The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4 by Carissa Andrews (graded readers txt) 📕

the entry’s light and into the darkness of the hallway. Holding my breath, I eye the light switch where the corner bends, and I debate whether it’s better to make a run for it or continue slowly to avoid startling it.

Slow and steady wins out as I tiptoe down the hallway. The crackling sound skitters across the space, as if crawling the walls beside me, then directly behind me. Goosebumps flash all over my body as I spin around, trying to get a clear view of whatever it is.

I catch a glimpse of a figure, but it phases in and out like an old television show that’s lost its reception. The clicking circles around me until it vanishes down the hall and around the corner. Picking up speed, I chase it, almost forgetting to flick on the switch as I get to the corner.

Stopping, I turn back, flicking the light switch. The archaic sconces along the hallway ignite, casting an amber glow into the hallway, but I don’t know if it has made the space any less foreboding.

Closing my eyes, I try to calm my heartbeat and center myself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past year, it’s that things can go sideways fast when you’re not in control. With my eyes still closed, the crackling starts again, this time directly beside my right ear.

Refusing to even breathe, I wait for it to pass before opening my eyes. As I do, the apparition flickers again in front of me. Its features are part human, part something else, but it all happens so fast, I can’t quite latch onto it. When it reappears, it’s farther down the hallway, and it vanishes into a room opposite my dad’s bedroom.

I’ve never been in most of these rooms, let alone know what they were being used for. However, I do know that the last time I was led by a ghost, it brought me to answers. Walking forward slowly, I choose to follow the specter, hoping this time, it will be the same.

When I reach the doorway, I listen intently. The clicking sound has ceased, but the menacing undercurrent remains. I can’t explain it, but something about all of this feels so familiar…

The lights in the hallway flicker, diverting my attention to them. Suddenly, the chill creeps in again, evaporating the warmth in an instant. It removes any feelings of security and happiness, replacing them with an empty dread. I shiver it away, refusing to let it deter me even if my heart rate is at an all-time high.

This is my house, dammit.

With my phone still clutched in my left hand, I reach out and fling the door open. The room is dark, so I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. Stepping inside, I flip on the light switch and soft, white light bursts from the ceiling, casting deep shadows across the furniture in the room. Each piece is covered with large, off-white sheets, making it look as though stereotypical ghosts crowd the space. But I know better.

Narrowing my gaze, I take another small step into the room, eyeing each piece of furniture with suspicion. I pause, half anticipating one of the sheets to move or race toward me. I’ve watched enough horror movies to expect that much. However, once inside the room, the cold dissipates and the despairing sensation vanishes with it, leaving me confused.

Why would it lead me here? Was there a reason? Or was it just to scare the hell out of me?

One way to find out.

I reach out, tugging off the sheet closest to me. As it drops to the floor, it reveals a large, burgundy wing-backed chair. Flashes of a distant memory play at the back of my mind, but I can’t quite place whether they’re real or not.

Yanking off the next one, it reveals a floor lamp with stained glass covering the lightbulb. The next one is a bookshelf piled high with books that overflow its capacity. As I pull the next sheet back, I drop it and stare, mouth agape, at a large table covered with paints, paintbrushes, and a canvas. I stare into the depths of the eyes of a woman in a still-unfinished portrait. Even without being completed, I’d know that face anywhere.

Swallowing hard and backing away, my mother’s familiar features stare back at me.

Chapter 5

Messed Up

I stare at the painting, unable to close my mouth.

Who painted this? Was it my dad? Why was it covered up? More importantly, why was I led here in such a weird, spooky way?

Fumbling for my phone, I tug it out of my front pocket and hit Mom’s number. My heart drums a beat of anxiety in my ear as I press the phone close.

“Hi, sweetie. Is everything okay?” Mom asks, her voice edging on wary.

I exhale audibly, dropping my shoulders in relief. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

She laughs softly, “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s eight-thirty on a Tuesday night. It’s not like Mistwood is the epicenter for craziness, you know?”

Smiling, I say, “Yeah, I know. I don’t know, I guess I just…” I stop, unsure how much I want to tell her. I know how she hates anything supernatural. The last thing she’d want to know is I was guided by a ghost to a painting of her. It would freak her out for days.

“You just…?” Mom presses, alarm beginning to paint her words.

“I guess I just miss your voice,” I mutter, staring into her acrylic eyes in the painting.

“Awww, I miss you, too, sweetheart. We haven’t had a whole lot of time to chat since you started…school last year,” she says, skirting around the obvious.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been really busy,” I say, dropping my gaze to the floor. I swallow hard and back out of the room, flicking off the light and shutting the door. “How have you been? What’s new there?”

“Not a whole lot. The neighbors are still crazy and work is keeping me