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

Iris walked over and removed the glass from her grandson’s hand.

“That blonde bitch saw the IDs. She has the letters.” Kegan extended fingers from his fist, one at a time. “Who knows what else she’s seen, and what she’s told the police!”

“Stop fidgeting.” Iris set the glass down on a table and reclined in a nearby chair. “You’re going to wear a hole in our floor.”

“Dennis has been gone too long.” Kegan continued his pacing, though he dropped his hand from his mouth, but he twisted his fingers back and forth in exchange for the biting. “The idiot is going to tell him something, and it’ll just be a matter of time before they march back to the house with an entire army of—”

“I will not have you come unraveled when we are nearly done,” Iris said.

“No one has ever left before!” Kegan’s voice was strained. “This wasn’t part of the plan!”

“The plan stays the same,” Iris said. “She cannot leave, and the curse will bring her back.”

“That doesn’t help us with the police,” Kegan said.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes!” Iris wheeled on her grandson, hissing through her teeth. “Right now, all we have to do is stick to our story. You and I both know she can’t leave, not unless she wants to die. He’ll call her back, and when he does, we need to be ready.”

Kegan stood, wobbling a bit on two feet, and then snagged the bottle and took a swig. “There are bodies buried on our property. When the cops start taking a closer look, it won’t matter what story we tell, Grandmother.”

Iris slapped Kegan across the cheek, and while she left a mark, she suspected that her hand hurt worse than his face did. “Our family’s future is at stake. There is no one left but us, and you and I both know what will happen if we fail.”

With the bottle still in one hand, he gently raised his cheek.

Iris slouched. “I’m sorry, my dear.” She reached for his hand and gave it a peck with her thin lips. “It’s my head. Help me get my medicine.”

Kegan nodded, leaving the bottle as he helped guide Iris back to her room. Her grandson was very much like his father, who had worried himself to an early grave. The heart attack had been massive, but it was also quick. She was thankful that he wasn’t meant to suffer. But despite the good-natured grandson who came from a good-natured father who came from a good-natured husband, Iris had discovered her husband’s family secret too late.

Iris was not a true Bell, and when she had learned the truth, she’d wanted to disappear. She had even gone as far as having an attorney write up divorce papers.

But the day before she had been about to file for divorce, she received a letter in the mail. It was from her husband’s brother, who had stayed in Bell to look after the house even though he had been the second born. Her husband had forsaken the duties that nature and honor had bestowed upon him as the first-born son and heir and also the burden of their bloody past.

Kegan guided Iris into her room and helped her onto the bed. “I’ll be right back, Grandmother.”

But Iris didn’t hear him, or see him leave. Her attention was on the dresser where that letter was stored. She must have read it a dozen times and rewritten her response a dozen more. She had returned to that letter throughout the years as a reminder of what would happen should she fail. But it was only in times of dire desperation. Times in which she began to doubt herself, the future, her choices. Times like now.

Wearily, Iris walked toward her dresser. Her old bones groaned, the gusto of her youth long since faded. She had felt old for a long time, but none more than the past few weeks. The last few steps were always the hardest.

Iris gripped the edge of the worn oak to help keep herself upright, her knees aching to the point of breaking. The pain was sharp, and she shut her eyes, squeezing the wood tighter, which only made her hands ache.

After the pain eased, Iris opened the top drawer and pushed aside the nightgowns and undergarments until the letter was exposed. It was folded into thirds, the creases in the paper well defined from its life in the drawer.

Iris collapsed in the nearby chair of her vanity, the letter clasped in her hand. She kept it in her lap for a while, reluctant to read it. There was always trepidation when traveling into the past. It was like reopening a wound, knowing that she’d bleed when she did.

Slowly, Iris flipped open the first fold then the second, flattening out the paper as best she could. The words along the creases had become distorted, but she knew those lines by heart.

My Dearest Iris,

I’m afraid my attempts to reconcile with my brother have failed. He no longer wishes to have any contact from me, and I believe that the last few letters I’ve written have been either thrown away or burned before they were even opened.

I tried phoning a few times, as you know, but Christopher has hardened his resolve to deny me even a few words or a hello. But my time is running short, and if I am unable to convince him to come home then he will die.

As you know, I was never able to have children, and now I’m afraid of the future of my family and my soul.

I know now that you are in full knowledge of the Bell family history, and the shame that comes with it. And I also know that you understand what happens should I die and no one else is here to manage our family’s situation.

It will come for Christopher, Iris. Despite his attempts at renouncing his name and his titles, he cannot renounce his blood. Your husband