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

she missed. Foster homes and orphanages tended to kill trust at a very early age. Sarah remembered when it had broken for her.

She had been six, and she had just moved into a foster home that would be shut down three months later, social workers citing unlivable conditions and neglect. Sarah lived in a room with nine other kids, and between them they shared three pillows and two blankets and zero beds. The house had had no heat and hardly any insulation, so they would all huddle together in the middle of the floor like a pack of dogs.

When Sarah had first arrived at the house, her foster father had made a big deal about her birthday, and when asked if she’d ever gotten a cake and a present, she said no.

Chuck—foster parents always had the sleaziest names—told her that they’d get her a cake and whatever present she wanted.

Unsure of what to ask for, she decided to go with something simple. For food, she requested a strawberry cake because she remembered having one at a church event the previous Thanksgiving, and it had been the best food she’d ever tasted. And for a toy, she wanted a ballerina skirt. The few bits of television she’d seen had been a PBS special on the ballet. After watching those dancers float across the stage to music, it was all she wanted to do.

The night before her birthday, Sarah didn’t sleep a wink. She lay huddled on the floor, imagining herself as one of the ballerinas she had seen on television. And when the first rays of sunlight finally pierced the window, she sprinted into the kitchen, where Chuck was passed out on the table.

“Chuck!” Sarah tugged at his sleeve, jumping up and down as she smiled. “Chuck, it’s my birthday!”

But no matter how hard she tugged, he wouldn’t stir, so with her guardian indisposed (drunk, as she would later understand), she went to the fridge in hopes of finding the cake. But the only thing inside was beer.

Sarah turned back to Chuck, still asleep on the kitchen table. She looked down at his feet and saw a dozen crushed beer cans littering the floor. She had seen foster parents like him before. She understood that they got mean and angry when they drank that stuff. And even though she was scared, she had built up the excitement about the day in her head so much that her disappointment outweighed the fear of repercussions.

“You promised!” Sarah slapped Chuck’s arm, but he still didn’t wake. She hit him again, repeatedly, each time harder than the one before. “You promised me!” Her voice rose to a shriek, and it finally stirred the drunk awake.

“Wha—?” Chuck lifted his face, struggling to open his eyes as Sarah continued to beat him with her tiny little fists. “Hey, stop that!” He shoved Sarah, and her butt smacked the dirty black-and-white-checkered tile.

Chuck pressed his hands against his temples and burped a few times, while Sarah cried silently on the floor. After another minute, he looked down at her, almost as if he didn’t even recognize her. “What are you crying about?” He dismissed her. “Go back to bed.”

“It’s my birthday,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking from the tears.

“Yeah, well, happy birthday.” Chuck provided no sincerity or fanfare as he stood.

The dismissal boiled Sarah’s rage, and she pushed herself up from the floor. He was just like all the other foster fathers she’d been with, all talk and no action. They made promises that were never kept, and she had finally grown sick of it.

Sarah flung herself against Chuck’s leg, kicking, punching, flinging all her strength behind every blow, which to Chuck was only an annoyance.

“Knock it off, kid.” Chuck shook his leg and sent her flying backward, crashing against the tile.

But the abuse failed to deter her spirit, and Sarah sprang back to her feet and attacked again. Her voice had risen to an ear-shattering scream as she pounded against his leg, beating her little fists as fiercely as she could. “You promised! You promised! You promise—”

The backhand that knocked Sarah from Chuck’s leg and beat her into the floor also paralyzed her body. A white flash blinded her, and it was quickly followed by a crushing defeat of pain as her vision adjusted to black-and-white-checkered tile.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Chuck towered over her, his face beet red as he screamed. “You think I wanted to do that? You think I wanted to hit you?” He raised his hand high to hit her again, but when Sarah winced, he lowered it. “If you’re gonna be a stupid fucking bitch, then I might as well send you back to the orphanage.” He stomped off, still muttering to himself, while Sarah remained on the ground. “You ain’t worth the fucking trouble!”

Blood trickled down from the corner of her left eyebrow, the red a brilliant streak of color against her pale skin, and as it mixed with her tears, she looked as if she was crying blood. Sarah remained there on the tile until one of the older kids came from the room and picked her up, carrying her back to the safety of their tiny room.

That was the first of thousands of other scenarios that Sarah had experienced as an orphan, and it was the foundation of the callus that had formed over the past two decades of her life.

It was the start of every mistrust she’d ever had with a man and the basis for every failed relationship she’d ever experienced.

But the man next to her wasn’t Chuck, or any of the foster father’s she’d known.

“You know, you remind of Mr. Westbrook,” Sarah said.

“Who’s that?” Pat asked.

“He was one of the social workers assigned to my case file over the years.” Sarah drifted into the past. “One of the really good ones. He was the only one who actually made sure I was pulled out of bad situations. He went the extra mile. Like you.”

Pat