Murder on the House: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (Haunted Home Repair Mystery) by juliet blackwell Page A
Authors: juliet blackwell
Ads: Link
the garden.
The overhead lamp flickered out.
“Bad sign,” said Stephen.
“Could be a bad bulb. Or old wiring. Or both,” I responded.
We all turned on our flashlights and waved the beams around the room.
Claire chewed nervously on a Red Vines. “Creepy.”
“They had a lot of foster children. It’s just a playroom.”
“Playrooms are creepy . Haven’t you ever seen horror movies? This is where the you-know-what goes down.”
“The you-know-what?”
“Another New Year’s resolution: Stop swearing. Those are the two biggies: Stop smoking, stop swearing. But by God, I’m gonna keep on drinking.”
“Atta girl,” murmured Stephen.
“Let’s go get the equipment Olivier lent me and set it up in here,” I said. “It seems a likely spot for . . . activity.”
On the way out we noticed something on the hallway floor, passing from the master bedroom through the door of the nursery. Gouge marks.
I crouched down to inspect them. They felt rough under my fingertips, and looked fresh. I lifted the carpet runner and sure enough, the scratch went all the way under the rug.
“Could they be claw marks?” asked Claire.
“ Please don’t bring werewolves into this. It’s more like something heavy was dragged along here. But I can’t see what.”
“Dragged under the carpet?”
I had no answer for that. We hurried to set up the ghost-detecting equipment. The needle of the EMF detector was fluctuating crazily. Claire and Stephen kept their flashlights trained on me so I could see to set up a tripod with a night camera. I placed a sensitive recorder and a baby monitor on a bureau. Then I clipped the baby monitor receiver to my belt and slipped the EMF reader into my pocket.
When I finished, we searched the room one more time with the strong beams of our flashlights.
Scrawled on the opposite wall with bloodred crayon were childish letters, spelling out, STAY AWAY. DANGER.
“Okay,” said Claire, biting off a hunk of licorice. “I’m getting really creeped out. I feel sort of . . . funky. Dizzy.”
I was feeling pretty disoriented myself.
“Let’s get out of here.”
As we were leaving, a mechanical voice rang out: I drive a dump truck!
We all jumped, then huddled together, looking down at a nearby towel-covered basket as though it were filled with snakes.
Stephen reached out, snatching the towel off the top to reveal yet another bundle of toys. He dug down and pulled out a bright yellow dump truck with a driver. When you pushed down on the back, the driver declared his profession: I drive a dump truck.
Stephen smiled. “We must have set it off when we walked by.”
Claire and I let out a mutual sigh of relief and turned toward the door.
And there was the silhouette of a man.
We screamed. Stephen flung himself in front of us, crouching slightly with arms splayed out to the sides, for all appearances ready to die first. Since I probably had a good twenty pounds or so on the guy, I had to hand it to him.
“Sorry,” said a man’s voice, filled with amusement. He stepped into the room, his face still obscured with the hall light backlighting him. But we recognized him: Josh Avery.
“You missed pizza,” said Claire in a shaky voice.
“I ate earlier, thanks.” He passed his flashlight beam around the playroom. “Wow, talk about scary. In the movies the nurseries like this are always bad news.”
“That’s what I said,” said Claire.
His beam alighted on the scrawled message on the wall. “Huh.”
“We were just leaving,” I said, pushing past him to stand in the hallway. No doubt about it, there was something off-putting about that room.
“Where have you been?” I asked Josh as he joined us in the corridor, closing the playroom door behind him.
“Just exploring, checking out the garden, and the basement. So how do we want to go about this?” Josh asked.
“Go about what?”
“To tell the truth, I was so flabbergasted by the idea that I was supposed to spend the
The overhead lamp flickered out.
“Bad sign,” said Stephen.
“Could be a bad bulb. Or old wiring. Or both,” I responded.
We all turned on our flashlights and waved the beams around the room.
Claire chewed nervously on a Red Vines. “Creepy.”
“They had a lot of foster children. It’s just a playroom.”
“Playrooms are creepy . Haven’t you ever seen horror movies? This is where the you-know-what goes down.”
“The you-know-what?”
“Another New Year’s resolution: Stop swearing. Those are the two biggies: Stop smoking, stop swearing. But by God, I’m gonna keep on drinking.”
“Atta girl,” murmured Stephen.
“Let’s go get the equipment Olivier lent me and set it up in here,” I said. “It seems a likely spot for . . . activity.”
On the way out we noticed something on the hallway floor, passing from the master bedroom through the door of the nursery. Gouge marks.
I crouched down to inspect them. They felt rough under my fingertips, and looked fresh. I lifted the carpet runner and sure enough, the scratch went all the way under the rug.
“Could they be claw marks?” asked Claire.
“ Please don’t bring werewolves into this. It’s more like something heavy was dragged along here. But I can’t see what.”
“Dragged under the carpet?”
I had no answer for that. We hurried to set up the ghost-detecting equipment. The needle of the EMF detector was fluctuating crazily. Claire and Stephen kept their flashlights trained on me so I could see to set up a tripod with a night camera. I placed a sensitive recorder and a baby monitor on a bureau. Then I clipped the baby monitor receiver to my belt and slipped the EMF reader into my pocket.
When I finished, we searched the room one more time with the strong beams of our flashlights.
Scrawled on the opposite wall with bloodred crayon were childish letters, spelling out, STAY AWAY. DANGER.
“Okay,” said Claire, biting off a hunk of licorice. “I’m getting really creeped out. I feel sort of . . . funky. Dizzy.”
I was feeling pretty disoriented myself.
“Let’s get out of here.”
As we were leaving, a mechanical voice rang out: I drive a dump truck!
We all jumped, then huddled together, looking down at a nearby towel-covered basket as though it were filled with snakes.
Stephen reached out, snatching the towel off the top to reveal yet another bundle of toys. He dug down and pulled out a bright yellow dump truck with a driver. When you pushed down on the back, the driver declared his profession: I drive a dump truck.
Stephen smiled. “We must have set it off when we walked by.”
Claire and I let out a mutual sigh of relief and turned toward the door.
And there was the silhouette of a man.
We screamed. Stephen flung himself in front of us, crouching slightly with arms splayed out to the sides, for all appearances ready to die first. Since I probably had a good twenty pounds or so on the guy, I had to hand it to him.
“Sorry,” said a man’s voice, filled with amusement. He stepped into the room, his face still obscured with the hall light backlighting him. But we recognized him: Josh Avery.
“You missed pizza,” said Claire in a shaky voice.
“I ate earlier, thanks.” He passed his flashlight beam around the playroom. “Wow, talk about scary. In the movies the nurseries like this are always bad news.”
“That’s what I said,” said Claire.
His beam alighted on the scrawled message on the wall. “Huh.”
“We were just leaving,” I said, pushing past him to stand in the hallway. No doubt about it, there was something off-putting about that room.
“Where have you been?” I asked Josh as he joined us in the corridor, closing the playroom door behind him.
“Just exploring, checking out the garden, and the basement. So how do we want to go about this?” Josh asked.
“Go about what?”
“To tell the truth, I was so flabbergasted by the idea that I was supposed to spend the
Similar Books
