The Storyteller's Muse

Her wedding day. The time every girl dreams of, arriving late in Sara's life but here it was, all the same. She pulled the veil down over her face. Her large eyes loomed behind the gauze, filled with astonishment that it was finally happening. She and David were getting married.

He moved in as soon as they arrived back after delivering Margot to her brother. More as an escape from an angry wife than any other reason. They co-habited like brother and sister for a time, until one night he leaned over on the couch and kissed her. The rest was history. She was happy. But a shadow dulled her joy...the presence of  Justin lurking in the corners. She'd hadn't seen him. That was true. But an other-worldly aura still draped the house in feelings of yesterday, yesterday longing to be set free.  Did she imagine the tread of his heavy buckled shoes brushing along the floor. Or was it a sound locked in time never intending to leave the premises? Could Justin be embedded in the memory clouds of this old house as well, brushing by in a cold draft or a flash of light when least expected?

Wedding plans took her mind off the problem. But now that would soon be over, and she and David would return to the Victorian to live the sublime quiet life. Or would it be quiet? She wouldn't be surprised if Justin made the floor boards rumble or some such nonsense to protest her marriage.

"Sara, are you ready?" It was Brigid hovering in the open doorway, in from England to celebrate her friends' marriage.  Time to begin.

She walked down the aisle on rubbery legs as all eyes watched. But it was a dream. The scent of  white roses cavorting in free-spirited leaps and bounds with organ music sent her heart racing.  Spying David settled her, evoking a tear of intense emotions. She'd waited so long for him. Their gazes met, melding.

The pastor's words were a rumble as they exchanged rings. She murmured her vows in a torrent of excitement until finally the pronouncement rung clear, "I now pronounce you man and wife."

Immediately upon entering the Victorian, when David carried her over the threshold, Sara sensed Justin. A chilly, familiar draft brushed her, like a strange movement.

"He's here."

"Huh? Who?" Her new husband scanned the room in alarm.

"Justin. I can feel him. He's here."

"I thought  you said you hadn't seen him around. We thought he'd finally moved on." David's intelligent eyes focused with concern. "You don't think he'll bother us, do you?"

"Well, he hasn't all this time we've been living here, why should he now?"

"Because, my dear, now you've married him. How could you?"  Justin appeared in his resplendent glory. At first a filmy gauze, then brighter and more real.

"My God! Sara, I can see him!" David murmured. "This is extraordinary."

"Yes, my old foe. I am extraordinary. That's why I don't understand why Sara would marry you instead of staying close to me."

Sara broke in. "Justin, besides the fact you're a ghost. You chose to live eternity with that other woman."

"Yes, my dear. But I haven't joined her yet. I wished we could spend some time here, in this house, enjoying each other's company.  I find the finality of this marriage of yours upsets me." His figure flashed in and out with blinding bolts of color. "I'm thinking I do not intend to leave, to leave you two with any peace. I'm here to stay."

David stepped forward. "Justin, I will not have you threatening us. We're not afraid of you. You're nothing more than a blast of hot air, and  if you think you can intimidate us, think again."

"Oh, the new husband is quite a lofty fellow. Are  you threatening me, my friend?"

"I'm just telling you to stay out of our way. If you truly love this lady as  you say you do, you would want her to be happy, and you need to let her go."

"Let her go! Never!"

Sara's outrage exploded. "Will two please quit talking about me like I'm some helpless waif? I can make up my own mind and take care of myself. Justin, I've made up my mind." She held up her hand,  pointing to her wedding band. "I've married David. End of story."

Justin's image wavered before coming back in true colors. He stood poised, stroking his chin, his mischievous eyes surveying her until he sighed, not a little sigh, but a long heartfelt disappointed moan. "My dear," he said. "Your new husband has made a valid point. I shall back away from you and give you peace." He paused, stroking the chin in short nervous movements. "But I cannot go; I cannot leave you.  I'll be here for a time...in the shadows...watching  your movements, savoring your perfume, breathing in your graceful beauty."

David bolted forward. "Hey, stop talking like that about my wife!"

Justin raised his hand in defiance, then continued. "I'll be here, but I won't bother you...unless you want me to." He shot Sara an endearing smile. "Simply call my name, and I'll come," he added in a murmur. With that being said, the ghost disappeared in a puff of vapors. Sara and  David stood, stunned. Finally, David spoke.

"Should we be alarmed?"

"I don't know."

He grabbed her in his arms. "Well, here  we are--you, me, this grand Victorian...and the resident ghost."

"Yeah. It should be quite a party."

THE END

The Storyteller's Muse  - Chapter 21, Pt. 1

"I'm not certain," David replied. "We walked in the room. You saw Margot and you fainted. Luckily, I had some smelling salts for Margot handy. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I guess. I just had a bad dream or vision or something." The episode with its eerie, yet romantic revelations had set her heart on fire. Touching her lip, the warmth of "Stephen's" sensuous kiss lingered. She studied David. His lively, intelligent face denied the stark implications of his graying hair. Did she love David as Jessica loved Stephen? Of course she did. She always had. It took a trip to another dimension for her to admit the simple truth.

