Beneath Ash & Bone by D. Alexander Ward

Author:D. Alexander Ward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mystery, paranormal, ghost story, suspense thriller, haunted mansion
Publisher: Necro Publications

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Sam opened his crusted eyes and nestled into the soft curls of Charlotte’s hair. He took the humming sound in his ears for the remnant of a dream, a dark thing that he cared not to dwell on. After all, there was a beautiful woman lying next to him, her porcelain curves hidden under musty sheets, her bare flesh against his own.

But he could not find sleep again—not in the bone-chilling air of the room. It wouldn’t do to have a lady like her wake to such poor conditions so he rose from the bed, pulled his trousers on and went into the sitting room to revive the dying fire.

After some effort, he got a good blaze going and warmth soon emanated from the hearth, filling the small space and radiating down the hall to the bedroom. He sat in a chair and eyed the nearly empty decanter of whiskey, rubbing his temples to soothe the dull ache that was growing somewhere between them.

The pale light of early dawn was filling the maudlin sky and the world outside seemed cast in shades of blue and white. Leaning his head back, basking in the warmth of the flames, Sam thought of all that he learned the night before. He had always envied folk like the Crownhills; well-heeled families of high birth with lavish comforts and the wider world so within their reach. But if bearing the weight of such dark secrets was the price of a privileged life, then let them have it. He would take his own lowborn, stringent and cantankerous father over being a Crownhill any day.

His eyes felt heavy and as he closed them, the humming sound came once again. If it was to a dream he must go, then he would not fight it. But after a moment, he was still there awake. And the humming persisted.

Sitting up, he looked around the room and out of the corner of his eye, outside of the window, there was a movement—a shadow passing by. Sam was on his feet then, stepping into his boots. His gun belt was draped over the back of a chair and he pulled the pistol from its holster as he crept toward the door. He imagined Horace Crownhill, nude and barking mad, skulking around the guest house wearing a wire crown adorned with hundreds of buzzing, dying wasps. Secretly, he hoped for the old man to give him cause to shoot, for there was now no doubt in his mind about who had brought young William to his horrible end.

As God as his witness, and even with the man’s daughter bedded and sleeping only feet away, Sam would put Horace down for good if given a reason.

Cocking the hammer back, he eased the door open and stepped out into the snow.

He peered around the guest house, into the stands of nearby trees, but saw nothing. Looking down into the snow, he could not tell for certain if someone had been standing by the door

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