Never Dead (Welcome To Dead House Book 1) Read online

  Never Dead

  Welcome To Dead House™ Book One

  M.L. Bullock

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2020 Monica L. Bullock

  Cover by Fantasy Book Design

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US Edition April, 2020

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-827-0

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-828-7

  Thank you to Michael Anderle and the LMBPN crew. This one’s for you!

  Contents

  1. Tamara

  2. Annie Hensley

  3. Tamara

  4. Kevin

  5. Tamara

  6. Chloe

  7. Annie Hensley

  8. Tamara

  9. Kevin

  10. Tamara

  11. Tamara

  12. Kevin

  13. Tamara

  14. Tamara

  15. Annie Hensley

  16. Chloe

  17. Tamara

  18. Chloe

  19. Tamara

  20. Chloe

  21. Tamara

  Epilogue

  The Seven Sisters Cottonwood Omnibus Edition

  Author’s Note

  Meet the Author

  Other Books By M.L. Bullock

  Other LMBPN Publishing Books

  The Never Dead Team

  Thanks to our Beta Team:

  Micky Cocker, Theresa Holmes, Jim Caplan, John Ashmore, Kelly O’Donnell, Rachel Beckford, Mary Morris

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Veronica Stephan-Miller

  Deb Mader

  Kathleen Fettig

  Debi Sateren

  Peter Manis

  Dave Hicks

  Jeff Goode

  Diane L. Smith

  Dorothy Lloyd

  John Raisor

  Angel LaVey

  Micky Cocker

  Paul Westman

  If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  1

  Tamara

  The aroma of French Roast coffee summoned me to the kitchen earlier than I planned. Luckily for me, Chloe could make her own breakfast and see herself off to school. I’d had every intention of sleeping until eight, but I was a sucker for a good cup of coffee and I couldn’t help myself. I wouldn’t accomplish anything hanging out in my comfy, albeit sometimes lonely bed. The bed was new, even if I couldn’t say that for the rest of the furniture in the big old house. It was our house though, and come hell or high water, I was going to keep it for Chloe. I had promised her mom.

  What was my plan after? I couldn’t really say. I’ve always been one to wander. To check out the next town and get the vibe. Strangely enough, this crumbling plantation felt like home. Maybe I was just getting old, I groaned inwardly.

  Shut up, Tamara. Coffee. Go get coffee.

  Slipping on my fuzzy, pink slippers, I tried to arrange a messy bun as I stumbled down the hall to the kitchen to fetch that first cup.

  It would be the first of many, I predicted.

  Late nights watching Ghost Hunters with Joey were beginning to take a toll on me. The episodes were all reruns, but I liked watching them because Joey enjoyed them so much.

  Watching the shows made me nostalgic for the old days. Chloe’s mom and I used to be into all that stuff. It was our practice to tour haunted locations with paranormal groups between gigs. I was more into the paranormal than she had been, but we had both been huge ghost fangirls.

  To think she’d owned a haunted house all that time and never told me. Best friend, my ass. I would never understand, but it was water under the bridge now. The shock had worn off a bit of me being a proxy mom. Who’d a thunk it? But if it hadn’t been for those excursions, I wouldn’t have been prepared for what was happening here at Ridaught Plantation.

  From day one, we had weird encounters, but Joey, the resident ghost, was harmless if a bit dramatic at times. We’d gotten along almost right away, but Chloe had a cool disdain for him. Exhausted the first night, I’d tossed sofa cushions on the floor and made a pallet for myself to collapse on after a day of moving. I woke up to the sound of someone rummaging through my hanging clothes.

  The first few seconds of our encounter had terrified me, but Joey’s relaxed demeanor quickly put me at ease. I went back to sleep and woke up believing it was all a dream. Nope. He rearranged my vanity table and my shoe rack a few days later.

  Joey slipped into Chloe’s room once to “help her get organized,” but the teenager let him know quick, fast, and in a hurry it wasn’t cool, a rule I adhered to as well.

