A story of mystery, romance and ghosts bent on revenge set against the backdrop of a small, picturesque town near Pennsylvania’s Allegheny Mountains.
Excerpt
It was dusk by the time Erica took her walk down the flagstone path to the dock. It was a quiet evening, and she welcomed the solitude. The sound of the water lapping softly against the dock’s pilings was very soothing, almost hypnotic.
A sudden chill raked up Erica’s spine and she instinctively hugged herself to get warm. Her gaze was drawn to the center of the lake where a filmy mist seemed to be hovering just above the waterline.
All at once she had an overwhelming feeling of sadness bordering on melancholy. Tears sprang into her eyes as she watched the mist thicken, the cloud widen. Then, it swirled around even though there was no breeze.
When the aroma of jasmine rushed up her nostrils, she backed up and almost fell.
Help me.
The words seemed to spring into her mind and she looked frantically around to see who had spoken, but there was only the gathering darkness. And, of course, the swirling mist.
Okay, this is spooky. I’m out of here. I’ll give this another look in the morning.
“Do you know why they call it Spirit Lake?” came a deep, resonant voice from just behind her.
Gasping, Erica spun around, her heart pounding like a jackhammer in her chest.
The moment she saw him she felt her knees go weak and grabbed the back of the nearby bench for support. He was not quite six feet tall, with dark hair and bottomless eyes. She could see that he was well built under the tan shirt and blue jeans he wore. His features were rugged, his skin the same copper tone as Evelyn’s.
“Where did you come from? Who are you?” she stammered, her heart racing faster as he moved closer.
Finally he sat down on the bench and looked out at the water. “This area is rich in folklore, you know. One of the legends has it that the spirits of the dead tribal leaders were confined to the lake so they could oversee their successors. That mist is them, rising out of the water.”
“I don’t know much about this part of the country. I’m sorry,” she finally managed.
He turned his black gaze on her and her skin felt as though a thousand tiny volts of electricity were running just below the surface. When he got up, she willed herself to stay where she was, even though she wanted to move toward him.
“Do you believe in spirits?” he asked.
They were only inches apart as he passed by, and she could almost feel his body heat. Or was it her own? What the hell is happening to me? I can’t believe this? What’s going on here?
He stopped near the second bench and faced her. “You know, when the spirits talk, we should listen. They might have something important to tell us.”
She was lost in those eyes and her throat was dry as sandpaper. Finally tearing her gaze from his, she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, he was gone.
Copyright 2008 Carol A. Guy. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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