself that his imagination had taken over. The coat rack had fallen and the door had swung open because the floor was uneven. That’s all there was to it. No entities—evil or otherwise—waited for him inside that house. Still, he hadn’t brought himself to venture back inside it.
And now he was meeting Tina there. A fluttering sensation formed in his stomach as he pictured her sensuous smile. Was he insane? Three months ago, they seemed to have had something going for them. Mutual attraction, good times, friends in common. It was the perfect foundation for a relationship, but, just as they were getting close, Tina had called it off without warning. She’d all but slammed the door in his face the last time he’d tried to talk to her.
And she wouldn’t give him a reason. Not a real one. She’d blamed it on the ghost, saying it disturbed her so much she needed to get away from everyone involved. Everyone except her best friend, Allison. And Allison’s fiancé, Logan, who happened to be Trent’s best friend.
Yeah, it was obvious the only person she wanted to get away from was Trent. So why did he call her when he needed a real estate agent?
Because she was the best.
That’s what he told himself, anyway. He was over her. No, there was nothing to get over because they’d never really gotten started.
As he grabbed his keys and locked the front door to his two-bedroom bungalow on the outskirts of the city, he replayed in his mind the events of his first visit to the manor. The drafty old house. The unlevel foundation. No doubt his encounter with the “spirit” was his imagination. He’d explained away any sliver of dread that remained days ago.
To Stop a Shadow Page 1
