24 Church Hill Drive

(The following is an excerpt from my novel, Ghost Conspiracy. It is a political thriller with a paranormal twist. Click HERE to check out the full novel in both eBook and paperback formats.) I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

24 CHURCH HILL DRIVE

A colorful collage of red and yellow leaves littered the windy roadway. As the green Austin-Healey rushed down the wooded trail, it tossed the vibrant array of auburn and crimson fluttering skyward. The crunchy leaves hung in the air for several seconds, then gracefully drifted back to the ground. Despite its age, the little roadster aggressively gripped the street. Conners smiled as it gobbled up corners, but his four-legged passenger wasn’t so lucky. Although Bruce made sure his loyal companion was strapped in, the centrifugal force was too much for the poor pooch to handle.

He bounced against the door, then scampered in place on the leather seat to avoid sliding into his master, but through it all, an excited grin remained glued to his golden features. Conners was by no means pushing his little car to its limits, but his aggressive speed was enough to give most people pause. As he continued navigating his way through the gloomy forest, the road narrowed and he came upon the sharp corners more frequently. Reluctantly, Bruce eased off of the gas and slowed to a more manageable speed.

Directly in front of him, the street whipped manically to the right and several of the leafless trees were snapped in half, haphazardly folded over the edge of a tall cliff. Conners slowed the car to a crawl as he examined the damage. A lone pair of tire tracks pushed through the plant carnage and led over the drop-off.

He whistled in amazement.

“It’s a good thing I slowed down, huh, boy? It looks like someone shoulda been more careful.”

Carl adjusted his footing until he was sitting up straight, then started happily panting away.

Bruce eased the car to a stop, then stood up so he could see over the windshield. The cliff was now visible directly in front of him. Far below, the powerful current of Eagle River raced past the rocky shoreline.

“Poor bastard,” he said, then he returned to his seat and carefully navigated around the hairpin turn.

Once clear of the corner, he spotted a quaint brick gateway that marked the start of a driveway. It didn’t look like much, but knew looks can be deceiving on these old roadways. They were built hundreds of years prior and clearly did not have cars in mind at the time. There was more than enough space for one vehicle to fit between the small brick pillars, but two passing simultaneously would have been impossible. As the green car crawled closer, Conners noticed the address carved into an ornate golden plaque on the top of the right post.

“24 Church Hill,” he read aloud. “Hmm, it looks like this is the place.”

Carl tilted his head back and sniffed the air.

“I know, buddy,” Bruce continued. “It doesn’t look like much, does it? I’m not impressed.”

From their vantage point, most of the structure was hidden behind scores of creepy trees. They moaned as a crisp autumn breeze danced between them. If Bruce squinted, he could just make out a large, black shape farther up the driveway, but he couldn’t distinguish any details. He let out a curious sigh.

“Well,” he said, “here goes nothin’.”

The dry leaves crunched under the sports car’s tires as Bruce eased up onto the narrow road and headed up the hill. Before long, he reached the entrance to an old cemetery. Speckles of rust adorned the metallic fence. Its ancient posts leaned awkwardly to the sides and were crowned with dull spikes. The graveyard wasn’t massive, but definitely large enough to convey its terrifying demeanor. Scores of uniform tombstones stood their ground beneath the ominous shadow of the woods. Every several feet, a larger, more elaborate grave marked the resting place of one of the site’s more prestigious guests.

Just beyond the cemetery, a rundown old church watched over all the residents of centuries past. A small bell tower stood taller than the rest of the structure and although most of them were broken or missing, a few ornate stained-glass windows remained intact along its serene walls. Conners shuddered. He didn't know how it was possible, but the place was even creepier than the pictures. Normally, he wasn’t one to be afraid of cemeteries. After all, he had spent most of his career in the company of death, but something about this spot just didn’t feel right, and it gave him the creeps.

He continued winding up the long driveway until, a break in the trees revealed the mansion in all of its terrifying glory. It stood like a mountain of intricate wood and stone before him. Although heavily shadowed in the dense woods, beams of faded sunlight highlighted the structure’s antique architecture perfectly.

Its intimidating presence matched what he envisioned a haunted house to look like. The surrounding trees hid much of its girth as he pulled his car to a stop and cut the engine. It had two main stories, but an enormous tower on the west wing stretched up towards the heavens. A gigantic set of double doors marked the front entrance and several bay windows adorned the front wall. Most of the glass remained intact, but some had suffered the wear of centuries of neglect and cracked into intricate web patterns. An elaborate network of vines and vegetation laid claim to the structure and had been slowly consuming it whole for decades. On the east wing, a massive wall of glass framed the property’s neglected atrium and assorted towers and spires jutted forth from the building’s worn down roof. Many of the shingles were missing, and stone gargoyles dutifully stood guard at the top of every corner. The house looked more like a crumbling old French chateau than a 17th century manor.