"I called Margot's family in Britain. Her brother is flying over to take her back. I promised I'd meet him at the airport tonight around 10:00. You're welcome to come along if you'd like."

Sara nodded. She felt overwhelmed with the need to be near this remarkable man.

Driving Margot to the airport proved to be dreadful. The woman cried the entire time and no amount of comforting words helped. It was with great pleasure she and David turned Margot over to the care of her brother. Sara missed being in the quiet of her own car with only her old familiar Justin for company. That flighty spirit had pulled one of his disappearing acts again. She hadn't seen him since the surreal episode in the motel room. 

Later, in the car they finally got to speak frankly about what happened.

"I could tell from the energy in the room something was going on," David said.

"Well, you got that right," Sara replied. "Margot seemed to see everything."

"Well, after speaking with her brother, I discovered she has psychic powers of some sort." He turned to her. "She sees ghosts, in other words. She has always been the odd duck in the family."

"I wonder why she wasn't more open with us at my place when she first saw Justin."

"Well, her brother claims she has been ridiculed her entire life because she was 'different.' So she probably hesitated to admit it to us." He paused, then shot Sara a sideways glance. "So when are you going to tell me what was happening in that room? You fainted, for Gawd's sake."

Sara blushed. "Well," she stammered. "It was a sort of unreal experience...sort of a dream."

"Well, what was happening in this 'dream?' What frightened you enough to faint?"

"Justin was in it...he threatened to shoot a man I was with..."

"A man? What man?"

"You. Well, sort of. I mean, you had a different persona, but the spirit was you. Your name was Stephen. I was different too."

The car swerved as David lost control.  "Me?" His knuckles clutched the steering wheel.

"Well, it was a dream, that's all."

"And then what happened?"

"A woman and her brother and father arrived and talked him out of it. That was when I woke up."

David didn't reply at first, then spoke. "Sara, I've been meaning to tell you. Brenda has asked me for a divorce."

The Storyteller's Muse

Chapter 20, Part 2

Sara daydreamed on a bed of soft green grass, surrounded by trees, boughs spread to make ample shade. The sky was blue  like a lover's eyes with wispy white puffs moving across. The feeling was one of absolute tranquility and isolation. Somewhere else the world spun in its busy fashion, hurling out problems like a cyclone, tormenting its inhabitants, testing their patience. Here, in this spot, time didn't exist. It was a place along the continuum where traveling souls might collide, sometimes by accident, other times by appointment. Sara's heart throbbed with  the need to meet someone. She knew this was a planned meeting; the problem was she knew not with whom.

"Jessica!" The voice was one she knew well. It had counseled her on many occasions. He called her Jessica. That was her name, after all, in this faraway time and place. And the voice, it was the voice of David. Not David's voice with his tone or diction, but the pulse and meaning screamed his identity. When he came into view, the young man didn't look like her David either, but the soul of that man shined through this fellow's brilliant blue eyes. As she reached a hand out to him, a strand of her own strangely blond hair brushed  her arm. Ah, she was not looking like herself either. And yet, this place, this man, all of it comprised a warm familiar event, a collision of the familiar that had awaited her this day.

"Stephen!" The name escaped. Calling this man "Stephen" felt right, just as did these surroundings, this thin air, a place she'd been to many times and a man she spoke to daily...long ago. A man named Stephen. They'd walked together in this sunny field many times before. She was certain.

"I thought I'd missed you today. I ran all the way here." His breath came in short gasps.

"I don't know what I'd do if you hadn't come. I would miss you so." She rose to kiss him on the cheek. He grabbed her close. She remembered. They met here every afternoon at twilight, met to profess their love in this secret place. She kissed him now with  ferocity,  remembering the intensity of their love as her tongue dug deeper...and how she was promised to another.

"You have betrayed me, my friend." The voice, edged in anger, sliced them apart. Justin, the old familiar Justin she knew, stood in front of them. He was rigid, the usual merriment of his eyes replaced by fierce animosity.

"Justin!" David looked to Sara in alarm. They'd been found out. He stammered. "I'm sorry. It just happened..."

"It just happened! I find you in the woods kissing my fiancé, and you tell me 'it just happened.'" That man looked away in pain, next pulling a gun from his vest. He turned to glare at David, lifting the weapon to aim.

"Justin, no!" Emily with her father and brother appeared. She stood now wringing her hands as her brother rushed to Justin, stopping short as Justin's grip tightened on the gun.

"I say, man! You don't want to do that," the brother murmured.

Justin shot wild eyes at the fellow.

"Justin, I thought you loved me. Why are you chasing that whore?" Emily had stepped forward.

Sara's heart thumped louder than any of their angry words. The drama playing out before her astounded one moment and engulfed her the next. This place, these people, she's seen it all before. An uneasy feeling nipped at the edges of her memory. The last time it hadn't ended well. Of that, she was certain.

