The Guest House Hauntings Boxset by Hazel Holmes (novel books to read txt) 📕

was the difficulty in trying to read them. Time and faded ink had transformed the letters among the Bell family members into a mundane version of wheel of fortune.

“I’d like to buy a vowel,” Pat said, grinning.

“It stopped being funny after the seventh time, Pat,” Dell said.

Any letters that were considered completely illegible were discarded into a separate pile over in the far back left corner of the room. The rest were divvied up between the three of them, each taking notes on what they read.

Sarah shook the cramp in her hand, finishing up her last letter. “I haven’t done this much writing since high school.”

“How are we looking, guys?” Pat asked, finishing a scribble, and then tossed his pencil on the floor. “I’m all done.”

“Nearly there,” Dell answered, his focus on the papers.

Sarah had watched him for a little bit, and smiled every time he furrowed his brow in concentration, which was often. She returned to her last letter, and she and Dell finished at the same time.

“So,” Pat asked. “What do we have?”

“The earliest letter I have was marked in 1898,” Dell answered, reading from his notes. “It was from a cousin of the Bells who had written to Allister’s children about their parent’s death.” He looked up. “That was a common theme in all the letters I read. Notifications of deceased family members.”

“Me too,” Sarah replied.

“And me three.” Pat scribbled another note on his pad. “So that’s a commonality. Anything else?”

“All of the letters were marked with the same three numbers,” Sarah answered. “Six-six-six.”

“Mine too,” Dell replied.

“Again, me three,” Pat said. “It’s a sign of the devil. And since all of these letters are dated after Allister’s death, then we could assume that was part of the witch’s curse.”

“She started killing anyone named Bell?” Sarah asked.

“Anyone with their bloodline, maybe,” Pat answered.

“But that doesn’t explain Sarah,” Dell replied, frowning. “Or the girl Sarah said she saw.”

“Wait.” Sarah reached for her stack of letters and then plucked one out from the pile. “I found one that was addressed to Iris.” She got up and walked toward Dell, Pat getting up off the floor to join them. Sarah flattened the letter on the table and let them read.

My dearest Iris,

Our situation in Bell has deteriorated. I’m afraid that we won’t last much longer without any aid from the outside world.

I know that you moved away because you no longer wanted to be a part of our family, but you should know that when I die here, it will be you who is held responsible, along with your family.

With no heirs of my own, your descendants will become the last of the Bell name, and while you may not have had a decision in departing our town, I can tell you that your distance from our home will have no impact on the effects our ancestor will have in reaching you.

There is nowhere else to hide, Iris. There is nowhere that you can run. If you choose that road, I sincerely wish you the best of luck. But if you want to give yourself and your family a fighting chance, then I beg you to come home. It is the only way.”

Jameson Bell

They all pulled back from the letter, Dell frowning and Pat scratching his head. Sarah tapped her finger against the brittle paper. “So Iris came back because she thought it would stop her family from dying?” She looked to Pat.

“But it didn’t,” Dell said. “Both of Kegan’s parents died.” Dell got up and paced the floor, following the thought. “And our theory only makes sense if they all died the same way, right?” He gestured to Sarah’s leg. “Maybe they all had the same condition like you?”

Pat gasped, drawing both of their attention toward him. “Disease.” Without another word he grabbed his notebook and slammed it on top of the letters on the table. “Here, look at this.”

Sarah and Dell walked over and stood on either side of Pat. The page he’d turned to all had the same headlines. “Plague” and “Cursed” and “Witch strikes again” were a few of their favorites. Most of the actual articles played up the sensationalism of what was occurring, no doubt using fear to sell more newspapers.

“The medical community described the physical symptoms as being similar to shingles or frostbite,” Pat said. “And all of the individuals that came down with the affliction were descendants of Allister Bell. And here, look, here.”

Sarah leaned closer to the line that Pat had highlighted and read aloud. “Any patient that was transported from Bell to Redford was immediately returned due to making the conditions worse. While most patients didn’t survive, one local doctor managed to save a woman’s life.”

Pat pounded his fist on the table. “It can be fixed!”

Hope swelled in Sarah’s chest.

“Who was the doctor?” Dell asked.

Pat turned a few more pages and then stopped on an article taped to the center of the page. “Dr. Henry Nash.”

“Oh my god, look at the patient that was cured,” Sarah said, reading farther down the article.

Dell leaned closer and read. “Iris Bell.”

“How old is this article?” Sarah asked, searching for the date.

“Thirty years,” Pat answered.

Dell raised his eyebrows. “The doctor might still might be alive. I can make a call to dispatch and look up his address.” He headed for the door, already on the radio.

Sarah watched him go. “Do you think that doctor is still alive?” Her voice was small and tired like that of a little girl grasping for a piece of hope she wasn’t sure she’d be able to obtain.

Pat’s expression softened, and he walked over and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “I do.”

“How can you be sure?” Sarah asked. “How do you know he hasn’t died or—”

Pat squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find him.”

And when Pat smiled, despite Sarah’s reservations, she let herself believe him.

It had been a while since she’d had a friend to help her and even longer since she’d had someone she could trust. It was a feeling