The Amber Lee Series Novel Collection: A Collection of Urban Fantasy Novels (Amber Lee Mysteries) by Katerina Martinez

Author:Katerina Martinez [Martinez, Katerina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Katerina Martinez
Published: 2016-03-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

We approached the wrought iron fence which though crooked and dilapidated encircled the entirety of the manse like a suit of armor. At the fence’s center there was a gate, and it was ajar. Beyond the gate, standing tall amidst a section of picnic tables and benches, there was a tree. A tire swing hung listlessly from its branches, swaying against a non-existent wind.

I hadn’t even stepped into the manse and my heart was running.

“Amber?” Frank noticed I had stopped moving. He came up beside me and looked over the park, saw the swaying tire, and also stood still.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

Frank and I went across the front yard toward the building but I noticed our trio of footsteps had become a duet. I stopped and turned around and found Madame Aishe staring at the side of the building. Reading her emotional state wasn’t difficult—she wore her emotions on her sleeve—but the intensity of her emotions threw me off. Instead of worry I saw outright dread on her face. Instead of fear, terror. It seemed as though she was incapable of expressing mild emotion, but if what I had learned about ghosts was true, it wasn’t surprising.

I wasn’t a stranger to TV documentaries about paranormal investigators prodding around in the dark with cameras, digital recorders, and a whole host of gadgets with the sole intention of capturing evidence of the paranormal. They filmed in infra-red, giving the show a spooky night-time feel and often times caught strange and inexplicable voices and flying orbs on camera. I had never done any of that myself but it was something that had always fascinated me.

Maybe if I had a friend who was into paranormal investigation I may have given it a try, but I never did. So I settled for enjoying the TV shows whenever they were on, some of them were good, others were downright awful. Especially those which featured “mediums” who could connect with the dead; every spirit was evil, to them, and every evil spirit was a demon.

A lot of it, I thought, was just dramatization—for the cameras, you know. But the field of paranormal investigation was a big one. Hundreds of thousands of people were into it, and many, many more bought into the theories they put out there. One such theory was that a ghost wasn’t so much the spirit of a person, but the echo of that person’s passions. If that was true, it explained why the gypsy seemed terror-struck and totally rooted to the spot where I had only been slightly fazed by what I had seen. The question was, then; what had she seen?

I walked up to her, took her by the hand, and she looked at me. For a moment I thought she was going to scream. She opened her mouth wide, her eyes too. I wanted to back up, to flinch, but I didn’t. I held my ground and comforted her. Told her that I was here, that it was okay.

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