Trio of Haunting Tales Read online

“Dang it!” Connie muttered to herself. Another long day working overtime. She loved her job at the museum, but leaving alone at night gave her the heebie jeebies. “I miss daylight savings time.”

  She glanced at the painting of an ancient samurai hanging in her office. She straightened it, then stepped back and admired it. “Were you a real person?” He held his sword high, ready to strike. His expression was fierce. “Real or not, you’re what inspired me to take karate. Uh-oh, gotta run. I’ll be at least ten minutes late for class. I bet they punish me with an extra 25 or 50 pushups.”

  She dashed down the steps in her high heels and raced across Orange Street to the parking structure. The black night felt ten shades darker than usual. She clutched her keys tight and headed toward her car, which was parked farther up the ramp than she remembered. It was the only vehicle left in the garage.

  Her heels clicked on the pavement. She stopped dead. Something wasn’t right. Her gaze darted every which way. All was quiet. No traffic in the streets, no honking of horns or blasting stereos. Connie shuddered. Not a soul in sight.

  An urgency to get to her vehicle spurred her into a walk-run. In the distance, glass shattered just beyond where her car was parked. She gasped. The lights of the parking garage flickered. “Who’s there?” she called out in a shaky voice.

  An evil, raspy chuckle echoed from the walls. Connie’s pulse sped up. Her chest tightened. “Breathe, Connie, breathe,” she mumbled. She switched her purse strap from her shoulder to her left hand, then wrapped the strap around her wrist and gripped it hard enough to swing the purse as a weapon. Remember the basics, she reminded herself. “Elbow strike, knee to the groin or stomach, kick, punch, yell,” she whispered.

  A chill passed through her body, as if an icy presence loomed all around her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Her breaths came in short gasps. Her throat constricted, and her heart hammered against her temples.

  “This one’s mine!” a deep, garbled voice boomed from above Connie, but there was no one around.

  “Over my dead body!” The raspy voice laughed.

  “We can arrange that. Again!”

  The loud bickering was so close, it was jarring, but Connie couldn’t see anyone. Her mind felt as senseless as the numbing cold that gushed from the voices. Then it hit her. Ghosts! The blood drained from her face. She felt lightheaded. Run to the car, her mind cried. Just as she was about to take a step, something gripped her left ankle and prevented her from fleeing.

  A vein-streaked hand stuck out of a crack in the pavement. Connie sucked in a breath of terror and swung her purse at it, but the hand seized her with a death grip. Martial arts won’t work against ghosts. Her knees gave way, and she let out a blood-searing scream, collapsing to the ground.

  Shrieking hoots flanked her on each side.

  The lights blinked off, leaving Connie in thick darkness. She trembled and curled up like a fetus with her ankle still in the clutches of the ghostly hand.

  Eyes squeezed shut, a faint glow crept through her lids. She looked up and shivered at the sight of two opposing ghost gangs, snarling and hissing at each other. They brandished knives, chains, axes, and broken bottles.

  “Now, boys,” Raspy Voice said, raising a switchblade. He seemed to be the leader of the one gang. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  “Like what?” Garbled Voice asked. He rattled a heavy chain in his left hand and tapped the stump of his right arm against his chest.

  Connie’s eyes widened as she realized his left hand bulged with ugly veins just like the one gripping her ankle.

  Raspy Voice rubbed his chin. “Hmm, how about we split her?” He flashed a menacing grin.

  They cheered and hollered.

  Connie’s chest burned with stabbing fear. Her vision blurred. Her hearing faded. Just thinking about the torture the ghost gangs planned seemed to suck the life right out of her.

  Both groups closed in, snorting, drooling, and wheezing.

  She buried her face in her hands and drew in what she thought was surely her last breath.

  KABOOM!

  Crashing thunder exploded throughout the parking structure.

  Connie’s eyes flew open. She blinked. Her vision adjusted to a brilliant figure wielding a majestic sword of light. He spun, whirled, and thrashed his weapon in the most magnificent martial arts performance she’d ever seen. It’s the warrior from my painting! He swung his sword with the fluidity of running water.

  The hoodlums backed off, cowering and flinching.

  Connie’s eyes focused on the ghost warrior’s features: ancient lines of wisdom creased his face. He had the eyes of a sage, filled with enlightenment not of her world. Pointing his sword at the measly, pathetic ghouls, he proclaimed, “You have decreed your own fate.”

  Ghost Warrior flashed his sword at the phantom hand still gripping Connie’s ankle.

  Zzzzzzz! A sizzling sound shot from the sword and zapped her free.

  Garbled Voice writhed in pain.

  The warrior motioned to Connie. “You are not yet finished in this world. Go. Do not look back.”

  She stumbled to her feet. Feeling her strength return, she bowed low to the ancient warrior.

  He bowed back.

  Her left foot tingled with numbness as she limped to her vehicle. Fumbling with the keys, it took her three tries before she finally got her car unlocked.

  As she pulled out of the parking garage, she heard horrific screaming and shrieking behind her. Heeding the Ghost Warrior’s words, she fought the urge to glance into her rearview mirror.

  After a restless night, Connie dragged herself to work, now convinced what had happened in the parking garage was just a bad dream. Catching sight of the painting of the samurai warrior, her hands flew to her mouth. Chills shot through her body.

  The sword was no longer positioned to strike. The warrior had lowered his weapon. Its tip now dripped with blood.

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  About the Author

  Lynn Kelley worked as a court reporter for 25 years while she and her husband, George, raised their four little monsters. Under the pseudonym BBH McChiller she’s co-author of Monster Moon, a fun, spooky mystery series for ages 8 – 12. Curse at Zala Manor is the first book in the series, and Secret of Haunted Bog is the second title. Her story, “The Jobo Tree” won her Highlights for Children’s Author of the Month Award. She authored a picture book, Merry as a Cricket (WhipperSnapper Books) and is currently working on a young adult novel. She tries her best to keep her overactive imagination in check. For more info, go to www.lynnkelleyauthor.com.

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