The Guest House Hauntings Boxset
Page 1
The Guest House Hauntings Boxset
Hazel Holmes
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
The Haunting of Bell Mansion
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
1
“Mommy, I really don’t feel well,” Olivia said, her pale skin sweaty and red. Her sweet blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, were heavy with fear and exhaustion. She’d never been so sick in her life, and her mother felt helpless as she faced her daughter, unsure of how to cure this. Olivia had only been sick for a couple of days, but it had hit hard and trampled through both children.
“I know, baby.” She put a cold cloth up to her daughter’s forehead. Her light curls were wet with sweat, though she shivered under her blanket. “The medicine will help you, okay? You just need to get some rest. Can you eat any more of that soup I made you?”
“I can try.” She eyed the bowl cautiously. She had thrown up earlier that day, but her mother hoped the ginger tea would help her keep this meal down.
“Good girl.” She kissed the top of her forehead and soothed her with soft murmurs and kind touches while she ate.
As Lyla tended to her daughter, Richard sat with his son in his room, reading him a story of pirates and their grand adventures. Kyle was so involved in the story that he too was finally eating the only thing they could even get him to try, pepperoni pizza. His stomach was handling everything a bit better than Olivia’s was, but he also had a fever and was exhausted. He stayed awake for twenty minutes at most. Long enough for him to eat his pizza, drink chocolate milk, take some medicine, and fall asleep again.
His hair, dark as his mother’s, was messy. His father’s brown eyes were a little better rested than Olivia’s. He was just as pale though. Still very under the weather.
“Dad, when do you think I’ll feel better?” he asked. He was eight years old, three years older than his sister, which made him just old enough to understand he probably had the flu. He also understood that he had never felt this sick before.
“Soon,” Richard assured him. “You know how these winters are up here. We should’ve kept you home from school when all those other kids were getting sick.” He shook his head. “I swear, this place is a breeding ground for germs. This winter has been the worst.
“But I think you’re getting out of the thick of it. You always feel your worst before you get better. You’ve just got to be tough for a little while longer, okay? You need to make sure to eat up and get plenty of rest. I’m sure by the weekend you’ll be back to playing and annoying your sister.”
“She’s the one who annoys me!” he protested. Richard laughed.
“I personally think you’re both annoying,” he teased.
Lyla and Richard stayed with their children until they both slipped back into sleep. Then they joined each other in the living room in front of the massive stone fireplace. The warm flames danced across the red walls, reminding Lyla of a heartbeat. Her life was contained in these four walls and it was most upsetting when things were disrupted like this.
“Do you think we should bring them to the doctor?” she asked. “I’ve never seen them this sick. What if it’s more than the common cold?”
“It’s definitely more than the common cold,” Richard agreed. “It’s still nothing to worry about too much though. Looks like a bad case of the flu. It’s been making its way around town lately. Sam caught it too. Passed it onto Brittany last I heard.”
“Poor thing. I guess it is to be expected at this time of year. It’s just… I don’t know, I hate seeing my babies like this. Maybe if they wake up again…”
“Tonight?” he asked. She nodded. “Lyla, the only thing open tonight is the emergency room. We can’t bring them to the emergency room over the flu. Maybe if they’re not better soon we can take them to the doctor, but I feel like you’re getting a little too worked up over it.
“I don’t like seeing them like this either. No parent wants to see their children sick. But we’ve all lived through these types of illnesses before. It’s part of being human. I’m sure they’ll pass it on to us and then they’ll be better in no time. The worst of winter will be over soon enough, and we’ll forget all about it as spring kicks in.”
“I suppose. It just seems worse this time than usual. It’s hit them hard. I worry it’s something more serious.”
“I understand that. If it were just one of them who was feeling this way, I’d be more concerned that something more serious was wrong. But seeing as it’s both, looks like an awful case of the flu.
