Posts Tagged paranormal
So, this is it! The secret project I’ve been toiling away at, inspired by my visit to St. Pete. The release date is still two or three weeks away but I just had to share the amazing talent of this cover artist, India Drummond with you. Isn’t it fabutabistica!!!! It’s so amazing, I’m making up words!
If you are an indie author looking for a cover design, I highly recommend India. You can find her here: http://www.indiadrummond.com/
If you are a fan of cozy mysteries with a bit of magic…stay tuned!
One of my favorite things to do when I visit a new town is take the ghost tour. Recently, we visited St. Petersburg, where I promptly fell in love with the city and set my new sekrit mystery series there. So, since I’ve been hard at work on the novels instead of friday flash stories, thought I’d share some ghost pics with you in lieu of actual writing.
This is one of lots of photos I snapped inside an old hotel on the St. Pete tour. Just a regular picture, right?:
Upon close inspection, it seems like something or someone was watching us in the window:
How creepy is THAT face??? And, although I’m not a big believer in orbs, this one seems particularly out of place:
As a bonus, here’s a photo snapped in Nemacolin Castle in Brownsville, PA by my mom during a ghost tour a few years back:
And a close up of the mirror in that photo:
Hard to be a skeptic, right? Or do you see something different?
Fiona heard Roger come home, recognized the soft thud of his suitcase tossed on the bed.
“Fiona? Where are you, Darling?” He joined her on their bedroom balcony, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “Of course. Out here listening to the whispers of the sea again?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ve brought you something back from Ireland.” He kneeled down in front of her.
Fiona pulled her watery green eyes from the ocean to stare at his outstretched hand. Surprise reshaped her mouth.
“It’s sea glass. I thought of you the moment I saw it.”
Fiona reached out and carefully lifted a piece from his palm. A tiny vibration tickled her fingertips. “Oh,” she whispered, the surprise deepening.
“It’s good to see you smile.” He took her hand and slipped the remaining pieces of smooth, cool glass into her palm. “Like emeralds, aren’t they? The same color as your eyes.” He closed her palm around them and kissed her fingers.
Fiona gasped as a more intense vibration moved through her hand, her arm and then branched out to consume her body, warming it from the inside out. The whispers she usually had to struggle to hear were whisked into her mind by the vibrations, suddenly as clear as a bell: Hoooommmmeeee.
“Home,” she repeated.
“Yes, Darling. I’m home.”
Over the next few weeks, Roger watched as his wife blossomed. She stopped spending her days as a lost, sad soul on the balcony and began haunting their marble mansion restlessly. Her voice echoed through the rooms as she sang strange and mystical tunes with a voice so sweet, it made his heart swell, his eyes tear.
‘By fire and wind and sea and rain,
Beloved, he made me
With hands of light,
And feathers of flight
Come close, come close to thee’
He began to find more and more sea glass; in jars on the kitchen counter, on her nightstand, glittering in the potted plants and even around her neck.
She looked up from making a salad as he stood staring at her on the other side of the kitchen island.
“Yes?” she said, the corner of her mouth pushing up in a seductive smile.
Roger’s heart skipped. “Wow, Fiona, you look amazing.” And she did. Her skin glowed like a pearl, her red hair lay in waves cascading around the curves of her shoulders and her eyes…he could get lost in her eyes. They glittered with ancient secrets and the light of a million stars. Who was this woman? He moved his gaze to the sea glass necklace.
“I’m glad you liked my gift so much, Darling. Where did you get more?”
“Ebay.” Her smile widened and she moved her attention back to slicing cucumbers.
He shivered as he thought about the old village woman he had bought the sea glass from and her broken English warning:
‘In the wrong hands, it will bring out one’s true nature. Connect that person to their imprisoned soul.’
Well, if this was his wife’s true nature, he thought as he looked lovingly upon the gorgeous creature in front of him, then he could live with the old lady’s warning coming to fruition.
Or so he thought.
“Fiona?” he called, peeling off his wet tie and dress shirt. “I’m home. That’s some storm out there, huh?” No answer. Steam was seeping from beneath the bathroom door. “Fiona?” He opened the door cautiously. Through the steam, he could see his wife stretched out in the spa tub, unmoving. His heart did a back flip in his chest. It seemed he was moving in slow motion as he crossed the white tiled floor, tripping over emptied cans of sea salt to stand above her body.
Her eyes were closed, her hair fanned out around her like fire, her skin an eerie green glow. It took him a moment to realize the color was coming from all the sea glass she was laying on. The tub was half full with it. And then he noticed something that horrified him. He could barely take in a breath. His mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing. Falling to his knees, he peered through the water at the large cuts in her abdomen, beneath her ribs. Open wounds so deep he could see the pink of her organs.
“Oh my god, Fiona,” he cried, his hands moving helplessly in the air. Shock giving way to grief. Should he try to lift her? Should he try CPR? Where was the blood?
