The fourth installment of a ‘A Town Called Violet’, aserialized paranormal mystery / romance, connected to the ‘Westville’ universe.
I don’t move.
The darkness holds me there on the landing, heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My hands are shaking. I can still feel the cold where her presence had been—a lingering chill that clings to my skin like morning fog.
She knew my name.
Jackson.
The way she said it. Not like a stranger. Like a prayer. Like a warning.
Eventually my legs remember how to work. I make my way back to the room, though I couldn’t tell you how long it takes. Time has gone strange. The storm has passed, leaving only the occasional rumble of distant thunder and the drip of water from the eaves.
I don’t sleep. Not really. I lie there watching the ceiling, waiting for her to appear again—wanting it and dreading it in equal measure. My writer’s brain is already spinning scenarios, explanations, rationalizations. Stress. Exhaustion. The redeye flight and the strangeness of this place working on my imagination like fingers kneading dough.
But I know what I saw.
I know what I felt when she grabbed my arms and threw me backward through rippling air.
By the time gray light starts bleeding through the shutters, I’ve given up pretending. I sit up, drag my hands down my face, and accept that whatever happened last night—whatever is happening—isn’t going to be explained away by a good night’s rest.
Downstairs, the lodge’s lobby smells like woodsmoke and coffee. The fire in the hearth has burned down to embers, but someone’s been tending it. Clara stands behind the front desk, that dreamy smile already in place, like she’s been waiting for me.
“Mr. Breaker,” she says brightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
