A Ghostly Dare

  A GHOSTLY DARE

  By Zoey and Claire Kane

  Breezyreads.com

  Published by Breezy Reads, Copyright 2017

  About the book:

  Hide and seek just got a ghostly twist…

  Zoey’s favorite frenemy, Penny Simcox, is in sudden need of help. Her dear Aunt Mavis Mervel has passed away, and in her will she’s invited the family to stay at her condemned gothic mansion… for a treasure hunt.

  With questions swirling around the old woman’s mysterious death, it’s difficult enough focusing on finding treasure not knowing what it could be, but add to that Mavis’s ghost is haunting guests. It’s time to bring the Kanes in on a ghostly dare.

  A special thanks to Kat Lind, Scott Paul, the D’s, and fellow classmates.

  This author and book are a part of Phoenix Prime.

  Phoenix Prime is a Ph.D. level workshop that spans approximately four months. It uses applied industrial psychology to address components of writing, marketing, branding, business and contract issues, productivity, etc. that combine Creative Writing and business perspectives.

  The participants will create a portfolio to showcase their work alongside students in doctoral programs in several major universities. The objective, in addition to expanding the professional growth of all the participants, is to study the impact of the independent author-publisher on the commercial fiction industry.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  ONE

  “It was a dark and stormy night…”

  “Can it, Mom! You know I can be spooked.” Claire, a tall dark-haired beauty, brilliant in a lot of ways, knew they were going to spend as long as they could stand it in a haunted, Victorian mansion with Gothic undertones. In fact, they were headed there right now, in Zoey’s red Lexus. And the night was indeed dark and stormy. Rain splattered against the windshield in loud, angry drops.

  Her mom laughed. “Okaaaay, I was just getting us ready for another adventure.” Strawberry-blond hair framed her lovely face, artfully done with eye make-up to perfection.

  It was Zoey’s frenemy, tall and lanky Penny Simcox, who’d dared the Kanes to spend five nights in her aunt’s derelict mansion. Yes, not invited, but dared. Taunted that they couldn’t do it; otherwise, they might’ve been too scared of dark weirdness and ghosts to accept an ordinary invitation.

  Penny wanted to see her one-time real estate competitor fail at something, and yet this time she was counting on Zoey’s help. In fact, she was relying on those talented sleuthing capabilities that made her jealous, occasionally turning her into a mean tease. Penny’s eccentric old aunt, Mavis Mervel, had disappeared and was assumed dead.

  So, it wasn’t the dare and the friendly insults that persuaded the Kanes to spend the night at the mansion. No, it was the brand new mystery attached to it. Where did Mavis go? Did she really die? If she was dead, then how? Natural causes or something devious? And was there any truth to the rumors of her hauntings? Questions like these just naturally run through sleuthy minds.

  Adding further intrigue to their stay was the heirs’ treasure hunt for an inheritance. A lawyer had contacted several of Penny’s family, according to the demands of an unexpected will. They were to stay five nights in search of treasure. What it was exactly, nobody knew—but whoever found the “one item of great worth” would get to keep it all to themselves. There were rules, of course. Leaving early meant forfeiture of any kind of bequeath.

  The challenge was accepted on the promise that Penny was not to tell anyone of Zoey’s sudden wealth. In fact, Zoey made her sign a non-disclosure agreement, so she wouldn’t.

  “Gee, Zo. You’re a little anal lately,” Penny had accused the previous night, tucking a wisp of her auburn bob behind an ear. She’d worn the hairstyle for as long as Zoey knew her, but at least the formerly black color had been updated to a richer hue.

  “I’ve got good reason,” Zoey had replied with a smile. “I want people to be themselves when I’m asking questions.”

  Their Lexus suddenly hydroplaned across a pool of water, sending the Kanes sliding toward a curb. Claire tensed up, instinctively ramming her foot down on an invisible brake. Zoey skillfully regained control.

