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

It was night, her path illuminated by yellowed and flickering streetlights. There was no traffic and no one else on the sidewalks, just her and the man with the gun. But no matter how far she ran, or how fast, the man always caught up.

Sarah tripped and skidded to the concrete, tearing the skin from her palms and knees. When she turned to look behind her, the man was silhouetted from a nearby streetlight. He had the gun aimed at her head, his finger on the trigger.

But he never pulled it. He lowered it, a smile stretching over his face that pulsed cold chills through Sarah’s body. He’d step closer, until he was practically on top of her, and he’d just stare down at her with those dead, dark eyes and that cold smile.

Sarah trembled, incapable of doing anything but wait for the end. And then, just when she thought he might walk away and let her live, his hand would strike out quick as a snake bite and clamp around her neck.

Sarah sprang awake, gasping for breath as she instinctively reached for the imaginary hand around her neck. She coughed then drew in hyperventilated gasps as she checked the room to ensure she was alone.

“It’s not real.” Sarah shut her eyes, whispering to herself. “He’s not here. It’s not real.” Slowly, her heart rate calmed, and she collapsed back onto her pillow. She regained control of her breathing and then flung the covers off of her bed, letting the air cool the sweat that had drenched her body.

Sarah rolled her head to the left, checking the old wind-up clock on the nightstand. It was three o’clock in the morning. She groaned and then rolled the opposite direction, knowing it would be difficult to go back to sleep.

Groggy, Sarah rolled out of bed, still dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, and grabbed the pack of smokes from her pack. Having one usually calmed her down. She walked to the window and tried to open it, but the lock was jammed shut.

“Shit.” Sarah turned from the window and then walked over to the dying amber glow of the fireplace. She pressed the end of her cigarette against the hot log, and then puffed the smoke into the chimney. “Sorry, Santa.”

After only a few hits, Sarah felt the nicotine calm her down. And while the rest of the room had become drafty again, it was still warm by the dying coals. The combination of the cigarette and the warmth helped rock her back into a sleepy daze, and just when she was about to nod off, a loud bang echoed in the hallway.

Sarah jerked her head toward the door. She frowned, pausing before she took another hit of the cigarette. She waited for the sound to return, but heard nothing. She stood and then flicked the nub of her smoke into the fire.

Sarah made it one step toward the door when the knock returned, this time hitting against her own bedroom door.

Sarah froze, her heart once again beating quickly in her chest. “Hello?”

Another knock.

“Um, just a minute.” Sarah was approaching the door when another knock made her jump. “All right!”

The pounding grew quick and violent against the door, and Sarah grabbed the fire poker from the hearth. She raised the piece of iron in her hands and reached for the doorknob, the knocking reaching a crescendo. “I’m trying to sleep, so if you don’t knock it off—”

Sarah swung the door open, muscles tensed and poised to swing the rusted iron at whatever was on the other side. But the hallway was empty.

Sarah stepped into the hallway, checking both ends of the hall, but saw nothing but paintings and wilting flowers in expensive porcelain vases.

With the hallway clear, Sarah lowered the iron. She turned back toward her door and made it one step before—

“Can you see me?”

Sarah spun around, raising the iron with both hands toward the sound of the voice. She traced the voice to a patch of darkness in the hall where the moonlight from the window couldn’t reach. She stared harder. “Who’s there?”

“You can, can’t you?”

Slowly, the darkness took shape, and from it emerged the figure of a woman who kept her back toward Sarah. Long black hair fell down her back, and she wore a dark dress that blended her with the night.

“You have to help us,” she said.

A cold sweat broke over Sarah’s body, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The whisper tickled her ear as if the person were right beside her.

Sarah kept her distance and the iron raised. “Listen, I’m new around here, so if you need help then you can talk to Mrs. Bell.”

The woman remained silent and motionless.

Sarah lowered the iron, no longer having the energy or the patience to deal with the lady. “Listen, I’m going back to bed.”

“No Bell.” The words were hissed between lips with disdain.

Sarah stopped. “What do you mean, no Bell?”

“No Bell. No Bell. NO BELL!”

More chills pulsed through Sarah, and she lifted the iron again. “You leave now or I’m going to call the cops. I don’t care if you work here or not, understand?”

“Please,” the woman said, her voice softer. “You must help us.”

“Help you do what?” Sarah hissed back angrily, the frustration mixing with her exhaustion.

The question triggered the woman to slowly turn, but she kept her head down. As she spun, the darkness seemed to shift with her, and Sarah retreated, a fierce cold seeping into her bones. It was raw and sickening, and triggered panic through her veins.

A scream that she couldn’t control crawled up and out of her throat, and she retreated faster, the woman growing closer and closer, her head down but her arm stretched out to try and grab Sarah.

“NO!” Sarah slammed into something behind her, tripping to the floor and dropping the iron in the fall.

“Hey, are you all right?”

Still on her back, Sarah