"Emily, I do love you. But I love her more." Justin turned to face Sara.

"You must choose, my dear," Emily murmured. "Surely you would not give up the wealth my family has to offer you."

Justin's hand dropped, dangling the gun, as he gawked at Emily. Her father nodded knowingly while a tiny smile danced across Emily's face.

"The last time you pulled the trigger," she said, "You took my father's money but ran away chasing her instead of staying with me. I hope you will be wiser this time."

"Yes, old man! Wouldn't it be better to be a rich man rather than a murderer and a thief." A wry smile passed her father's face.

At the word "murderer," Sara felt David shudder next to her. She feared, as well, what the crazed Justin would do.

He raised the gun and pointed it at David. But the resolve had left his eyes. His hand trembled under the weight of the weapon. Finally he dropped the gun and walked to Emily. That lady smiled with assurance.

Sara shut her eyes and sighed in relief. When she opened them again, she was back in the motel room with David and Margot.

"What just happened here?" she asked.

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

(To read the previous 19 chapters, please see the Blogroll, opposite)

The Storyteller's Muse
Chapter 20, Part 1

The Storyteller's Muse

Chapter 19, part 2

When they arrived, Margot was sitting on the edge of the bed wringing her hands. The poor woman's eyes radiated despair. Dressed in wrinkled clothes with her hair flying off in all directions, it appeared she had spent most of the time lying in bed. Spying Sara, she shot up.

"Sara!" The woman's face filled with animation.

Sara stood back. What had she walked into?

"They've been asking for you! Maybe now they'll let me alone!"

Sara's pulse raced like galloping horses. A headache's pounding alarm blared in her head. Who were they? It was hard to think until unexpectedly, a comforting air washed over her...Justin! Closing her eyes, she could feel him close. When she opened them again, he stood next to her in alternating strength, sometimes full of color and next fading to nothing. But his soothing ways fueled her regardless of the strength or weakness of the vision.

"It's him!" Margot's wail sent Sara jumping, so startled she bumped into David, toppling him. That man regained his balance and stood by with a puzzled expression.

"It's that ghost from your house!" Margot whined through her tears.

As Sara rushed toward the other woman, a blast of light pounded her in the face, knocking the breath out of her and leaving her woozy as she wobbled on unsteady feet. She stood back in awe as three wavering light forms assembled in the glow, taking on pastel hues, reverberating until finally they turned into three ghostly figures. Sara blinked in surprise. Was this really happening? Was she going to faint? They were a woman and two men. The lady dressed old-fashioned with flowing skirts dusting the floor and abundant curls piled on top of her head; and the gentlemen matched her, dressing in the same style breeches and waist coats as her Justin.

Margot yelled again. "They're ghosts! I can't get rid of them! They keep appearing!"

Sara's feet were glued to the floor. She looked to Justin and his image was vibrant. With gaze fixed on the other three, he stroked his chin while cocking his head in thought.

David, in the meanwhile, darted his eyes about in confusion. "What are you looking at? I'm sensing some really strong vibes here," he said.  He could see and hear nothing.

"David, there are four ghosts in this room, and I only know one of them," Sara stated through clenched teeth. This was where she needed one of David's easy going explanations for the unexplained.

One of the male spirits stepped forward. "Well, Justin. We meet again at last."

"Yes, this is, I must say, a surprise," Justin returned, continuing his concentrated study of the others. "Emily, I see you are here," he murmured to the woman.

"You brute! I hoped never to see you again, but we do have unfinished business, do we not?"

"Touche."

The third spirit, who had remained silent, spoke. "You pitiful fop! If you weren't already dead. I'd kill you now." He lunged at Justin.

"Father!" The woman held him back.

The other fellow stepped forward. "I see you've chased down another of your conquests." He nodded toward Sara.

Hearing her name slammed Sara into the middle of it all. So she was part of this...pulling her eyes away from the dazzling sight, she scanned the room. Margot sat on the bed, as starstruck as Sara, eyes wide and face pale. David sat next to her, hugging the lady, looking perplexed.   To be continued...

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

The Storyteller's Muse

Chapter 18, Pt. 2 
  
 

A brisk wind flipped the leaves over, predicting rain, as Sara steered the car down an old country road, going faster than the law allowed. They hadn't spoken for an hour, with Justin sitting next to her, his spiritual form wavering, but ever present. It was a comfortable silence for Sara with a gentle friend, ready to help but not interfering. Finally, as road signs for Smithton appeared, she spoke.
 
"Here we are. I'm not sure where to start." The car bumped along a rocky lane leading to the center of the tiny town, revealing a main street dotted with half a dozen stores, offering the essentials. She spied a grocer, a drug store, and a hardware before spotting a small hotel. The street was dusty and empty. Sara parked in front of the hotel.
 
"I'll check in there." She paused to study Justin. "Can you...will you...come with me?"
 
