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Ghost Hunters: The Church
By Sara York
Cold seeped through the thick blankets, turning the chilly room into an icebox. Mason Cole pulled the covers to his chin, hiding from the frigid temperatures. Hadn’t he turned the heater on? He shivered, wondering how much colder the room could get before he was forced to slip from between the warm covers and check the setting on the thermostat. Once up, he’d find something to work on and never make it back to the bliss of sweet dreams.
The temperature in the room dropped further. Mason ignored the cold even though his toes ached. He pulled his blankets overhead, hiding from the chill. Being cold wouldn’t normally be a problem, but this went beyond cold, more like an arctic blast. Poking his head out of the covers, he was shocked by how much colder the room really felt. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be freezing, at least that’s what the weatherman had said. He should have known better than to listen to only one weather report.
Mason crawled from between his warm blankets. Swinging his feet into the open, he cringed as the super cold air hit them. “Damn, this is worse than cold.”
The floor felt like a block of ice and he yelped and squeaked as he pulled his feet off the floor, but a little cold floor wouldn’t stop his from his mission to warm up the room. Six feet away his space heater sat unplugged. All he had to do was race over to the small appliance, grab the cord and plug it in.
Mason stood, ignoring the cold pain shooting up his legs. He took one step and stopped. The warmth of the floor shocked his senses. He stepped back, feeling the icy pain of the freezing floorboards and the chill of sub-zero air. Turning towards the bed, he froze in place when he came face to face with a woman. His heart thundered. He swiped at his eyes, wondering what gunk was blocking his vision, causing him to see things. His eyes were clear.
A scream strangled in his throat, leaving his stranded with a stranger and no one to help. Damn, how could this be happening? A stranger in his house. No weapons, no defense. He’d locked the place up tight, he was sure of it.
Looking deeper at the woman, he realized he could see through his. Mason’s hand shook as he reached out to touch. Figment or rea? His fingers pushed through the shoulder. The hairs on the back of Mason’s neck rose as if they had a mind to run away in fright. The eyes of the thing changed, growing round like she was frightened. Mason pulled back his hand and the thing looked right at his. The thing was intelligent and frightened.
“Ar--Ar--Are you really here? Or are you a ghost?” Mason’s voice shook almost as much as his knees.
Without a pop and a hiss of the air the ghost disappeared in a flash. Mason lost his balance, and fell backwards, grabbing at nothing but warm air.
He lay in on the floor wondering if he should call someone. Who would help his? The police would know he was a nutter if he called about this. The ghost wasn’t the first odd thing that had happened since he’d remodeled the church. The ghost man downstairs still freaked him out when he caught him prowling around the place. But this was the first time he’d seen the woman so clearly. And in his bedroom. Usually she stayed in the studio.
Mason’s mind churned over the image he’d seen. Why would that sad lady in white be wandering around his house. The old church had been here for years. He wasn’t positive of the exact date but it had been a long time since the building had been erected by the local people.
He sat up and checked the clock. It was only four-twenty, too early for breakfast but not too early for coffee. He pulled on his sweats and socks, still chilled out from his room going icicle. The TV would take away some of the woo-woo he still felt so he flipped it on as he passed it on the way to his coffee pot. The volume was low and the image fuzzy. Mason pulled on his morning glasses and focused. “Paranormal Investigators” and a number flashed on the screen. Without think about implications, he scribbled down the number, hoping they could provide his with some resolution of his problem with his “friends”.
He didn’t really want them gone or maybe he did but it would be nice to know if he was seeing things or if the ghosts really were here.
Mason shook his head at the coincidence of finding the number for a ghost hunter right after seeing the woman in white. Had the ghost known the commercial would be on?
The coffee machine gurgled to life and Mason sighed in relief. Even if the ghost had been real, nothing bad had happened. Maybe he shouldn’t call. Life in the big church was fun. He took his coffee to the small kitchenette table he’d crafted out of crates and turned back to get the creamer. He heard a loud crash. The mug had slid off the table and shattered. Shit! He had to call Paranormal Investigators now. There was no way his coffee did that on its own. The guys would find the answers he needed.
I'll be posting the next chapter later today. For more Sara York books please visit my website http://sarayork.com