A Ghost Story & Spirit Faces & Spirit Dog Caught On Camera

Hello,

Tonight I am posting an excerpt from my romantic ghost/horror story which deals with the mystery of past lives and the concept of eternal love, Forget Me Nots.

But before that I need to share another spooky video with you.  There are no orbs this time.  I had hoped to post a selfie with them dancing around me but it didn't appear to work.  Instead I captured the images of my spirit guides imprinted on, of all things, the carpet in my living room.  I hope you can make them out because they are as clear as day to me.  There is even a spirit dog on there!  See if you can see it!  Maybe they came to watch Star Trek:  The Next Generation with me.  It is on the TV in the background and spookily it is an episode about Spirits on the Enterprise! Lol.

Now take a look at the book that was inspired by my own psychic experiences, Forget Me Nots.  I am currently looking for a publisher for this one.  there will be another excerpt from Writing Angels in the next couple of days.

Sara


Forget Me Nots Excerpt

Prologue

Goldwater, Lake District, England.

The early morning mist rolled across the smooth surface of the water towards the shore.  The dawn had just risen and the sun was strong enough to cast the first of its rays through the shroud of white over the surrounding hills. Clarissa raised her camera to capture the moment and rolled off another reel of film.  The main focus of her attention was a large Island in the middle of Goldwater Lake.  The place had fascinated her since she was a child.  On it was a old haunted Victorian mansion, the focus of many ghost stories after the murder of a young Victorian family.  The house was mysteriously hidden amidst the trees lining the shore and it was hard to capture even a glimpse of it, especially in the summer when the trees were in full leaf though it never stopped Clarissa trying.

Something caught her attention.  Zooming in to the boathouse on the Island she was surprised to see a tall man in a suit standing on the wooden jetty.  He was looking straight at her.  Clarissa zoomed in further until she could see his face more closely, believing he couldn’t possibly see her properly from there and she would be undetected.  But the handsome dark haired man grinned back at her staring directly in to the camera.  Embarrassed she had been caught watching him, she lowered the camera. Summoning the confidence to look again, she found that the man had vanished.

Raising her eyebrows, Clarissa let the camera sit on her neck and took in the eerie scene before her.  It wasn’t hard to see why the place was thought to be haunted.  She had taken enough photographs.  A few of them had to be worth putting in the book she was writing about the historical murders and the history of the Island. Whilst busying herself flicking back through a few of them she heard a voice:

“Clarissa.  Clarissa.”

Clarissa raised her head wondering who could be calling her name out here at this time of the morning.  The male voice sounded disembodied as it floated on the gentle cooling breeze.

I must be imagining it.

Ignoring it, Clarissa bent her head and looked through a few more photographs.  But there it was again and this time it was loud enough for her not to dismiss it as mere fantasy.  Clarissa whirled around looking for someone to be close by.  Nothing.  Her shoulders tensed.  Clarissa looked around once more feeling more anxious by the second.  She’d come here to escape, to hide.  Had he found her?  Picking up her tripod from the pebbled shore she started to walk back towards the cottage at a quick pace. 

 She glanced constantly behind her expecting the man she’d run from to creep up behind her and start tormenting her with his violence all over again.  Tears of anger and fear gathered and mingled in her eyes.  She’d been happy here and didn’t want to leave especially when the book was going so well.  But if he was here then she’d have to leave.  There would be no choice.

Safely back in the cottage, Clarissa wasted no time in bolting the door.  She pressed her forehead against its wood surface and breathed hard trying to calm the rising tide of panic filling her lungs and coursing through her blood.  She spoke to herself out loud in an effort to rationalise the situation.

“You are just imagining it.  Calm down.  He can’t find you.  He can’t.  Relax he isn’t here.  Come on - get your arse in gear.  Breathe.  Focus on the book and nothing else.  I am not going to let him run me out of another town.”

Clarissa banged her fist against the door, anger and frustration overwhelming her.  Flicking the switch on the kettle she sank down on the chair in front of her laptop.  She picked up the camera again and searched through her pictures.

