Uncanny Activity
Six months after buying his house,
author Scott Drake wonders if he's sharing it with a spirit when,
nightly, he hears the sounds of a car crash on the road in front of it.
Then he sees the reflection of a man behind him in the windows.
Jack Weaver, Scott's online friend,
suggests he research the house's history. Then, intrigued by what Scott
discovers, he pays him a visit.
As the two men work to discover who--or
what--is sharing the house with Scott, their previously long-distance
friendship begins to blossom into more. Can they survive what they
discover? And if they do, will the fact that they live hundreds of miles
apart destroy any chance of love between them?
This book also includes Ryker Savage, Vampire PI by Scott Drake.
Can Ryker keep Mason Fox safe from a stalker and avoid falling in love in the process?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The squeal of tires then the horrific sound of metal tearing into metal brought Scott upright out of a dead sleep.
"Not again, damn it," he cursed, rushing
to his bedroom window to look out, just as he had every night for the
last week. As always, there was nothing to see but the moonlit road at
the edge of his property.
"Scotty, what's wrong?"
For a moment, Scott ignored the sleepy,
querulous voice of the man occupying the other half of his bed. Then he
turned back from the window to look at the guy whose name he couldn't
remember for the life of him and said, "Nothing, just a nightmare.
Sorry. Go back to sleep."
"Maybe I don't want to sleep now," the man pouted.
Scott shrugged. "Then get dressed and go home. Makes me no nevermind."
"Well, I never," the man huffed. "I guess I might as well. Looks like nothing more's going to be happening here."
With a shrug, Scott grabbed his robe
then put it on as he strode out of the bedroom. When he was downstairs
in the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, sighing in relief a few
minutes later when he heard the front door close.
Coffee in hand, he went into his office
to boot up the computer. Once he was online, even though it was
late--close to midnight--he opened his IM program with the hope that the
friend he only knew as "JackSmith" was around. They had connected on
the Facebook group run by Scott's publisher--Scott as an author,
JackSmith as a fan--and discovered they had some mutual interests. After
that, they continued to talk periodically via IM, discussing books,
movies, and the occasional events in their lives.
If JackSmith was there, he was under the radar, so Scott sent him an off-line--It happened again. Then he leaned back in his chair and waited.
Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, JackSmith's familiar avatar appeared as he went visible.
JackSmith: Same time?
Scott: Yes. Twelve twenty-five on
the dot. Everything was exactly the same--the screech of tires, the
crash, and nothing out there when I looked.
JackSmith: Do you know yet if anyone else in the neighborhood has heard it?
Scott: I asked the woman who lives
the next house down. She just looked at me like I'd lost my mind. And I
had company tonight who didn't hear it either. But I'm not imagining it,
damn it.
JackSmith: Ghosts, boyo *laughing*
Scott: Never believed in them, Jack. Besides. A ghost car crash? Come on.
JackSmith: Well, something's going
on. You said you've never been in an accident, to say the least of a bad
one, so it's not your mind playing that over and over.
Scott: And it never happened until I moved here.
JackSmith: So it must have to do with your new place. Do you know the history behind it?
Scott: The house? Not really. It's older, built in the fifties.
JackSmith: *chuckling* 1850's, 1950's?
Scott: Nineteen. I'm not into antiques and upkeep. *rolling eyes*
JackSmith: So just for yucks and
grins, do some research. See how the previous owner died…or if there
really was an accident on that road in front of your place.
Scott: Yeah, I will *yawning* Back to bed for me. I don't know how you can stay up so late.
JackSmith: Practice, boyo, practice. *laughing* Night.
Scott: Night
*****
"May I help you?" a grandmotherly appearing woman at the library's help desk asked.
"I hope so. I'm looking for the history
of the house I just bought." Scott gave her the address, wondering as he
did if libraries actually had that kind of information. His Realtor
hadn't--or at least not that he'd admit to.
"The old Constantin house," she said, without missing a beat.
"You know that off the top of your head?" he asked in surprise.
She smiled. "It's a small town, and I've
lived here all my life. There isn't much I don't know about the
residents, past and present. Let me see." She tapped her chin then stood
up, beckoning him to follow her.
They ended up in a small room at the
back of the library. Shelves of books lined three walls. A table holding
a microfilm reader sat in the center of the room. The librarian went to
a cabinet on the fourth wall, opening the drawer she needed.
"These should help," she said, handing
him several rolls of microfilm. "I'm afraid you'll have to scroll
through them to find what you want. They're copies of the local
newspaper from the early nineteen fifties, when Mr Constantin built the
house. Quite a tragic story, as you'll find out. Once you're finished,
if you have any questions, I'll try to answer them. Do you know how to
use this?" She tapped the reader.
Scott nodded. "Actually, yes." Putting
the rolls down, he pulled over a chair, thanking her for her help before
sitting and inserting the first film.
Four hours later he was bleary-eyed and
yawning, but he had the information he'd been seeking. Putting the last
roll of film back into its container, he left them stacked on the desk,
closed his notebook, then returned to the Help desk.
"Did you have any questions?" the librarian asked.
"Not yet. Not until I process what I found out. Thank you for all your help."
"I'm here Tuesday through Saturday, so feel free to come back and pick my brain," she told him with a smile.
"Trust me. I will." After thanking her again, he left, heading back home.
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