Seeing Ghosts

Greetings, Fire Enthusiasts.

It took me nearly twenty years to write and publish my debut novel, Dance on Fire. It kicked off a series about one particular vampire that God seems to be using for good. I'm currently working on book four in that series. The sequel took only eight months to get those first two drafts completed, and I published it a couple of years later.

I love my vampires.

However, after that second one, I was sick to death about writing about them. I needed something different.

So I ran away. I may have once again set my fiction in my real life hometown of Kingsburg, California, but I and my main character quickly fled for the central coast. Steinbeck country. Salinas, California. It's about a 2.5 hour drive from my house.

I'm a sucker for ghost stories and, these days, for more paranormal than horror, especially if there's some romance. Seeing Ghosts was just the breath of fresh air I needed.

Synopsis:

Paul Herrera is bequeathed a mysterious old house near the California central coast by an aunt he never knew. The woman who shows it to him is the spitting image of his wife, taken from him three years earlier in a senseless car accident which also took his unborn son.

While he deals with the ghosts of a past he cannot let go, there are new ghosts Paul must deal with - alone for a week in an expansive two story house that he will soon discover holds many secrets.

For the authors out there, how do you keep track of the layout of your buildings? It drives me crazy to have to remember where I placed the important window, how many paces I meant for the stairs to be from the front door, etc, etc. So, although I absolutely used the real Queen of Heaven Cemetery in Salinas, the house that stood nearby was not going to work. I had to have a different house. I found one. Not really. What I found were floor plans for a two story house that would work perfectly. 

  

Before I leave you with a couple of brief excerpts, I would be remiss if I didn't share something about the cover. Once I decided to go fully independent, I sought to re-cover my first two novels. I found author and digital creator Maria Zannini. I was so pleased with her work that I have asked her to continue to work her magic on every novel since. On this one, what you should know is this: once she read the details of Seeing Ghosts, she told me that she had been saving the image for one of her books which she thought instead would be perfect for mine. "It's been my all time favorite cover," Maria told me recently. "I took the details of your story to heart and it led me to this vision." Did the details lead her or was it something else? Maria had one final thought to leave me: "The spirit world can be as close to us as flesh," she said. 

Excerpt 1:

I suppose you can say this whole thing began and ended with ghosts. Not all my life, of course, but only all that ever really mattered. Everything before meeting Angie happened simply to get me prepared for our life together. No real living had occurred until that moment. After Angie died, I was left only with ghosts. Now tonight I lie beside another woman who is not my wife, and who I have yet to touch. I marvel at her even, peaceful breathing as I stare at the awful ghost that sits calmly, but menacingly, near the foot of the bed.

Aunt Flora is dead and has been for several months. There’s really no reason on God’s green earth why she should be here, in my home, a place she’d never visited in life, but here she sits just the same, and I’m sure I know why. Perhaps it has everything to do with her not having a
home of her own any longer, or because she’s lost her husband once again. She seems to grin at me as if she can read my thoughts.

Now she nods dramatically to say that she can, indeed.

“What do you want, Flora?” I finally ask, whispering. I try to be as quiet as possible. It seems like a useless proposition. Peace is an illusion to me at this point; like something so far out of my grasp as to be laughable.

“You know what I want, Paul.” Her voice is low and calm, but seems to reverberate against the walls. “You know very well what I want,” she says as the all-too-familiar lightning flashes outside probe into the bedroom and illuminate her. A gust of wind rattles the window briefly. It
must’ve been the reason I awoke in the first place. I’m pretty sure it was just wind, but who could know at this point? In any event, there’d be no more sleeping.

I see Flora’s terrible features—that aged and deep-wrinkled skin pulled over high cheekbones; and that profound smile that brings no pleasure, but only sets me on edge. Thunder roars in the distance as if on queue. I am intimately familiar with this particular storm. Both it and Flora seem to have followed me.

“I can’t help you with that, Flora,” I say.

“Yes, I know. All you can do is bring everything to ruin.”

I stare at the ghost and say nothing further, taking in the sight of her with her long-sleeved white blouse, dark slacks and black shoes. It’s incredible to me that I’m having another conversation with my aunt. It’s clear she holds me to blame for what’s happened. If I wasn’t afraid before, there’s no denying it now.

