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Five Favorite Things:
1. Being Lazy - Having no pressing appointment, no rush jobs, just sitting back and having a coffee
2. My medication - Not the happiest thing, but without it, I really wouldn't be here.
3. My husband - When the medication doesn't work, he does.
4. My home - It's not as clean as it could be, and the garden and lawn are overgrown, and it needs a few renos, but really, I love my house and my neighbourhood.
5. My daughter - She drives me insane, but I would do anything for her.
Summer Parker has moved to Salem, into her great-grandmother's house. Once there, she is plagued by the sensation of someone watching her. Added to that, she is having strange dreams about her ancestor, Mark Parker, who was one of Salem’s witches. Her human roommates remove most of the eeriness of her predicament, but the intangible roomie is making himself at home too. After a close call, the identity of her resident ghost is revealed. But if Geoffrey is the ghost, does that make her Mary Parker? One thing is certain, Geoffrey is as determined to protect her.
WARNING: Suicide Trigger.
Although classic, the house had been maintained and renovated over the years, so it looked quaint, but had central heating, hot water on demand, and proper outlets in all the walls. There was even an Ethernet outlet in the sitting room under an old writing desk that had been converted for a keyboard tray and monitor.
“Sweet.” Summer ran her hand over the warm brown wood, polished to shine. She had opted not to keep the cleaners, saving a few pennies by keeping house herself. It wasn’t an option to normal renters. The cleaning crew could alert the management company of problem tenants before much damage could be done.
Summer shivered with a chill that was likely the result of rain water. Her hair, where it had escaped her hood, dripped. She shrugged off the slicker and left it with the boots, then took her tote and suitcase up the stairs. Creaks accompanied her climbing, and that sound echoed as well. She would have to set up a portable stereo or something. The place was too creepy with no one in it. There were four bedrooms in total—two tiny, one fairly large and a master suite, which she claimed.
She snorted at the thought. It had a sink attached. Not even a toilet. Not really a suite. It was the largest bedroom, though, and would give her somewhere to brush her teeth and fix her hair once her roommates arrived.
Flopping on the bed, she looked up at the plaster ceiling and saw a myriad of tiny cracks. Was that a bad thing? Would pieces of it start falling on her? Standing on the duvet in damp socks, she stretched to see it better.
“Ew.” They weren’t cracks but strings of cobwebs, tons of them. She couldn’t reach, but she would be back with a broom before sleeping. And she might not be able to sleep even then.
She would head out for food—eat out tonight or get groceries for tomorrow—but there was one more thing to do before that. Her tablet rested in her tote bag, and she sent a message to Mom, Aunt Marge, and Della, her best friend from Montreal. They would all want to know that she arrived safely, that the house was in great shape—she didn’t mention the cobwebs, the cleaners hadn’t been in since the last renter left—and she was excited to start class in a couple of days.
Formalities done, she looked out the window into the grey September evening and considered ordering in pizza. It made more sense to get groceries, though. After all, she would need breakfast as well. Judging the rain, she wondered if it was worth waiting for it to pass.
She spun around, the overwhelming sense of someone watching her coming from the closet. That made no sense. She opened the doors wide, revealing a bare bar with several hangers that rattled as air swept out.
Leaning in, Summer looked left and right, examining the corners. Maybe it was a mouse. Nope.
She hopped down the stairs and put on her jacket. Suddenly groceries and rain seemed better than staying where she was. Had Aunt Marge said anything about high turnover, or infestations, or anything? She set a quick pace and tried to recall, but nothing came to mind. The turnover was high, but that was just because students only stayed for a few years. Still, she would email Marge tonight.
When she returned with the groceries, her arms aching slightly from the weight of them, the eerie feeling was gone. Relieved, she took her time putting away milk, bread, cereal, and everything else. The deli sandwich came last and she took her time eating it.
Climbing the stairs, she yawned. It had been a long trip and she hoped for a less grey day tomorrow.
When she was curling up in bed, the sensation of being watched returned. “Who’s there?” she asked, feeling stupid. Who was going to answer her?
There was no reply, but her bedroom door squeaked on its hinge, swinging in slightly. She closed her eyes and told herself it was her imagination. One thing was certain, she would be thrilled when her roommates arrived. This place was too empty, just like the large bed, filled with only herself.
Angelica Dawson, bestselling Naughty Nights Press author, has been writing for several years and having sex a lot longer than that. Angelica is a wife, mother and environmental consultant. Her love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards -- mosquitoes and black flies, not vampires.
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