“What did you do?” And then he cocked his head and leaned closer, his face inches from the water. There was slight movement. The cuts were opening and closing. Almost like she was breathing…
He glanced at her face as her eyes popped opened. Her lips parted in a grotesque smile that exposed a mouth full of pointy teeth.
Roger screamed and thrashed as she tore flesh from bone, feasting until the twitching stopped and the only sound was the storm still raging outside.
And then she began to sing.
I should have known the sweet sound of jazz music wafting from a town all-but closed up for the night would be trouble. I should have made Lizbeth walk to the next town when our car engine refused to turn over at the gas station. I should have got down on one knee and slipped that damn diamond ring onto her finger right there in front of the ninety year old deaf gas station attendant. What I did instead was let her lead us right into our last moments together.
“What are you thinking about?” Lizbeth purrs at me now.
‘I hope you can’t read my mind,’ is what I’m thinking. I glance at her. She isn’t smiling. I don’t bother answering her. What’s the use? Instead, I think about the last time I saw her smile.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be an adventure.” She had said, pulling at my arm.
“I don’t know. What about the car?”
“Well, it’s not going anywhere tonight, obviously.”
“Fine.” I wasn’t too upset. I enjoyed giving her what she wanted. In exchange I got her smile.
As we walked down the sidewalk, hand in hand, passed the closed shops, palm trees swaying above us, I began to think maybe this was the universe…fate or whatever giving me a romantic place to pop the question. I stroked the ring in my pocket, feeling good about my secret.
Warm light, cigar smoke and jazz poured out of the opened door. We stepped in and glanced around. The place was cozy. A couple of tables with red velvet table clothes, flickering candles, a long bar with a few patrons grooving along with the music. The bartender watched us take a seat at an empty table and nodded at the waitress.
We were huddled together with a small paper menu in front of the candlelight. I had never heard of any of the wines on there.
“Evening, folks. What can I get you?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Well, we have a good honey wine if you want simple.” At this point I saw her eyes dart to the bartender. “Or the raspberry delight is good if you want something frozen.”
Why did she seem so nervous?
“I didn’t know you could make wine out of honey,” Lizbeth said.
“You can make wine out of things you wouldn’t believe,” the waitress mumbled.
“Well, I’ll try the honey wine.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Water, please.” I don’t know why, but I was suddenly feeling like I needed to stay on my toes.
Halfway through that glass of honey wine, Lizbeth gasped. “Oh, isn’t that just exquisite!”
I was still thinking about the fact I had never heard her use the word “exquisite” before as she got up and lifted a black and gold mask from the corner of the bar. She was turning it back and forth, admiring it as it glittered in the candlelight. I stuck a finger in my ear and shook my head like a dog. What is that? Voices? It sounded like thousands of whispering voices entwined in the music and they were getting louder.
“Liz?” I called. The bartender was standing in front of her now. I thought maybe he was going to tell her she wasn’t suppose to be touching the décor, but instead he motioned to her and she lifted it to her face. “Oh, Lizbeth.” I stood up, feeling anxious and realizing that the voices had stopped, but so had the music. I glanced around and everyone was smiling at Lizbeth.
She suddenly whirled around and my heart skipped a few hundred beats. The mask was moving, molding itself to her face. It didn’t seem solid, more like gold and silver threads as fine as spider webs spreading in waves over her face. Her eyes were closed. My feet felt like lead. I watched helplessly as the bartender came around the bar, kneeled down on one knee before her and held up a glass of red wine. Without opening her eyes, she accepted the glass and titled it toward her lips.
“She has been chosen.” The waitress was standing behind me. Her words knocked me in the back of the head like a baseball bat and I fell forward, my feet suddenly free.
I pushed the bartender to one side and grabbed her by the shoulders. She dropped the empty glass and her eyes popped open. I fell back. Her eyes were slick black orbs, shiny and wet.
“Oh my god.”
I watched in disbelief as they began to dull and shift to a cool green.
She smiled at me then. “I accept. I will be your god.”
The mask seemed to lose its shine, too and she reached up and plucked it off her face, tossing it back onto the bar. I couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, stained red, a stringy chuck of something stuck in her tooth.
“You have something,” I motioned to my own teeth, “stuck…”
“Enough,” she hissed. The music started back up and she walked to the door. “Come, I’m ready to see the world.”
She stepped out into the moonlight. The waitress slipped in front of me and placed something hard and warm between my palms.There were tears in her eyes. I moved toward the door on shaky legs, glancing at the tiny glass perfume bottle in my hands. As I slipped it in my pocket, I heard it clink against the ring and almost broke right there.
I didn’t. I’m being strong.
“Oooo,” she gasped, placing a warm hand on my leg. “Pull in, over there. I want to try one of those.”