"My dear, I'm always with you...in spirit."
 
She shrugged her shoulders and got out of the car. The wood frame hotel was not much to see, badly in need of paint and a carpenter, a flophouse, not the sort of place she wanted to be seen. Sara flushed with embarrassment pulling open the squeaky door by its filthy battered knob. A bald man with a grizzled face looked up as she entered. His eyes were blue marbles staring in surprise.
 
"Can I help you?" The eyes grew smaller.
 
Sara let loose a nervous cough. "I don't know. I'm looking for some people. A man and a woman. They may have been here."
 
The fellow's face darkened. "Ma'am, there are a lot of men and women who pass by here."
 
"No, I mean they would be travelers, looking for a place to stay."
 
"Those kind of folks don't stay here. They stay at motels out on the interstate."
 
"I guess I'll try there then. Thanks." Justin's face signalled a smirk as she climbed back into the driver's seat.
 
"I could have told you it was useless, but I wanted you to find out on your own," he said.
 
"You know, sometimes you make it very hard to trust you, just by virtue of what you don't bother to say."
 
"My dear, you can always trust me."
 
"A likely story." She turned to offer him a smirk. His company on this journey heartened her. But if anybody saw her talking to thin air! A Holiday Inn came into view. 
 
Justin craned his head to look at the motel. "Honestly, everything looks alike in this world of yours, no charm, no individuality."
 
"You're right about that. Boring, isn't it?" Pulling into the parking lot, her heart shivered and began a soft pounding. "I've got some really bad vibes about this place," she murmured.
 
Feeling a warmth rush through her, she looked to see Justin's hand on her arm, transparent but sending electrical bolts through her. "We've got to move forward, but I'll be with you."
 
The warmth stuck with her as she approached the front desk. Why did she have such intense feeling about this motel? They must be here.
 
It was a big spread with a bar to the side, spewing out laughter and music into the lobby like brightly colored ribbons. The man at the desk was clean-shaven with neat hair, cut short. He was younger than Sara,  exuding youthful innocence with his bright blue eyes that followed her as she walked across the room.
 
"May I help you?" 
 
Sara felt foolish. This was a clean, retail chain-driven establishment--it couldn't be more ordinary with its spotless lobby couches and shiny windows. How could a tragedy concerning David and Margot take place here?
 
"I'm looking for a man and a woman who may have checked in here. She would have a British accent, and he is an older fellow."
 
"I'm sorry. We don't give out information about our guests."
 
Devastated, Sara felt ready to freak. She hadn't traveled all this way to be done in by silly regulations. About to protest, her eyes fell on David coming off the elevator.
 
Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

Sara woke to the laughter of children playing outside. Glancing at her watch, she yawned and stretched. Then it hit her. She'd cried herself to sleep after an all-night writing session. Griffin and O'Malley had visited, too. The depression that had clenched her returned. Suffocating misery. She marched to the kitchen.

Opening and closing cupboards she searched until the tall brown bottle revealed itself, stuffed in a corner with old pots and pans. Whiskey, good Irish whiskey. Ripping off the cap, she poured a generous portion, next swallowing half in one gulp. Her throat caught fire. But it felt good. Drinking was one way to rebel against dire circumstances.

"Take that! You ghosts, goofy friends, stupid cops!" Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she was surprised by the relaxing whoosh that rushed down to her toes. Dumping there, it left her listless, feeling dead in her heart, in her mind, empty.

"My dear, it's hurtful to see you like this." 

Justin, back again, sat across the kitchen table. His image reverberated with color, fading and then growing stronger. The sight was beautiful to see, luminescent and magical. His hands were folded on the table and he leaned forward to speak in soothing tones.
 
"Darling, we can find your friends and make it right again." Flashing a smile, he cocked his head to one side.
 
 "Justin, I'm beginning to think even you can't get me out of this mess. I mean, you can't control what those people think of me, and you can't control what happens to them either."
 
"You're right. There's only so much you or I can do to influence things. But, dear lady, I know your heart. And it is a powerful force that can move mountains if it wants. It certainly moves me on occasion." With that remark, he rose and approached. Sara watched in awe as his ghostly figure moved closer, without steps but floating on air, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, hugging her.
 
When he touched, his filmy arms disappeared into transparent mist, blending into her sending a bolt through her, emotional, a warmth like she'd never felt before. Her body took up the theme and answered.  Exhilarating love raced through her with all its giddy insouciance and glittery pleasure.

The longer he hovered, the more intense the feelings, growing stronger, overtaking Sara in a crescendo, pulsating her heart in pleasuring waves.  She sighed like a school girl in love. Her entire being was his, if only for a moment. And that instant was spent in glorious communion. But the delicious sensations when he touched her...was she making love with a ghost?
 
The thought blew the moment to pieces, and in a whirl she looked across the table to see Justin sitting there where he belonged, a smirk curling his lip.
 
"What just happened here?" she asked, her heart still drumming love beats in her chest.
 
