A Dead Pig in the Sunshine by Penny Burwell Ewing

Author:Penny Burwell Ewing [Ewing, Penny Burwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, paranormal, romance, suspense, fantasy
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2017-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

The Old Maco Mansion

The ivy-covered two-storied house hunkered back from the street behind a screen of overgrown pine trees and bushes. The once manicured lawn was now strewn with prickly weeds, pinecones, straw, and fallen branches. In the faint light of the moon, behind a rusty gate, I could detect the broken stone steps leading to the front sagging wooden porch and the door beyond. I killed the engine and headlights and peered from the safety of my car at the dark, creepy mansion, once again questioning the wisdom of my decision. Even with the Pink Panther within hands’ reach, I realized I had wasted my time in coming here. No way would I risk my neck in the condemned house. Best to return home and wait for Bradford.

I reached for the ignition just as my cell phone rang. I fished it from my shoulder bag. Thank God, Bradford.

“Jolene? Where are you? I’m at your house and you’re not.”

“I’m at the Maco mansion,” I answered with relief.

“What are you doing there?”

I told him, much to his displeasure.

“Don’t leave the safety of your car, you hear. I’m on my way.”

The line disconnected, and I rolled up the driver’s window for extra precaution, determined to stay put and out of trouble. The warning was still echoing in my thoughts when a woman’s scream rent the night. Startled by the piercing shriek coming from the deserted house, I automatically swung open the driver’s door and bolted up the stone steps leading to the front door. With the Pink Panther cradled confidently in my outstretched grasp, I eased open the unlocked front door and inched inside the inky darkness, my ears sonically zeroing in on every creek and groan of the old house. With practiced steps, I crept slowly through the foyer and into a large open room, which appeared to be a parlor or living room, I wasn’t sure. Broken and deteriorated furniture dotted the space. A musty, mildewed odor permeated my nostrils bringing tears to my eyes.

I froze as whispers of sounds echoed from the back of the house. Unsure how to proceed, I allowed the atmosphere of the house to settle around me. My psychic radar filtered disturbing cosmic vibrations flowing statically from the farthest reaches of the mansion. With my heightening intuitive faculties on high, I swept the house for celestial visitors. None. The house was clean of ghosts.

A woman’s whimper reached my ears, but I couldn’t distinguish the direction in this cavernous room. I would have to explore the mansion to discover the origin. On silent feet, I moved from room to room in semidarkness, with only the light of a half-moon streaming through dirty, broken, floor-to-ceiling windows covered in filthy drapes.

Upstairs, I paused on the landing, imagining the slightest footfalls on the dusty hardwood floor. Spooked with the unfamiliar territory, and wishing I’d heeded Bradford’s warning and stayed safe in the car, I took several hesitate steps forward where the inky darkness swallowed me. Relying on my

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