  Claire sighed in relief and said, “There might as well be thunder added to what will be an evil night in an evil house.”

  A crack of lightning, followed by rolls of thunder, electrified the night.

  “Well that’s just great!” Claire ran some fingers through her dark brown hair, as if that would help her see better through the rainy windows.

  They turned into a subdivision called Sunnyside View. It was a growing development of newer suburban homes, their sunshiny colors and white picket fences appropriately matching the name. The Kanes had been instructed to turn right at a road whose street sign warned “No entry.”

  Taking a couple of right turns, they came upon the rutted road lined with old willows whose limbs dragged the ground and blew forward with stormy gusts. They lashed out to grab the Kanes, the last of a regiment of sentinels stationed to vanquish intruders of the abandoned, dark mansion. The black silhouette of the Gothic-influenced Victorian, with its many angles and towers, rose in front of them like a dragon. Golden lights glowing through two upper-story windows were its eyes, a smeary sight with every slash of the windshield wipers.

  A few cars were already parked out front. As Zoey’s red Lexus crept along the ominous estate whose five acres was backdropped by modern homes, Claire squinted at the strange juxtaposition before her. “Remember the Sesame Street song that went, ‘One of these things is not like the others’?”

  “Mister Rogers was more to my liking,” Zoey said.

  Tall arched windows spanned the first and second levels. Most beautiful was the semicircular paned one, fanned across the center of the third level; it overlooked a buttressed balcony with its black-iron railing. Ornate pinnacles speared up the edges, casting striped shadows of evil against the face of the mansion.

  Despite the chill at the back of their necks, the Kanes pulled into an open spot under a vine-covered porte cochère, its roof extending over the drive to shelter travelers, perfect for rainy nights. They carried their suitcases to the front door, where a sheriff’s notice was posted. “CONDEMNED,” it read in big red letters. “This structure is declared unsafe for human occupancy or use. It is unlawful for any person to use or occupy this building. Address: 1 Shadyside Street. Any unauthorized person removing this sign will be prosecuted.”

  Still holding heavy luggage, Claire pressed the doorbell with her elbow. Its low, mournful peal sounded like a funeral toll. An old woman with dark heavy eyebrows answered. She was dressed in a black dress with a white apron and matching cap, and carried an antique oil lantern; its yellow glow illuminated the line of her lips that verged on a scowl.

  “Hello,” greeted Zoey with a bat of her long eyelashes. “Penny sent us. We’re the Kanes.”

  “Of course, Madame. We’ve been expecting you,” the woman said with a European accent. “I am the
maid, Zeona Voot.” She drew the lantern closer to her face, accentuating tiny dark veins across her cheeks.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Voot,” Zoey said with a smile.

  “My name is Voot.”

  “Voot,” Zoey repeated.

  “No, Voot.”

  “Spell it?” asked Zoey with an arched brow.

  “W-O-O-T.”

  “Thank you, Zeona.”

  “Zeona, ma’am.”

  “Spell it.” Claire cut to the chase.

  “T-H-E-O-N-A.”

  “Got it.” said Zoey. “Theona Woot.”

  “Pleaze, come inside.”

  “Wait a minute.” Claire set down her luggage and tersely pointed at the notice with her buffed nails. “What about this? Penny didn’t say it’s been condemned.”

  The woman pursed her wrinkled blue lips and then ripped the paper sign off the door. “Zhere, all better?”

  Zoey shared a look with her daughter, then turned back to the maid. “Is there black mold or lead in there?”

  “No, Madame. Nothing like that.” The maid glanced over her shoulder. “Zhere are some construction issues. Ms. Mervel’s eccentric taste wasn’t completely up to code. Her lawyer found out and so the city condemned the estate. But I’ve lived here for many years without trouble.”

  A smile sprang across Zoey’s lips in acceptance. She said to her daughter, “Perfect! I think we’ll be okay, then. Sounds fun, even.”