Bruce sat there with his head cocked back for several moments and let the sheer grandeur of the property sink in. Beside him, his loyal passenger shared his sentiment. The smile had long since left his friendly features as he cautiously sniffed the air. His golden fur fluttered in the breeze as the guttural squawk of crows high in the trees drifted through the woods.

As Conners slowly panned his head and took in the structure’s massive girth, he spotted something above them in a large second-story window. The silhouette was dark and hard to make out, but it looked like someone was standing there looking down at them. Bruce tore off his shades for a better look, but by the time he removed them, the shape had vanished. All that remained on the glass was the shadowed reflection of trees gently swaying back and forth.

“Did you see that?” he asked his dog.

Conners stared at the filthy reflection for a few seconds before he spoke again.

“I guess it was nothing.”

Then he folded his sunglasses and dropped them into the inside pocket of his Harley jacket.

“Get a grip, Bruce,” he said to himself. “You actually let Harry’s stupid ghost talk get to you.”

He shook his head, then reached over and scratched his dog’s chest.

“It’s just a house, Carl,” he said. “I can’t believe I almost fell for it.”

Bruce retrieved his flask from the glove box, but after shaking it a few times, determined it was empty. He removed the cap anyway and dumped the last few droplets of whiskey onto his tongue. It evaporated almost instantly, like water dropped onto a hot pan.

“Shit,” he sighed as he tossed the small metal container to the floor. “I should‘ve brought more.”

Conners glanced over at his dog.

“It’s your job to remind of these things.”

With that, he exited the vehicle and headed towards the mansion. Directly in front of the house, the driveway widened substantially. Bruce assumed this was an original design element to allow space for horse-drawn carriages to turn around for their return journey down the hill.

The gravel crunched under his worn dress shoes as he cautiously continued onward. After a few paces, he called Carl to join him, but for once, the dog seemed content to wait in the car.

“Oh, now you wanna stay?” Bruce asked. “Come on, Carl! Here, boy!”

Conners cocked his hip to the side and placed his hands on his waist as he watched his dog struggle with the dilemma of pleasing his master or remaining out of danger.

“Damn it, Carl. Get your fuzzy butt over here,” Bruce snapped.

Reluctantly, the large golden retriever wormed over to the door and obediently joined Bruce at the bottom of the stairs. He held his shoulders high and his tail hung between his legs as he walked.

“Thank you. Was that so hard?” he asked as he returned his attention to the massive house.

Now standing directly in front of it, it seemed even larger than before. Conners tilted his head back and gazed up towards the ominous tower high above. It glared down at him like a schoolyard bully.

“If you think I’m exploring this place all by myself, you’re out of your furry little mind.”

The pair made their way up the small stairway to the lavish double doors.

“Here goes nothing,” Bruce said, reaching for the ornate handle.

As he pushed his way inside, he noticed one of the doors’ small windowpanes was broken. At first, he thought nothing of it. After all, this house was nearly 300 years old, but as he closed himself in, he realized that there was something off about it. Sure, erosion can break windows; many of them had already succumbed to that very fate, but there was a lot of glass on the door that still remained intact. If natural decay was to blame, then the rest of the glass should have been shattered as well. He thought for a moment, then concluded that it could have been any number of things: an out-of-control bird, a rock, some punk teenager with an airsoft gun, hell even a small branch aided with a strong gust of wind could have been the culprit. Finally, he shrugged off the mystery and stepped deeper into the house.

He stood at the entrance to a grand foyer. The space was immense; most of his own modest home could have fit inside it. To the right, a spacious sitting area resided beside a gargantuan fire place. The massive hearth was large enough to accommodate several grown men standing side by side. To the left, a pair of open double doors led to the formal dining room, which, of course, was utterly colossal. Although caked with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, place settings of fine china and crystal decorated the long table.

Several yards ahead sat a grand stairway. Its decorative railing curved upwards to a massive second story loft. Assorted dusty paintings and rusty suits of armor lined the walls. High above, like a protective deity, a majestic chandelier hung in place. Its glass surface caught the dusty sunlight and sparkled brilliantly above the gloomy foyer.

Although it was late morning, the faded light did little to cut through the shadowed hall. Bruce glanced around the immediate area and spotted an old light switch beside the door. Could it really be that simple? He doubted it would work. For all he knew, the wiring could have been over 80 years old. He shrugged his shoulders, deciding that it was worth a shot, then flipped the switch. It popped and crackled several times before a faint hum filled the air, then the massive chandelier flickered to life. It wasn’t overly bright, but it got the job done.