"I took your mind off your problems, Sara. And I showed your the power of your own heart. Aren't you going to thank me?"
 
Sara's mind whirled in torrents. He had succeeded in showing the tremendous power she held in reserve, the ability to lay aside the petty and reach in to find forces of love, powers she never dreamed existed deep inside. But this ghost! Should she be worried he could take command of her at will?
 
"I can see you're worried, Sara. But please, don't be. I only brought out the best of what you are. I didn't control you. Although I did hint at how much I love you, dear."
 
She shot him an uneasy glance, not certain how to reply. A dark silence took up the air between them until finally Sara spoke. "Well, I guess it is time to get in the car and head for Smithton. Are you coming with me or not?"
 
Moments later, as she started the car, he appeared in the passenger seat sitting quietly as if to show respect for the seriousness of their mission.

Continued in Chapter 18, part 2

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

ue, Nov. 7th, 2006, 02:40 pm

Sara pulled up a chair to the computer and tapped out a password. She needed to talk to someone. What was she thinking? Making an offer on that house?

First of all, she couldn't afford another month's rent here plus the down payment and a monthly payment on a new house all at the same time. That meant she would need to move into the Victorian, ready or not. Moving in early guaranteed pounding hammers and grubby workmen would have to be tolerated as part of her existence while necessary repairs were being done.

Sighing, Sara pondered what the disturbance would do to her work. An author needs quiet and solitude to hear the voices of characters emanating in ghostly streams through the writer's mind. How in the world could she concentrate with remodeling going on?

Her first novel, a historical about life in 19th Century America, proved successful, enough so the publishing company paid her an advance for another. That advance was already spent. What was left would barely cover the costs of buying the Victorian, with no room for the luxury of keeping two households at once. So move she must!

To tell the truth, she had acted with her heart instead of her brain. It was just the energies in that house spoke to her. That dilapidated old house begged her to take it.

"Oh, sure! Now I know you're losing it, Sara!" she muttered. "Right! The house 'talked' to you."

The Victorian did seem familiar in a way. Well, she loved everything from that era, bay windows, towers and stained glass; so it didn't come as a surprise the house would be appealing. And it seemed identical to the one in her current book which was, not surprisingly. a Victorian love story. She had reached an impasse with the plot, realizing the tensions were not right. Something was missing. Deep inside, perhaps she wished being in the new house would inspire her. Sara didn't know what she would do if things didn't work out soon, not being in a position to pay back the advance she'd been given.

With a dissatisfied sigh, she placed the headphones on, which flattened the thin sweep of brown hair that hung down in a page boy around her face. Adjusting the small microphone in front of her full, curved lips, she punched out Margot's number in England, pausing while it rung.

"Hullo."

"Hi, Margot! It's Sara in America. Do you have a minute?"

"Certainly! I was just thinking about you. How are you?"

"I think I found a house. In fact, I made an offer."

"That's splendid news! Congratulations!"

Grasping a pen, Sara started a circular doodle that spiraled around the page like a slinky toy gone wild. "Margot, I think the house is haunted." The doodle ran off the edge of the tablet with the pen thumping on the desktop.

Silence at the other end left the air blank between them. Finally, Margot spoke. "What?"

"Oh, I know I sound crazy, but I had the weirdest feelings in that house ... like I'd been there before."

"Well, older homes give off that impression just by virtue of their unique designs and such. They have personalities. It does mess with your mind ... insinuating time travel or something."

"No, Margot! It wasn't that! It felt like I knew this place in intimate detail. Like I'd been there before or knew the ghost who lives there."

"Oh dear! Have you talked to the others? Why don't you try David? I've heard he has experience in these things."

"He has experience in haunted houses?"

"Actually, yes, he does. But don't tell him I told you."

Later, Sara didn't feel so confident. Talking to David about the haunted house was an undertaking she dreaded. David was a professional--a lawyer with money, position, and a cut-out doll of a perfect wife who between PTA meetings and church bazaars had never shown any interest in her husband's unusual collection of on line friends. Sara would feel foolish if David mentioned her haunted house to his trophy wife.

The phone's shrill ring knocked her out of the reverie. She picked it up to make the annoying ring stop.

"Hello, Ms. McNeil? Your bid has been accepted. Congratulations! You're a homeowner!"

Sara's heart dropped to the floor. If she wanted or needed to get out of this deal, she'd have to act soon.

"Ms. McNeil?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you, Julie."

"The closing will be Friday at our office, 9:00 a.m."

"Thank you. I'll be there," Sara murmured.

That afternoon, she made her way to the tiny public library in town square, printouts of real estate records tucked in a folder under her arm. One of the perks of a writing career is the research ... leaving one's usual haunt on a sunny day to relocate in the library among its stacks to find information to add detail and texture to your story. On this occasion, however, Sara simply hoped to find out more about the Victorian. The Internet had provided the names of the most recent owners, all of whom were presumably of the bloodline of the original owner, Justin Sinclair. The Internet had no further information on him, but Sara was counting on the local library to fill in the blanks.