“It always seems worse each time because we love them so much. But hey, how about if they don’t feel at least a little better by tomorrow, we’ll call the doctor about it? If he says we need to bring them in, we will. I’ll bet they’ll be feeling a bit better by morning though. A good night’s rest always works magic.”
“I can agree to that,” she said.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he promised. He kissed her on the top of her head. They settled down for a movie that they were far too distracted to really watch, consumed by their worry for their children.
2
Sweat dripped off Ezra’s blond hair and into his bright, focused blue eyes. The pan sizzled in front of him, sending heat up to his muscular arms. People yelled out warnings and instructions around him, the smell of dozens of dishes fighting for his nose’s
attention. Saturday night. The restaurant was packed and thanks to the crazy prices they charged, the diners expected perfection.
The pressure settled over Ezra’s shoulders, a persistent voice in his ear. It was as constant as his heartbeat, as natural as breathing. Not only had he learned to live with it; he loved it. The thrill, the frustration, the deadlines, the constant demands to work faster, harder, pump out flawless dishes. Each night was a challenge, and he was eager to take on the task.
As the head chef, he didn’t get a chance to cook every night or even most nights. He was busy with other parts of managing the back of the house. Becoming a head chef was his dream, or he thought it was. But he missed cooking. Making delicious dishes was his passion. Nights like tonight gave him an excuse to return to his roots.
One of their best cooks had gone home sick. For the third night in a row. He’d be fired, of course, but that left them short a cook. So, Ezra had put his sous chef in charge of calling out orders and he got on the line. They had important diners coming in that night, and the owner of the restaurant would actually kill him if their meals were messed up. So, he was secretly grateful for the opportunity to work alongside his team.
He started up another frying pan, reached for the olive oil. As he focused on what he was cooking, the sous chef’s orders went into his ears and out through his hands. An orchestra of sorts with his co-workers and the ingredients they were given.
They were making magic in this kitchen.
The sous chef cursed as the front of the house seated way more diners than they could serve. A few cooks around him got frazzled, but Ezra never did. He was so focused that at first, he hadn’t noticed the front of the house manager had come into his kitchen.
“Ezra!” he called out, for the second time in a row. He didn’t dare walk behind the cooks. He learned that lesson the hard way a couple of years ago. “I need to speak with you.”
“Really, Vince?” Ezra asked, barely looking up from the stove. “You see the tickets on the board. Can’t it wait?”
“No.” Ezra looked up and saw the stern stubbornness on Vincent’s face. He sighed. Vincent wouldn’t want him out of the kitchen for no reason. It would cause him as much trouble as it would bring to them. He knew it must be serious.
“Liam, cover me,” Ezra ordered. “I’ll be back ASAP.”
“Behind!” Ezra called out, weaving around his team as he went over to Vince.
“You have a phone call,” Vince said.
“You should’ve told them to call back later.”
“It’s serious.”
The look on pity on Vince’s face made Ezra’s heart pound.
“Is Clara…”
“She’s fine,” Vince assured him “Just go take the call.”
Ezra rushed to his office before his mind could spin into awful possibilities. He reached the phone, hoping it’d be something simple so he could get back to work. He hated even taking this moment to deal with stuff, and if Clara were okay it couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Hello?”
“Ezra,” his sister’s voice surprised him. They didn’t speak as often as they probably should’ve, and she never called him at work. No one ever called him at work.
“Rebecca? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dad,” she said, her voice shaky with sadness. “He… he passed away.”
Complicated feelings that remained buried under the layers of Ezra’s life wormed their way up into his mind. He pushed them down for so long they were a jumbled mess now. Helplessly entangled. He couldn’t quite work though them. Couldn’t piece together anything well enough to know how he felt about this. How he should respond.
Shock dazed him. He didn’t think about his father much and he hadn’t seen this coming.
“What do you mean? Was he sick or something? What happened?” He asked because it sounded like the right thing to say. He didn’t actually care to know.