  Clenching her teeth, Claire replied in a hushed tone, “I don’t like breaking rules, especially when it’s the law. And do you see this place? It’s creepy.”

  Of course the older woman was right there, in earshot. “Are you going to come inside?” she asked with an expression so bored, it verged on creepy itself. “Or stay out in zhe stormy cold day?”

  “Put that way…”

  The mother and daughter had to step over a wilted collection of the daily newspaper. They entered into the dark, except for the glow of another antique lantern set high on a foyer’s black marble pedestal. It was equally cold inside. By the dim light, the ladies could make out the great room that stretched across the vast, main floor. It consisted of specialty sections: a sitting area, by the hearth of a fireplace; a music area, featuring a piano, its lid, dusty and falling in; and a dining room, whose chandelier of candles dangled, unlit, above a long table.

  “Where is everybody?” Claire asked, casting glances around.

  “Up in zheir rooms, unpacking for the evening.”

  Zoey asked with hope, “May we have a moment to look around, before being escorted to our room?”

  “Sure. I will go get Mr. Proctor and be back.” The woman headed up the stairs with a limping gait.

  The Kanes set down their luggage, wanting to take advantage of their private moment. They didn’t know who Mr. Proctor was, but they were too distracted to care. Scrutinizing their strange new environment was of utmost importance, to pacify their curiosities.

  High up, the ceiling contained a gorgeous antique skylight, a large dome window, cloudy from the stormy night. What light of the moon that’d managed to filter through its dirty film was minimal.

  Claire picked up the oil lamp from atop the pedestal to study the wall tapestries that hung threadbare and lopsided. The wallpaper beneath wasn’t any better. Brittle and torn, it hinted at once being a deep plum. Now it had the pallor of death. She grazed a tear with her fingertip.

  In the soft glow emanating from Claire’s lamp, Zoey eyed the sitting room’s lumpy and sagging sofa with its matching set of armchairs. Their deep burgundy velvet had worn away in parts from years of use. It was a shame. That furniture had been the best of the best at one time, and if it had been properly taken care of, would still be so. If anyone knew antiques, it was Zoey.

  The maid reappeared just as the Kanes were looking over the music area. It seemed rather quick and unexpected, startling them. Despite the woman’s advanced age and strange gait, she must’ve had a certain core strength. Beside her stood a man with a yellow complexion, wearing a kitchen jacket and striped pants, his hands clasped.

  “Mr. Proctor,” Theona said, “this is Zoey and Claire Kane, who are going to solve our mystery for us.”

  “Indeed. May I take your bags along?” Although he spoke with a soft and pleasant voice, there was something off about him. Was that suspicion in his eyes?

  “Oh, yes, please.” Zoey extended an arm toward the foyer, where their suitcases still sat. Her wrists already felt stretched from the weight she’d carried, and so she was happy to accept the offer.

  As he walked off to retrieve them, a couple of piano keys descended, playing a baritone tune. The Kanes turned to see nobody there. “What was that?” Claire asked, clutching her mother’s arm.

  The maid tilted her head. “What was what, miss?” she asked.

  The Kanes exchanged puzzled expressions.

  TWO

  The Kanes were escorted to a beautiful room of dark cranberry and light pink hues, just down the hall from the kitchen. It was heartening to find it clean. “This was Madame Mavis Mervel’s room, before she disappeared,” her maid said matter-of-factly. “She had trouble climbing the stairs in her old years. Arthritis.”

  Mr. Proctor had already set down the luggage on the dark hardwood floor and left to go somewhere else.

  “How old was she, may we ask?” Zoey said.

  “Eighty-five. Normally I would be protective of Madame Mervel’s things. She was a recluse who prized privacy. But do understand, since Miss Penny hired you to solve the mystery of her disappearance, please make yourselves at home. Nothing is off limits.”

  Claire stepped over to the large, mirrored dresser and lightly touched it. “Thank you. I can’t imagine how tough this would be for you.”