The little library was her favorite place in town. As a girl, she read her fill in the dusty old reading room, frequently pulling musty volumes off the shelves to take home--some of them had not been touched for years. Sara hatched her love for the written word in those warm dark corners.

"Hi, Sara!" elderly Mrs. Johnson called out. The head librarian had greeted Sara every week over the years wearing the same cheery smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Johnson!" Sara beamed back as she headed to her usual table at the computers. For the next hour, she worked, hunched forward, one hand clutching the mouse, scrolling through titles about local people and places, hoping to find some information about Justin Sinclair. Finally, she found something.

"Justin Sinclair, Philanthropist or Scoundrel?"

The newspaper headline leaped off the screen burning her eyes with its huge blaring letters.

Scoundrel? Sara couldn't suppress a smile at the irony. Her current novel was not near as exciting as the real life story of her own house. Curious to know more about Justin, the scoundrel, she scrolled to find the articles revealed that no formal charges were issued against Justin Sinclair. Only innuendo shadowed his movements, with nothing ever proven. He crept around in the bars and local gambling establishments in his time, and it was implied he lent money out at a high rate of interest to needy gamblers who, desperate, had lost their paychecks. It was not revealed what was done concerning bad noncollectable debts, but a shadowy reference to barter was made. Secondary to that, one article alluded to the growing list of lovers Justin laid claim to, some of which at exactly the same time heavy IOU's were due.

"Well, it looks like our Mr. Sinclair may have been quite a scoundrel, indeed," Sara murmured.

_{^{CHAPTER 3}}


The necklace's gold chain first sparkled and caught her eye at an antique store on Fifth Avenue. It was years ago, when she was just a teenager. The pretty piece cost more than she could afford, forty dollars; but the clerk, perhaps enamored by her fresh eager smile gave the girl a discount, charging only thirty dollars. It was a steal, although at first you might not think so. The gold was dull, and the stones and pearls blackened with filth from the grim passage of time. She had held it up to the light, surveying the tiny gold chains with pearl droplets that dangled down from a center gold and amethyst brooch and chain. It was a magical piece of antique jewelry, a treasure from another era. How could she not buy it?

Fondling it now, her eyes filled with memories of being young and free. The necklace had always been mysterious in what it did to her. Her first wearing instilled a sense of style, culturing a confidence she had never known. A light radiated from her, from deep inside in sparks of exhilaration. Joyfully, she felt like someone else. Someone beautiful from another era, another world. Putting on the necklace, she'd actually taken center stage to play a role. She was a bejeweled and elegant lady from the Victorian era and not a plain schoolmarmish-looking woman. She was a princess.

Sara was wearing the necklace the first time she fell in love. Well, not love at first; but within a few moments of being asked to dance. As soon as Jeff took her hand and led her to the floor, her heart tap-danced, pounding out little tunes of eager infatuation.

It was the necklace. When she wore it, she felt pretty...and worthy of romance. Not like before, when she was only a skittish wall flower. She dared to taste her first kiss that night. But the magic didn't last. Alas, her later dates with Jeff never sparkled again like that first night while wearing the jewelry. The exhilaration must have been rooted in the necklace and not the man.

Even now, as Sara held out the dangling piece to admire, a rush of emotion took her by storm. The necklace mesmerized every time, sending her into a tizzy. Although a delicious sensation, self-control staggered on unsteady feet when the power of the necklace swept over her. For that reason, she placed it in a drawer, to wear only rarely. These days, she hung by the computer to provide comfort and balance when she wrote. Its antique charm inspired her historical novels.

Moving day was soon, and she still wanted to talk to David, the fellow Margot mentioned, since he knew a few things about haunted houses. To be honest, she had been putting it off, thinking perhaps it would be better not to get herself worked up over ghosts before moving to the spooky house. The papers were signed, her boxes were packed, and the movers were coming in two days. This was not the time to become frightened by spirits from the beyond.

*   *   *

"Why not let me give it a run-through before you move in?"

"Oh, David. I don't know." Sara actually felt like screaming, knowing it was a bad idea to let David frighten her about ghosts on the eve of moving day. Just her luck, David had a chat with Margot on line, and that lady spilled the beans about Sara's creepy new house. "I don't want to scare myself before I've even moved in," she added.

"Oh, nonsense! I'll be right over!" With a click of the phone, Sara's fate was sealed. David was on the way. He lived a short drive from her, so he'd be here soon. She gathered her purse and keys for the new house and settled to wait by the window. Outside, a purple twilight mist was rushing in. It would be dark soon. Normally, a visit from David was a festive occasion. The lanky, gray-haired fellow exuded an energy unlikely for a man in his late 70's. David Martin had no intention of letting old age slow him down. It was not surprising to hear he knew of haunted houses; the man had so many varied interests, it was difficult to keep up with his lightning pace of books to read and documentaries to watch. Heaven only knew how he became interested in ghosts, but one thing was for sure. When he researched an item, he did it down to the last detail. And he was a man of sound instincts. He could announce your words to you before you could speak them. It wouldn't surprise her if he could indeed ferret out elusive spirits in a haunted house.