There were some good shots of the Island but that wasn’t what she was looking for.  It wasn’t until she reached the third one she found what she was looking for.  A ghostly faded black and white male figure in upper class English Victorian dress stood grinning at her from the side of the image - the owner of the voice.  Clarissa gasped and put her hand to her mouth.  He’d found her after all. 

Chapter One

Clarissa’s mobile rang making her jump so much the camera slipped out of her hands and clattered on to the table.  She quickly took the mobile out of her cardigan pocket and with trembling hands answered it.

“How is my favourite author doing today?  Finished the book yet?  Can I start the publishing process?”

“Liz.  It’s well on its way.  I just think it is lacking a more personal story about the Elliotts.”

Clarissa was in two minds as to whether or not she should tell Liz about the reappearance of the violent spirit who had been dogging her every move for the last four months.  The whole thing was crazy and Liz about the only person who actually believed what was happening to her.  Still she didn’t want to alarm the woman and decided to keep quiet for now.

“I just wish I could get on to the Island and take a look at the house.  There has to be a ton of documents that would help my investigation in to the murders and give it that personal element.  I haven’t even got a photograph of Sarah Elliott.  It’s so frustrating,” Clarissa tapped the end of her index finger on top of the table and continued to do so in an irritated fashion.

“That old recluse, Milton Taylor still determined to keep you away?”

“Yes.  I have tried everything.  The man won’t even take my calls.  But I saw someone else on the Island this morning when I was taking photographs.  Some tall dark and handsome stranger in a black suit looked back at me from the jetty when I snapped a couple of shots of him.”

“Really.  Sounds interesting.  Met anyone yet?  Maybe this guy might . . .”

Clarissa quickly interrupted Liz.

“No, Liz.  No way.  No men.  Just work.  I am happy on my own.”

“Are you now a recluse?”

“Liz, please.”

“Not all men are like your ex husband, Clarissa.”

Clarissa shook her head and tried to think of a credible excuse to end the call.  She decided to change the subject instead.

“Got any ideas how I can get on that Island?”

There was a pause then Liz sighed.

“No, not really.  And you say there isn’t much online about Sarah Elliott and her family?”

“Hardly anything.  No photographs.  Nothing  I know Milton Taylor must know so much more than he lets on.”

“If there is anything I know about you, Clarissa it s that you are determined and tenacious.  You won’t let Milton Taylor’s stubbornness stop you getting to the Island even if it means you have to swim across in the dead of night and break in.  You are like a pitfall when following a story.  Now relax and tell me why you sound so tense.  Any more visitations?”

Clarissa bit her bottom lip.  She’d never lied to Liz before and wasn't going to start now.  Her friendship meant too much.

“I didn’t want you to worry.  But yes there have been.  He’s found me again, Liz. His image was on the photographs I took just before you rang and I heard him calling my name at the lake.”

“Oh no.  How the hell did he find you?  I thought that psychic protection Emma gave you was full proof?  I deliberately found the best psychic in the whole damn country to help you and it was for nothing.  I can’t bear seeing you hounded by him again.  He’s vile.”

“He is persistent.  I will give him that.  I don’t know how he got through the psychic barriers Emma put up around me but he did.  Don’t worry I can handle him.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle him.  Why the hell is a nineteenth century ghost haunting you and let’s be honest, stalking you from the other side?”

“Emma said she believes he is someone from one of my past lives with an axe to grind.  Beats me though - I never even believed in this stuff until he came along.”

Clarissa stood up and walked towards the bench next to the sink and knocked the switch down on the kettle again to reboil it.  She took out a clean china mug from the cupboard above her head on the wall ignoring the six clay mugs hanging on a silver rack near the kettle.  She continued her conversation as she inserted a breakfast teabag from the box on the side, added some canderel and a dash of milk from the fridge.

“Is there a psychic Medium in Goldwater who might be able to help you fend him off and finally get rid of him?” Liz asked in a worried tone.

