Tormented Souls Series Books 1 - 6: Horror Bundle Series

1,198 pages

Chapter 2: 11 Kehoe Ave

“Mike, I’m just saying, it’s really strange,” Sharon said, putting the plates into the dishwasher.

Her husband looked up from his phone, frowned at her and answered, “Sharon, the woman’s probably a con artist or something. Come on, palm reading and fortune telling?”

Sharon glared at him, and he quickly focused on his phone again.

“Number one,” she stated, closing the dishwasher door and leaning against the countertop, “it was at a psychic convention. So, yes, those things are there. Number two, Janet Ladd is a medium, not a palm reader or anything.”

“How is that any different?” Mike asked, putting his phone down on the table.

Sharon looked at her husband and wondered how such an intelligent man could be so incredibly dense. He swallowed, adjusted his glasses. “Please, tell me how they’re different.”

“I don’t know the specifics, but I know that she came up to me. To me, Mike, and said, ‘You live in the old Grant House on Kehoe Avenue.’ I said, ‘Yes, that’s right, I do.’”

Mike’s voice was hushed as he folded his arms over his chest and carefully responded. “Okay. Maybe she saw you here before or knew someone who knows us or you. Plenty of logical, non-supernatural explanations for her knowing where we live.”

“She also knew about the cold spots,” Sharon pointed out.

He shrugged his large shoulders, the collar of his golf shirt rising to his earlobes.


So thick sometimes, she thought.

“Cold spots,” Mike countered, “every house has them.”

“The cold spot in the butler’s pantry?” Sharon asked.

“She,” Mike stopped and frowned. “How the hell could she know about that?”

“Thank you!” Sharon exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

“How could she know?” Mike asked again, looking at her. “We haven’t told anyone about it.”

“That’s why I believe her.” Sharon shook her head. “Because no one could know about it.”

She saw the discomfort on her husband’s face, his pale, Irish skin reddening around his cheeks. He brushed his strawberry blonde hair back from his forehead and took off his glasses, setting them down on the table beside his phone.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Mike muttered. Sharon watched him stand up, cross the kitchen, and open the butler’s pantry. He pulled the chain for the overhead light and peered in at the shelves of food and supplies. Glancing back at Sharon, he asked, “Did she tell you how she knows?”

Sharon felt goosebumps dance along her arms as she nodded. “That was the really strange part, Mike. It scared me.”

He turned off the light and closed the door, a fierce, protective expression settling on his face.

“Tell me.”

Sharon cleared her throat. “Well, she said there was something following me. A ghost.”

“A ghost?” His hands clenched and unclenched as if he wanted to find the ghost and grab hold of it.

In her growing discomfort and fear, Sharon’s voice became a whisper. “Yes, a ghost. She said it was from the house, and that, somehow, it had attached itself to me.”

“What do we do to get rid of it?” Mike asked, his eyes darting to the closed door of the pantry.

“She gave me her card. It’s in my purse. I want to give her a call.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah, I agree. This is, I don’t know, weird. How the hell can she know about the cold spot!”

Sharon shook her head, giving in to the wave of fear crashing over her. She started to tremble and wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing. Then, Mike was there, pulling her into his arms and holding her. She rested her head against his chest, the thumping of his heart loud but comforting in her ear.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “I don’t know what this is, and I’m scared as hell. I’m scared for you, Sharon, but don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

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