"Good to see you, Sara!" he declared, his usual brilliant smile preceding him up the walk. "Talking to the ladies on line lately? I've been a bit busy myself."

"I called Margot by Internet phone the other night, but I guess you know that already."

A tiny smile danced across his lips. "Yes, we were talking about you and your new home, I'm afraid. Truly, I can't wait to see it."

Later, when they entered, David reacted immediately. His first step into the foyer, he went rigid, turning on his heel, lips tight, his pale blue eyes punctuated by pupils shrunken to tiny black dots. The usual smile was replaced by tight lips holding back a load of emotion that screamed to be let loose. "Oh my God!" he murmured. "An intense spirit lurks here."

He lifted his eyes, looking to the cathedral ceiling and back down again to the floorboards, clearing his throat with a tiny nervous cough. "Very intense..." Walking into the old parlor, he murmured again. "Intense ... and I'm not sure what this ghost's intentions are..."

"David, what are you saying?"

He turned to make his eyes melt into hers. "Sara, this place is alive with energy. And I don't quite know what to make of it."

"David?" Sara's heart slammed to the floor, leaving her rigid and hollow.

"Usually the energies are nebulous, somewhat elusive. But this ... " Words failed him as he turned around once more in wonder at the surroundings. "Let's try the bedrooms. They are always bursting with vibes," he said heading for the staircase.

"Are you sure you want to go up there?" Sara asked. "You are obviously pretty shaken!"

"Oh yes!" A curious smile crossed his lips. Was the expression greedy in nature or perhaps even evil? Did his tooth-baring grin dance with some sort of malicious pleasure?  Sara followed with tiny, hesitant steps. She feared this ghost more and more.

When they reached the second story, David suddenly doubled over as if in pain, grasping the railing at the top of the stairs. "The force! It's almost overwhelming!" He struggled to make the remark through strangled gasps. "I don't think I can continue." He panted like he'd just run a mile.

Sara swooned at the sight of him. Her body, already deadened by fear, now witnessed a man weakened by the forces around him. Her thoughts got tangled in a mesh of confusing emotions and senses. She couldn't feel what he felt, but seeing his agony solidified stabs of panic in her heart. She ran to him and grabbed the poor man by his shoulders leading him back down the stairs in measured steps. "Come on, David! You've done enough!" she murmured. Her legs wobbled on the steps as much as David's. Would they ever get back down? The bottom of the stairs looked miles away.

BAM!

It stopped them in mid-step, loud and sharp, right over their shoulders like it meant to yell at them. Their hearts fused as the two stood motionless. In the quiet of the huge house, the noise had sounded like a locomotive slamming into a wall, crushing metal at furious speed. Surely, the building should be flattened. They waited. Nothing. The waiting continued. Sara thought she could hear their hearts beating in the electrified silence. She bit her lip, it being the only movement she dared.

Finally, a bird chirped outside a window on the landing. Its gentle song broke the spell. David spoke first in a trembling voice. "Ghosts do tend to knock and bump around in these old houses." He ended the remark with a nervous chuckle that contrasted strangely with the deafening crash they'd just witnessed.

"Oh, David! I can't move into this house!"

He turned to look at her, appearing the wizened old fellow that he was. "OH yes! You must! This house is haunted by an exquisite ghost, one that must be explored. You must move in! The sooner, the better! This spirit demands to know you! I can feel it!"

This is my online novel, being written right here before your very eyes. It is an alluring ghost story I know you'll love. The previous chapters can be found here.

The Storyteller's Muse

Chapter 17

Sara laid the phone on her lap with a slow-motion movement. Pulling over to the side the road, she turned off the ignition and leaned her head against the steering wheel. How much could one person take? What in the world was that phone call about? Was Margot in trouble? Why did she hear David's voice in the background?

"I've got to find them," she murmured, turning the key in the ignition with a shaky hand. "Smithton. I've got to go to Smithton." Good grief--she sounded like a crazy woman.

A tap on the window sent her jumping. It was a cop, his badge glinting in the sun, blue uniform hiding a body firmed from working out. He hovered like a huge dark mountain outside the window.

"Is everything okay, Ms?"

Now would be a good time to ask for help. But she didn't understand exactly what was happening with her friends. Maybe it was an innocent situation. She wouldn't want to get them in trouble.

'Yes! I just...got something in my eye. I pulled over to take care of it."

"Okay, just checking. Have a nice day!"

Have a nice day--not bloody likely, the way things were going. She watched his hulking form return to the squad car. It pulled away in a cloud of dust.

"Are we going to Smithton?"

Justin again. He sat resplendent and calm, perched in the passenger seat.

"Not today. It is way off in the other direction. We'll have to go home and start out tomorrow."