Now illuminated, the tremendous, open space became much more apparent. Conners scanned the cathedral-like room again. This time, his eyes were drawn to the floor. He stood before a small stain on the worn wood. After poking it with his foot a few times, he dragged his dress shoe across the puddle’s length. It flaked a bit, then left a crusty smudge in its wake. It looked like blood, but how could that be? Judging from its early state of evaporation and brownish color, it couldn’t have been over two days old. According to the paperwork Harry had given him, no one had been there for the best part of a decade.

“Don’t. That’s not for you, stop!” he exclaimed as Carl leaned over and curiously began lapping up the gruesome splatter.

Bruce nudged him aside with his leg as he continued examining the stain. A series of dried droplets led across the room and up the decorative stairway. He rested his hand on the top of his pistol for a moment, but decided against removing it from its holster as he followed the trail. There was something strange going on. As usual, his inquisitive nature took over. The other rooms would have to wait. He had to determine the source of the blood. In all likelihood, it belonged to some poor animal that wandered into the house from the woods, but he had to be sure. As he approached the stairs, Carl’s paws clicked upon the aged wooden floor. He moved cautiously; his normally cheerful demeanor was gone. The dog was on high alert, and that was never a good sign.

The stairs cried out, creaking with every tentative step. Weathered paintings of people Bruce didn’t recognize hung on the wall and an eroded, red carpet covered the steps. His golden friend brought up the rear, cowering behind his master’s legs as he slowly ascended upwards. At long last, the pair reached the second floor. Although he never would have thought it possible, this level was even creepier than the first.

Antique furniture shrouded beneath dusty sheets decorated the massive loft. High above, the vaulted ceiling narrowed to a point, and the entire area had an eerie presence about it; like Bruce and his faithful companion were not alone.

The sensation was unnerving. He had never felt this way before. The only time he experienced something similar was during the war, before a particularly dangerous operation, or on the force while chasing some scumbag through a dark alleyway, but it was always in the face of genuine danger. This was different. This house filled his body with an overbearing sense of dread and caused his adrenaline to course through veins, yet there was no reason for it. As far as he could tell, there was no actual danger. If it had such a powerful effect on his human sensibilities, he could only imagine how poor Carl felt. But the dog, as terrified as he was, remained loyally glued to Conners’s leg.

Directly ahead, the loft narrowed into a large hallway that stretched off into the shadows. Intricate light fixtures shaped like candelabras adorned the walls and lightly flickered on and off. Grand halls also branched out to his left and right. Assorted doors and passageways lined the dark corridors, leading to a complex maze of other areas. There was a lot more to explore, but that would have to wait. He had a mystery to solve. The bloody trail veered off to the right.

Bruce took a deep breath, then continued following the gruesome path. The crackling hum of obsolete wiring echoed through the hallway. Although a few of the elaborate light fixtures were broken, aside from a rhythmic flicker, most appeared to be functioning normally. The fact that the old manor had any power at all was astounding in its own right. After all, it wasn’t as if the property was in regular use and up to date with its electric bill. This made his task that much more unsettling because it meant that whoever the blood belonged to, most likely fired up the ancient building’s generator. He concluded that finding someone alive and well at the end of the trail was extremely unlikely.

Carl whined as he darted his head around, sniffing the air. Something had him spooked, but he loyally remained steadfast beside his master’s leg. As the pair passed several closed doors, they noticed more furniture draped in filthy sheets lining the walls. Every step deeper into the mansion filled them with more apprehension. The gruesome trail seemed to stretch on forever.

“Wow, boy,” Bruce said as they continued exploring the spooky corridor. “Whoever this blood belongs to is a real trooper. This is a long way to go while oozing precious fluids. In fact, I am beginning to wonder if—hello. Here we are.”

Just off to their right, the red droplets led through a cracked open door. Bruce glanced down at his golden retriever questionably, then pushed the thick door open. Its rusty hinges moaned as it slowly swung into the room. Conners cautiously stepped inside and looked around.

“That figures,” he said. “I suppose no creepy mansion is complete without a nasty old music room.”

Several worn leather chairs sat around a circular coffee table in front of him. Tattered sheets of paper lay strewn about everywhere and massive bookshelves lined walls. In the center of the space, a lonely wooden music stand stood defiantly on its own. Past the sitting area, a weathered old dresser adorned with a large mirror perched in the corner.

As Conners continued surveying his surroundings, he spotted a lavish grand piano off to his right. The top was opened to allow for better sound and, like the rest of the room, several filthy sheets of music haphazardly lay scattered about its surface. The instrument was cracked badly and a few of its legs were nearly rotted through, but that did little to hide its original grandeur. The piano was clearly a masterful piece of musical craftsmanship in its heyday, but like so many other items confined within the tomb of this ancient house, it had suffered the ravages of time and was now only a mangled shell of its former magnificence.

