K.J. Emrick - Darcy Sweet 13 - Ghost Story by K.J. Emrick

Author:K.J. Emrick [Emrick, K.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Paranormal - Ghosts - Psychic - Australia
Publisher: South Coast Publishing
Published: 2014-10-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

When Darcy had told Jon that she’d never performed an exorcism, she’d told him the truth. There had been a few people in town or as far away as Inglesburg who thought their houses were haunted and thought they needed an exorcism. Sometimes, to make them feel better, Darcy had made up a ritual cleansing on the spot. She would throw some salt, walk through the house reciting Latin or gibberish even, and then walk away declaring the house clean.

A bit dramatic, but every time she’d done it the families in those houses never had a problem with their “ghost” again. Probably because it had only been the product of an overactive imagination coupled with the sounds of a house settling.

Doing a real exorcism, on a specter as powerful as the Pilgrim Ghost, would require a lot of energy and willpower. Which was why she opted to go to bed before she fell asleep on the floor.

After repairing the salt lines and making sure all the windows and doors were locked, Darcy had stumbled. Jon had been exactly two steps behind her the whole time and had been there to catch her. In actuality, her knees had buckled from exhaustion, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. He was worried about her enough as it was. She also wasn’t going to argue with him when he told her to take her clothes off and get in bed.

Dreams came and went, and she knew some of them came from her Aunt Millie even though she didn’t appear in any of them personally. There were some about her childhood, her mother and father and sister. Smudge walked through several of them as his normal cat self. A few were close to nightmares, made up of worries about what would happen if they couldn’t stop Nathaniel Williams.

If he killed anyone else.

She was watching Williams’ hanging in one of the dreams. It was the scene from the painting in Benson’s book, only it was so very real. She saw Williams swinging from his gallows rope. She saw the look of satisfaction on the faces of the people around him, heard the insults they hurled at him. Over in the corner, the grandfather clock ticked its way toward midnight, the second hand moving steadily around until it was right at the cusp of striking the witching hour.

Then it stopped, and the clock’s mechanisms broke with a loud sproing.

11:59.

Nathaniel Williams stopped kicking. His body lay still and limp where it hung. He was dead.

Through the crowd came Whitmarsh Grace. Darcy had never seen a picture of him but she knew instinctively that this was her distant ancestor, the man who had sent Nathaniel Williams to his death. He was tall and lean, with the hard look of someone who would just as soon shoot you now and ask questions of your corpse. He tipped a wide black hat to another man in the crowd, a portly gentleman in a black coat with long tails who gave the impression of being the leader of the group.

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