Haunts for Sale Series
Paranormal real estate agent, Sloane Osborne sells haunted houses. And she's getting quite good at it. But not all hauntings are the same. Some are common manifestations but others are more sinister—dark and evil.
Called in to investigate a beach front home in charming Yarmouth, Maine, Sloane envies one couple's happy future whereas hers has been ripped away. These days, she finds more comfort in hunting the dead than being among the living.
But this fairy tale New England home has a dark secret: the new owner has gone missing—inside the house. Is Sloane in over her head? When the local ghost hunting team gets involved, they make things worse, waking up a latent evil that refuses to be banished. Some ghosts do more than haunt houses—they fight back to inflict their own torment on the living.
Turning to shut off the spray, she noticed a slight sound, like fingers scratching on wood coming from outside the bathroom. The hairs on the back of her neck sprang to attention and she felt a cold pit of fear settle in her chest.
“Flora? Is that you?” she asked, her voice loud in the small room. Her throat felt dry. She needed some water. “Brian?”
The scratching sounded again, louder this time, as though someone was digging his nails to carve in the wood, and Sloane knew it was coming from just beyond the closed door. She inched closer, telling herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Crouching down, she tried to peer underneath when fingertips poked under the door, curling around the wood.
Sloane fell back on her bottom, watching in horror as the fingers pushed beneath, trying to get into the room.
The hand was covered in dirt and grime, the nails jagged and blackened as though used to dig through layers of dirt. The fingers pushed farther into the room, wrapping around the door and tugging at the base.
“Who’s there?” Sloane had to try twice to make the words come out. Her voice was frozen. She steeled herself. Shit, this was no illusion. The house was still haunted! Or was it. Was someone playing a cruel trick? She was beginning to feel like everyone was against her in the small coastal town.
Turning the knob a little at a time, she dropped a shoulder and leaned against the door. She’d bash into whoever or whatever was on the other side! Expecting resistance when she tried to open the door, there was none. She stumbled into the master bedroom.
The room was empty.
The only movement came from the billowy white curtains floating by an open window.
Sloane stalked to the window, glaring around the room. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny.
She slammed the window closed, enjoying the way the glass rattled in the old frame. She almost wished it would break. That would give the fear and rage inside her an outlet, but then she’d have to pay to fix it, and she couldn’t afford that.
Hearing the water pressure return, Sloane glanced over her shoulder at the bathroom. The steam had returned, billowing into the air like fog.
She debated not showering. But that thought only lasted a moment. Not showering would be the same as admitting she was afraid.
Walking with purpose, she pulled her shirt over her head taking it off as she entered the small room. Her hands were on the button of her jeans when the mirror caught her attention. The words written in the shower steam had changed. Instead of saying “GO” like it had last night, it now read, “NOT LEAVING.” But the writer wasn’t done.
As Sloane watched, one by one each letter appeared in new words written beneath the old in an invisible hand.
“Oh, hell no.”