Bruce adjusted his tie, then followed the blood droplets to the piano. They grew in volume near the bench, then curved off to the right. They led him over to the wall, where the trail stopped short just in front of a tattered painting. Although worn and covered in dust, the image of Beethoven playing his clavier for a small group of aristocrats was as still clearly visible. The vast mural was extremely detailed and would probably fetch a pretty penny, even given its current state of decay.

Bruce pulled his eyes off of the artwork and looked down at the floor. The blood led to the wall, but that didn’t make any sense. There was no trace of the victim shuffling off in another direction or any indication that the poor person succumbed to their injuries and was subsequently dragged out of the room. The trail just ran cold.

“I don’t get it, Carl,” he said as he rubbed his palm over his bald head. “Where could he have gone? He couldn’t have just vanished… Carl?”

It was then that Bruce noticed his faithful companion was no longer by his side. The golden retriever stood at the entrance to the grand room and refused to enter.

“What? What is it, boy?” Conners asked.

It was strange; the dog didn’t acknowledge his call; he simply sat motionless and stared at the window on the far side of the room, whining softly.

“Carl,” Bruce repeated. “Carl, come here!”

But the canine didn’t budge; his attention remained fixed upon the window. It wasn’t like him to flat out ignore his commands like that. Something was wrong. Something had him spooked. Bruce crept around the piano and started towards the window. When he had reached about the halfway point, a menacing bark halted his progress.

Conners whipped his head around to his dog cowering in the doorway.

“What?!” he snapped. “What is it?”

Carl looked at his master for a moment, then back to the window and resumed whining. The whole situation was extremely unsettling. Bruce’s pulse quickened. Now his dog wasn’t the only one on high alert. He took another tentative step towards the window, but another aggressive bark halted his progress. The sharp sound startled him, and he jumped.

“Dammit, Carl!” he sneered. “You’re not helping.”

Bruce inhaled a calming deep breath, then continued. With every tentative step towards the window, his dog grew more upset. By the time he reached his destination, Carl was in the midst of a barking frenzy in the large doorway. The seasoned detective didn’t like this one bit. Something felt horribly wrong, but he could not figure out what. Bruce was about to turn away from the window and join his dog when something caught his eye.

A faint glimmer of sunlight penetrated the moldy window and shined upon the floor. There, at his feet, he spotted a few small metallic objects, lightly shimmering in the sun. He tuned out his pet’s obnoxious barking and crouched down to one knee. Now closer to the floor, he noticed that the ancient rug was stained dark brown. It squished as he reached out and touched it. The material was completely soaked with blood. Unlike the rest of the spatters throughout the house, the sheer volume in this area had prevented it from drying.

“Shut up, Carl!” he called out without looking back at him. “You’re giving me the creeps!”

The soggy rug didn’t make any sense. Why would the blood trail stop at the wall only to show up here? Where the hell did it come from? The two had to be connected, but how? It had to have originated from the same source, but how could that be? There was no trail that led here. He reached out and retrieved one of the small, shiny objects, then held it up to the light peeking through the window. It was a shell casing. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled. Judging from the smell of gunpowder, it had been fired recently. He tossed it gently in his palm a few times as he attempted to decipher the mystery. Finally, Carl’s barking became too much of a distraction and he could no longer concentrate.

Bruce turned towards the doorway again.

“Carl, I thought I told you to shut--”

He cut his reprimand short when he got a good look at his pet. Bruce had never seen him so upset. The golden hair on his neck stood straight up, forming ruffled spikes, and he curled his lips back, revealing a sharp set of canines. As disturbing as it was to see his friend in such a state, that wasn’t the troubling part. Carl no was no longer looking at the window. He aimed his malicious barking at something directly behind his Bruce. Chills ran up the old detective’s spine. He didn’t like this at all. Suddenly, his uneasiness multiplied tenfold. He slowly stood up and turned his head. The shadowed room whisked around until finally he spotted the cause of his dog’s aggravation.

Nothing. Nothing stood before him in the darkness. Bruce felt like he was standing eye to eye with some malevolent force, but unless his eyes deceived him, the room was completely deserted. After several seconds, he had enough. He plopped the shell casing into his pocket and quickly joined Carl at the doorway. Once reunited, the dog ceased his ferocious barking, and the pair returned to the hallway, putting the sinister room behind them.

The entire experience was a little too unsettling for Bruce. He had never known Carl to act like that; what the hell was he barking at? Something just didn’t sit right with that room. For once, his desire to leave the scene outweighed his urge to solve the mystery. It killed him, leaving so many unanswered questions. In all likelihood, he’d return later to continue with the investigation, but for now, he was perfectly content to leave the creepy space alone. After a calming breath to settle his nerves, he and his fuzzy companion set out to explore the rest of the mansion.

I hope you enjoyed this short little excerpt from my novel, Ghost Conspiracy. Click HERE to check out the book in its entirety. Be well, and have a blessed day!