"Do you have any idea what we will find?"

"No. But I have a feeling you do!" She shot him an accusatory glance.

Justin's aura wavered before coming back again with strong colors, as though the affront weakened him. "Really, darling! Stop trying to give me supernatural powers. I'm just a lost soul, by the way, nothing more."

"Aren't we all?" Sara murmured. Her mind wandered. When she looked again, Justin was gone.

Arriving home proved to be an exasperating experience. Phone messages from her publisher, frantic and loud, reminded her she'd missed a deadline for her next chapter submission. That, and Griffin the cop was dogging her again, leaving three messages. He wanted to speak with her. One day out of the house, and all this happened.

With a sigh, she made her way to the kitchen for tea. Tea, the great soother, a vehicle to send her mind jaunting to some other place with each savory sip. It was a drink that transcended time and space. The beverage always put her in the mind of the characters in her stories. Those folks were tea drinkers, sipping it during their best conversations. When she drank it down, she was anywhere but here, stepping into the drink's dignified and significant history. Coffee was out of the question. What magic did coffee hold? None.

The tea worked. She relaxed, sorting out her problems. Of one thing she was certain, she would prefer to avoid Griffin altogether, not liking his accusatory nuance. If she told him about the phone call, he would find a way to loop her into its negative mystery. Besides, maybe the call was innocent and Margot and David just needed help. Perhaps they were in a bad cell zone. It would be a fine thing to show up with the cops when all they needed was to jumpstart the car or some extra cash.

Am I being delusional? The thought irked her. Was she avoiding the obvious? Were Margot and David actually in trouble? Surely, with a cell phone they could have called a car mechanic on their own. But the cell cut out on Margot in mid-conversation. So how reliable was it?

"I'm going to Smithton," Sara stated. "Just as soon as I finish a chapter." The publisher's deadline still loomed. She owed them a chapter, and she hadn't begun yet. What to do--save your friends or save your book deal? Well, she'd just have to find a way to do both.

Splashing the tea down the drain, she put on a pot of coffee. Time to pull an all-nighter.

Eight o'clock in the morning, and she finally finished. Clicking "send," Sara sighed and leaned back in the chair. Finally, the publisher would leave her alone for a time. She could get back to the business of helping her friends. She'd worked all night, and now finally she was free, and exhausted. As she wrestled with the idea of a nap, the doorbell rang. Stumbling over, she pulled back the white lacey curtain and peeked. Griffin and his sidekick, O'Malley. The younger one looked up and nodded to her. Busted! They'd seen her through the tiny glass.

She opened the door.

"Ms. McNeil! Sorry to call so early, but you are hard to get a hold of. I figured I'd catch you before you could take off somewhere for the day."

Was that right? Damn him. She forced a smile, trying to be civil. They were cops after all.

"I guess you want to come in?" She opened the door wide.

The two entered in businesslike fashion, brushing past her and settling in the parlor as though it was their own home. Griffin flipped out a notebook and fished a pen out of his pocket. Sara followed with reluctant steps, sitting across from O'Malley at her desk, chair turned to face them.

"You don't seem to be home much these days." It was a statement of fact, but followed with a questioning glance from Griffin.

Sara's heart thumped louder than the monotonous tick tick of the hall grandfather clock. She didn't want to tell Griffin about the phone call, about her search, nothing.

"I've been having a bit of writer's block. I went for a drive...to get ideas."

He watched with rapt attention, his eyes scrutinizing her face until she felt pain. This guy wouldn't be easy to lie to.

"You realize, of course, you need to cooperate with us, tell us all you know." He spoke with flourish, staring at her point blank. "If you're holding back anything, you could end up being charged as an accessory in a crime, if your actions have helped someone in the commission of an unlawful act."

The man was frightening. Was he slap-happy and trying to haul to jail anyone within reach, just to call the case solved? She was glad she'd kept her silence. She didn't like Griffin, and she didn't like his puppet sidekick, either.

"Well, I've nothing to tell you."

He stared back, next reaching into his pocket to extract a business card. "Well, if you change your mind, give me a call."

He rose and started for the door, O'Malley close behind. He turned to face her.

"You know, there's still time to save yourself, from jail or from trouble, whichever applies. You just need to be honest with me."

The two slipped through the door. Sara watched them go, frozen in place. When she heard their car pull out, she stumbled to the sofa and plopped down, bursting into tears.

Was she going insane? How much could one person take? What had she done? Turned away the very help she needed? She'd caused her friends grief and maybe even put them in danger. Who knows why they'd disappeared, but guilt lingered, hinting of trouble. Everything has been fine until she had them here at the house. Then strange things began to happen. Margot got weird after being here. And David, being with Margot now, was a continuation of the problem.

She was evil. Sara Ann McNeil was an evil woman who lured her friends into her circle of ghosts and mysteries and dragged them down with her. If anything happened to David and Margot, it was her fault.

Copyright 2007 Jo Janoski