  “We’ll be very respectful of her things,” Zoey assured.

  “Please do what you can to solve the case,” Theona simply said.

  “Thank you. We will,” Zoey said.

  The old lady touched a pocket of her apron. “If you need anything, I keep a cell phone on me, charged from my car.”

  “Excellent,” Zoey replied. Her eyes cast to a light crack in the wall above the elaborate headboard. “This place needs a lot of repair.”

  “It certainly does, Madame,” was all Theona said.

  Claire took off her jacket and laid it across the rose-colored duvet. “As Ms. Mervel’s maid,” she said, “you must have a bedroom here, somewhere?”

  “Yes. I have a bedroom upstairs.” She didn’t nod. “I’ve served her for more than forty years, Madame.”

  “Hey, you’re here!” Penny entered the room, spotlighting them with her flashlight. She sported a smile that said I can’t wait to see your faces when you get spooked! Trailing behind was her little blond friend, nick-named B.B. from college days, standing for Bun Butt.

  The Kanes greeted them with glad smiles. They would do well with familiar faces around. It might even help them sleep.

  “Leave your stuff here,” Penny said. “Come to the great room to meet everyone. We’re gathering there now to discuss things.”

  “We’ll follow you there,” Claire said, who was feeling road-worn, hungry and indeed a little spooked.

  Crossing through the kitchen, Penny motioned to the long green island, doubling as a prepping table. “I’ve had a professional cleaning crew, one recommended by a local real estate group, work on the place, from top to bottom,” Penny said with pride. “So the kitchen is ready to use. Mister Proctor and Theona are taking care of cooking and serving us.”

  She led the Kanes to where a group of unusual people had gathered in a horseshoe seating arrangement, a comfortable distance from the large black fireplace. The mantel was elaborately carved with owl statues on either side, and a roaring fire glowed and crackled within.

  “We took a chance and built a fire,” a cowboy-hippy man announced from an armchair. “It’s working great. All the smoke is going up the chimney.”

  The Kanes were rath
er fixed on its unique beauty. The lantern light hadn’t done it justice. Now hosting a fire, it was a mesmerizing sight. Remembering their manners, however, they turned to greet the others.

  Penny introduced, “This is Zoey and Claire Kane, who I told you would be coming.”

  A round of greetings, some more interested than others, was offered. Penny motioned to a long-legged, thin man who had a narrow nose. “And this is my psychiatrist cousin, Doctor Gavier Constipaleon.”

  An unexpected giggle bubbled in Zoey’s throat. It was the last name. She couldn’t help it, and so she covered her mouth, doing her best to look cool. A sudden sharp whap across the back sent her forward a step. Shocked expressions turned to Claire for explanation.

  “It was a bug,” Claire lied in a flat tone.

  The giggle gone, Zoey was thankful for her daughter’s quick thinking. That wasn’t the first time Claire had saved her from an embarrassing situation by way of the same swift—though stinging—method.

  Penny seemed to accept the excuse. She continued to Dr. Constipaleon’s right. “Next to him is Darla, his wife.” Her hair was up in a full bun and pearls adorned her thick neck. She was a pleasant-looking woman, if not for the blond chin hairs, enough to suggest she was on her way to having a goatee.

  “Next to her is Uncle Spike.” She reached a hand toward an old gentleman, the cowboy-hippy—or was he more like an Australian outbacker?—sitting on the couch. “He owns a ranch in California,” she explained. Gray chest hair flared between his opened, brown-leather vest. He had long white hair and strangely arched eyebrows.

  “Oh, what is the specialty of your ranch?” Claire asked, interested in business ventures.

  “Cattle and a slaughter house.” He swung a dirty boot over a knee, and said with a tone of warning, “I’m putting everyone on notice. I don’t believe in ghosts. So if I see anyone in my room at night, you’re gonna get knifed.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Claire said, blinking. “You won’t find me in your room—at all.”