Ghost Writer (The Ghost Files Book 7) by Chanel Smith

Author:Chanel Smith [Smith, Chanel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0189SWDTK
Goodreads: 27877234
Published: 2015-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Diana and I had planned to wait up the following night as well, but due to our exhaustion from not sleeping the night before, I fell asleep in the chair and she fell asleep on the couch. We both snapped awake at the sound of Jaxon typing away on the typewriter.

Just as we had the night before, we stood beside Jaxon and watched him work. Once more, the brilliant, flowing text of the novel was equally as impressive as the fact that a seven-year-old boy’s fingers were flying over the keys to produce it. A bit more relaxed than we had been the previous night, Diana and I whispered to one another while we watched the sentences and paragraphs taking shape on the page.

When Jaxon came to the end of the page, he sat back, crossed his arms and looked straight ahead. Just as on the previous night, I picked up the scent of pipe tobacco, this time, it had a slightly different aroma, when I looked at Diana and raised my eyebrows, she answered my question.

“That’s the Whiskey Cavendish,” she said. “He smoked that when he was getting into his work seriously. I think he only smoked the Cherry for my benefit.”

“So, that would mean that he’s getting serious.”

“More paper.” I heard the voice inside of my head.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Diana.

“I didn’t hear anything. What did he say?”

“He asked for more paper.” The voice had been so distinct that I was certain that it had been audible. The fact that Diana hadn’t heard it made me wonder if I was going crazy.

“Should I put in more paper?”

“Yes, go ahead. Let’s see how far he goes.”

With more paper in the machine, Jaxon continued hammering away on the keys. The ring and zing of the carriage became a steady rhythm as the keys continued to click. While Jaxon was typing the second page, Diana and I scanned the first, putting it with the previous pages. It was all beginning to build into an excellent story and neither Diana nor I could contain our excitement.

Jaxon produced three more pages before he finally sat back in the chair, turned it away from the desk and looked up at us. “Mama? Why are you up so late and why is Ellen here?”

“I just came over to check on your mama’s dreams,” I replied.

“Oh. Okay. Good night, then.” He turned away from us and started down the hall to his bedroom.

“What do we do, Ellen?” she asked, after checking that Jaxon was in bed and soundly asleep.

“This is brilliant writing, Diana,” I responded.

“Of course it is,” she replied. “My Granddaddy’s spirit is writing a novel, but for God’s sake, Ellen, he’s using my baby to do it. What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“What can you do about it?”

“I don’t know, but I feel pretty guilty about my son being pulled out of bed and 2:00 in the morning to spend an hour or two writing before going back to bed.

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