Clarissa poured hot water on to the teabag the moment the kettle finished boiling.  Then she completed her own small tea ritual by squeezing a little of the flavour from the bag out with a silver spoon before removing it and dropping it in to the peddle bin on the floor.  She stirred her tea.

“”Not sure.  I will look for one when I next go in to town.  This might sound daft but I think the spirit is connected to the murders on the Island and not me.  Perhaps he has just attached himself to me because of the story.  He might not want me to write it and expose him.  Maybe he is the murderer?”

“Don’t say that!  If that is right then why did he attach himself to you before you even thought about writing the story?”

“Maybe he gave me the idea?”

Clarissa took a sip of her hot tea and savoured the comforting taste in her mouth.

“No.  You are wrong and you are scaring me.  Stop it.  Maybe you should stop writing the book and do something else just in case?”

“No way.  I have come too far with this.  There is a real story here and people need to know what happened to this woman and her family.”

She glanced at the window sill over the sink in the rented cottage and frowned.  Three ornaments of differing sizes sat on it, the tallest of which was in the middle.  Unable to help herself she began rearranging them with the tallest to the left and then in descending size in a line, the smallest on the right.  She smiled with satisfaction at it and moved away.

“Clarissa, I get a bad feeling about this.  If you are right and he is something to do with the book he might just disappear if you stop working on it.  You’ve been through enough recently.”

“I thought you were a publisher?”

“I am.  But you are my friend and your welfare comes first.”

Clarissa sat down again feeling annoyed.

“Don’t give up on me, Liz” her tone was snappy.  “I can do this.  I have to for some reason.  It feels like a compulsion.”

“Compulsions are something that come easily to you, darling.  Let’s be honest.”

Clarissa’s frame tightened at Liz’s condescending tone.

“Liz!”

“Don’t Liz me!  You know I am right.”

Clarissa groaned inwardly as she looked over at the ornaments on the window sill.  Liz knew her too well.

“Getting on track with this book will help me put the past behind me and move on.  I can handle a stupid ghost.  What can he really do to me anyway apart from be annoying?”

“I don’t like it.  But all right.  I know you won’t let this go.”

Liz sighed again and Clarissa grinned triumphantly.

“Clarissa, call me later and keep me updated.  I worry about you even if you don’t.  I will need the draft of your first six chapters in the next couple of weeks.  And Clarissa, be careful.  I love you.”

“I love you too.  I’m on it.  Don’t fret.”

Clarissa ended the call.  She spent the rest of the morning working on her book at the kitchen table.  Eventually the time to make another cup of tea came around.  Three mugs already littered the sink.  She reached for another fresh china mug from the cupboard.  When she went to put it down on the bench a dark shadow passed by her.  She felt the strange sensation of a man’s arm brushing across the side of her breast instantly forcing her to drop the mug with fright.  It clattered to the ground breaking on the tiled floor.  Turning around quickly she found the solid shape of the mysterious male ghost in an old fashioned nineteenth century dark suit laughing at her.

“What the hell do you want?  Leave me alone,” she shouted at him determined not to betray her fear at his presence.

He simply laughed again and then his image became transparent and faded in to the air.  Clarissa sat back down at the table holding her face in her hands relieved at his quick exit.

I am not going to let you get to me.  I refuse to let you win.

Clarissa tapped on the keyboard of her Apple Macbook and brought up the local news website to distract her anger and calm herself down.  The article at the top of the page immediately caught her attention.

“American Billionaire, Brandon Clifford buys Goldwater Island.”

Clarissa put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise when she looked at the photograph accompanying the article.  It was the handsome man in the black suit she’d seen standing on the jetty.  This had to be the break she had been waiting for.  All she had to do now was to persuade the man to let her visit his Island and house.

Outside the ghost peered in the window behind Clarissa and read the article unobserved.  Darkness seeped in to his eyes making them narrow in to sharp points as he took in Brandon Clifford’s face.