“All the stress and bad eating habits caught up to him,” she said. “He died of a heart attack that came on suddenly. I didn’t even know he was having problems with his heart.”
“I didn’t even know he had a heart.” Ezra regretted the response the second he said it. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Ezra!” she shrieked. “He just died! How could say something like that?”
“Sorry. You know it’s complicated though. I guess I haven’t worked through everything yet.”
“I haven’t worked through it all either,” she sniffled. “Still, you should have some respect. He is our father.”
Was. Ezra caught himself before saying that out loud.
“Brad and I are heading to Kaden and Maria’s house so we can be together as a family. Will you and Clara be coming?”
He knew what was expected. He knew what a good son would do. What a good brother would do.
“I really can’t. I’m sorry, but it’s just so busy here tonight. Maybe we can stop by when I get out of work?”
He was always exhausted when he left work. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he didn’t want to be too much of a jerk.
“Seriously? They won’t let you leave early knowing your father died?”
“They’re really tough on us here. Being the head chef means everything to me. I need this job.”
“They’re not going to fire you over that.”
Ezra didn’t respond. Rebecca sighed.
“I never knew you to be such a workaholic. Family should come first.”
Family had never come first to his father though. Not since his mother died.
“I’ll head over after work.”
“Fine.”
She hung up the phone. Ezra took a deep breath. Piled dirt back over the memories and nasty feelings. The best way to forget was to drown himself in his work. He left his office.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Vincent said, approaching him as soon as he came out. “If I had known, I would’ve gotten you right away. Kyle agreed to cover for you so you can be home with your family.”
“I’m good,” Ezra said. “They don’t need me right now. I’ll go home once service is done.”
“We appreciate your dedication, but you really don’t need to do that. I lost my father a couple of years ago. I had to take three weeks off work and I still didn’t feel ready to return. Losing a parent is so tough to go through, no matter how old you are. We all understand you need time. The kitchen will be fine.”
“Vince,” Ezra stopped and looked him straight in the eyes, “I’m staying. I need to get through this service.”
Vince was speechless for a moment. He’d never seen someone react to the loss of a parent in this way and he felt heartless for not making him leave. Yet there seemed to be something else there. Something he couldn’t quite understand.
“Okay,” he said. “Do you at least want time to talk to your wife about it?”
“I’ll tell her when I get home.”
He went back to the line and became so focused he almost forgot he ever had a father at all.
3
“Would it be bad if I said you look beautiful?” Ezra asked, as Clara stood in front of him in a long black dress covered in lace. She looked like a gothic queen, her black hair falling in waves in front of her green eyes. Tall, pale, and slender. She was a complete contrast to him, something that almost barred them from getting together in the first place.
They were quite the couple though. As they talked more, they found they had a lot in common. They both loved the light and had a dark side. Together was the only time they felt like they found a place to fit.
“Yes,” she said. He stood behind her and moved back her hair, kissed the raven on her shoulder. Evermore was tattooed on his shoulder, a testament to their literary love. “Though you look pretty handsome too in your black suit. Why is it we dress up during the worst and best moments of our lives?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. To be respectful I suppose. Or to really test people’s stre
ngth. I can’t tell you how difficult it was to put on a suit and pull myself together for my mother’s funeral. And it feels like it was simply for other people, because I think she would’ve understood if it was difficult for us to put together a suit, comb our hair, try to be strong.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Clara said. She turned around and hugged him.
Ezra’s father had raised him to always be strong, to never let his emotions show. With Clara it was different though. With her he felt safe enough to be himself. Safe enough to fall apart. She never picked him apart, and he always stood a little strong once he admitted his weakness.
He held onto her tightly. Breathed in her earthy scent. Her warmth reminded him of his mother in a way. She had much more compassion than her husband and was always intuitive about the emotions of those she loved. He knew she would’ve loved Clara.
“Thank you,” he said as they parted. He wiped away a tear.