Flora reclines against the winged-back chair that was Angie’s favorite and smiles. Her arms remain atop the arm rests, the perfect picture of quiet. Another bolt lights up the sky and my eyes immediately find her claw-like fingers as they seem to be digging into the upholstery.
Now I know better and I shiver at this apparently perfect culmination of events.

“It’s not over, Paul,” Flora says. Her tone is firm and reminds me of a wild animal’s growl. “You know damn well what I want! It is all that I have ever wanted. But you have taken that from me. You have taken far too much. Now I shall do the taking. Do you hear me, Paul? Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Now I’m the one who leans back. I sit up first, positioning myself against the tall headboard. Here is a trend I can’t shake free of—me being awake as the night wanes. Another burst of lightning flashes across the Central California sky and then disappears, casting the room back into shadow. Thunder sounds. The storm is fast approaching. I say nothing more as I recline and simply stare at my dead aunt who sits and stares back, composed for the moment. It would seem I’ve become quite comfortable with ghosts, doesn’t it?

Excerpt 2:

It was good to laugh with my brother. We’ve always been very close and laughed constantly. I couldn’t have asked for a better sibling. It also helped to keep the tears at bay. I hadn’t cried yet, but I felt I would at some point during the day. I was stronger now than I had been that first black anniversary, but not by much.

“We all loved Angie,” Ray said to me, and he was right. Not a week goes by when someone doesn’t tell me that. They no longer do it with words, of course, wanting to spare my heartache, but I can see it clearly in their eyes. I love them for that.

“I know,” I said.

We hung out for the duration of my drink and then made plans for dinner at my place later that evening. I knew there were two reasons for this. The obvious one was to hold my hand, so to speak, until this day of recollections ended, and the second, because my television was nearly twice the size of his. That hadn’t always been the case, but the large television he owned was mounted to the living room wall in a house that Ray no longer had rights to. Not only did my ex-sister-in-law take the house in the divorce, but she made sure to kick him in the nuts by taking his pride and joy as well.

I started up the truck and checked the pre-sets on my stereo as Ray drove away. I stayed away from the one elevator music station for fear of hitting Manilow, or Bee Gees or something dangerous like that. Instead, I trolled only at the classic rock, figuring my tender emotions would be safer there. Boy was I wrong.

It was mid-guitar solo, but I instantly recognized the song and cracks began to form. “Heaven” by Warrant transported me back. I pictured Angie that first time I laid eyes upon her, while she was having lunch alone at a Carl’s Jr. Restaurant in Fresno. I didn’t try to meet her then. A week later, I saw her again at Save Mart in Kingsburg. I spoke to her then for the first time, asking her if she might have been that same woman I’d seen days before. Flash forward and I recalled how radiant she looked and the glorious way she giggled all night the day I proposed marriage on our two year anniversary. Lastly, I saw how absolutely beautiful she looked that last Valentine’s Day, not yet two months pregnant but glowing already.

Whether it was those recollections, the inevitability of this terrible day, singer Jani Lane’s emotion as he sang about memories rushing back and making it pretty hard, or even his unfortunate death in 2011, or the combination of all of it—I finally lost it then and there and cried. Thankfully, no one witnessed my meltdown but the local cemetery ghosts.

As you get more familiar with me you'll soon come to realize that although I thoroughly enjoy scaring you, I'm no longer a big fan. You're more likely to catch me watching a romantic comedy than a slasher these days. In Bath, England, you must visit the House of Frankenstein museum. Mary Shelly was from there. They have something like five floors of artifacts and displays. It really is very good. However, the person who sells you the tickets will also tell you that they have a basement...if you dare. There is a sign that warns you not to touch the actors. I did descend those creepy steps; however, after imagining the jump scares that awaited me, I quickly turned tail and walked my ass back up those steps!

The point of this is Seeing Ghosts was just exactly what I needed. I emerged refreshed and ran swiftly back to my vampires. As I said, I'm with them once again, writing the first draft of their latest adventure.

We'll talk soon.