Uncovering a ghostly secret, one skeleton at a time.
After years of investigating paranormal activity, lead ghost hunter, Jack Trader has little to show until, at an abandoned farm house in the boot-heels of Missouri, he and his partner capture the presence of an angry specter. Except, when the time comes to show their proof, it’s somehow been erased, forcing them back to the house to try and re-film the footage.
Renovations at Lila Monclair’s successful bed & breakfast bring more than dust, noise and boot prints to the halls of the Inn. Her own apparition has taken shape, in the form of a mysterious, dark-haired woman in a 40’s style dress, who keeps appearing and disappearing, frightening off guests. When word spreads, people cancel longstanding reservations, insisting the Monclair Inn is haunted. Now Lila’s worried she could lose everything she’s sacrificed so much for.
Together, Jack and Lila are seduced by these star-crossed ghosts, each in search of the other, and has them playing out the nightmare that tore the two apart 70-plus years ago, while their own possibilities are threatened by an indiscretion of Jack’s that has Lila questioning if he’s even worthy of her love.
Jack Trader stepped inside the last of the upstairs rooms, his flashlight gripped tightly in his hand, the rickety boards beneath his feet groaning a protest under his weight. With the luck he’d been having the last few months, the floor would give way.
He forced his concern aside and glanced around. Tattered and faded, pink-striped paper covered the walls, the only room on this level that showed any sign that it’d been used as a bedroom. A female’s. Could she be the presence in the house? Or was it someone else?
“See anything, Jack?” The voice of his partner, Cody McCoy filled his left ear, the bluetooth-type hardware transmitting with ease.
The ultimate goal for his team was to catch sight of an orb of glowing energy, a sure indicator of paranormal activity.
“I’m in the last of the rooms. Give me a second.” Jack moved to the window, his eyes straining to make out anything in the dark that wasn’t illuminated by the light’s stream.
He glanced back toward the door.
Again, not a thing to indicate a ghost inhabited the house.
Maybe the reports of the old Martin place being haunted were merely campfire stories—blown out of proportion by a bunch of overzealous, trespassing kids. It’d hardly be the first time, or the last, for that matter. But Jack was disappointed all the same. He needed something to film, or yet again, they’d have to write this trip off to the boot hills of Missouri as another wild goose chase. Specter Inc. couldn’t afford many more of them, especially after losing their funding. Something that was totally his fault.
Jack heaved a sigh of frustration and started for the door. In the middle of the room a chill engulfed him.
Was it an apparition or a simple draft?
“Cody,” he whispered. “I walked into a cold spot.” Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on-end. The temperature dipped further, like an arctic blast biting into his skin.
A sharp, almost inaudible voice uttered, “Get out.”
Jack’s heart rate ratcheted up.
The stories surrounding the abandoned pig farm were that the ghost, or ghosts, involved in the haunting weren’t exactly friendly, and this seemed to fit. Those two words sure as hell didn’t sound like a, ‘hello, welcome to my humble abode’ to him.
He fumbled into the back pocket of his jeans for the Tri-field EMT meter and pulled it out. With steady fingers, he switched the gadget on, watching the red needle jump like crazy. There was a current in the room that wasn’t caused by any electricity in the house—not when there hadn’t been any at this location in years, according to the Electrical Associations records. Not since the last known resident left.
Now, if they could get their cameras set up in a hurry, they’d see what range of power this spirit had.
“Bring the equipment up, Cody. I think we have something.”
“On my way.”
Jack walked toward the entrance, planning to meet his partner halfway when the door in front of him slammed shut.
His heart collided with his ribcage. “Son of a…”
When the pace of Jack’s heartbeat leveled out, he crept closer. At the door, he twisted the knob, surprised to find the thing was covered in frost and refused to budge. Footsteps on the stairs indicated that Cody was on his way up. Hopefully he’d be able to open the door from the other side.
“Where you at, Jack?”
“I’m in here,” he shouted. “I can’t get the door handle to turn.”
Shattering glass had Jack pivoting around. A grayish, mist-like image hovered next to the now jagged edges in the frame of the window. An icy breeze blew the thin sheers hanging from above as if they were twin flags in a gale force wind—and added to the intense chill in the air.
Whoever haunted this house was pissed.
The door handle behind him rattled. “Jack.” The hitch in Cody’s voice signaled his concern. “You okay in there?”
“We have an angry one.” Jack turned back to the window to find the specter had disappeared.
Cody charged through the door, his green eyes widening when they landed on the broken glass. “What the hell happened?”
“I guess it doesn’t like company.”
His partners looked around. “It?”
“The apparition I saw next to the window.”
“An actual specter? Was it in solid form, a misty image, or an orb?”
“A gray mist.” Jack reached for the bag Cody held. “We need to get everything set up, plugged in, then turn the power on in our van so we can have something to show at the Ghost Hunter’s forum in three months.”
Cody grinned, then slapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. “I can’t wait to see Giles Holland’s face when we have footage this year. It’s been such a dry spell for us. Hopefully, this will only be the beginning of what’s to come for Specter Inc..”
Jack smiled at his partner. “From your lips to ghosts ears.”