  I’d taken a day off from the usual hustle and grind of trying to sell houses to a disinterested local marketplace. I didn’t have any connections in the cliquey town, and the locals were suspicious of anyone they didn’t know. They sure as hell didn’t know me, but I could be charming when I wanted to.

  I was about to unleash the magic and pour it out in barrels if necessary. I’d be sweeter than syrup if it meant gaining the trust of a few influential neighbors. Sure, that cop Deputy Kevin Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was didn’t trust me, but he was a red-blooded American male. Roll through one stop sign, and you’re considered a criminal apparently. He’d change his mind eventually. I could still rock a pair of high heels.

  I yawned and stretched my back as I continued the long walk to the kitchen.

  Yep, I had to break into this local market and sooner rather than later if I wanted to keep the lights on. I wasn’t one for rustic living.

  That was the whole reason for hosting a Halloween party. From a marketing standpoint, it seemed a great idea. I’d even gotten Chloe on board with it. Opening the Ridaught Plantation to the community and letting them get a peek inside would be an excellent way for the local folks to get to know me. The historic home had been closed for a long time and people were naturally curious about it.

  It couldn’t hurt, could it? They didn’t have to know everything about me.

  If things didn’t improve soon, financially speaking, I’d have to get a second gig, but doing what I had no idea. I’d kind of aged out on the whole burlesque deal. Clubs didn’t want to bring in thirty-year-old performers when they had a constant stream of “fresher,” aka younger acts to choose from. I could always hit the webcam highway.

  Get over it, girl. You had your time in the limelight. You can do this without all that.

  I rubbed my eyes and refused to look at my reflection in the dirty hallway mirror.

  It would be great if my book actually took off. That was the plan, finish the book and maybe sell a few houses along the way. At least one, damn it. Today would get me one step closer to what I wanted. I was setting up my writing space. No more crummy desk in the corner of the bedroom. If I was going to take a real stab at becoming the next Anne Rice, I’d need to have a dedicated office. I’d already picked out which room I wanted to use and even the paint color for th
e walls.

  I could hear Chloe’s phone dinging away in the kitchen. I grunted as I joined her. She was pouring herself a to-go cup of coffee and loading it with sugar and milk.

  See, Tina Louise? See how great I am at this whole parenting thing? I’ve taught your daughter how to make the breakfast of champions, caffeinated sugar juice, I thought. You’re welcome.

  There was no need to flick on the light because the kitchen had no curtains. I’d removed the broken blinds the first week we got here and hadn’t replaced them yet. From my perfect view of the side yard, I could see gray, leafless trees and an overgrown lawn. Was it possible we’d been here a month already?

  My, how time flies.

  Sunlight streamed in over the sink and reminded me the dingy floors needed mopping.

  Not today, Satan. I’m not mopping floors today. This is my day.

  Chloe didn’t bother saying good morning. Instead, she handed me a coffee cup and jerked her head toward the stove. “Why does the ghost have his head in the oven?” I groaned at the sight of Joey’s bony ass sticking out of the appliance. He hadn’t even opened the door.

  “Morning to you, too, Chloe. Why don’t you ask him yourself? I just got here.” I shrugged as I pondered the same thing. Whenever Joey got flustered about something, he forgot he could open doors and move things around. When he was happy, he walked around just like Chloe and me. Whatever was going on with him definitely had him stressed out if he had his head in the oven.

  “No, thanks. I’m not the ghost whisperer. I’ll leave that to you but remind him my room is off-limits. I’ll know if he goes snooping around in there. I’ve got my breakfast, and my ride is on his way. I think I’ll wait for him outside,” she said as her blue-painted fingernails tapped on her phone screen. “Nobody wants to see this. Or you. You look like hell, Tam. Please ask the ghost to wait until I’m gone to kill himself from now on.”

  I ignored her request. “You’re not taking the bus?” She’d been having some trouble on there, and I hated to hear it had gotten so bad she didn’t want to ride it anymore.

  “Bus kids suck. I’m tired of their smart comments about me living in a haunted house. And all the other stuff they say.” She sipped her coffee and avoided eye contact. She’d been doing that a lot lately. We had moments when we connected, or so I thought, but not recently. “Don’t make a big deal about it, Tamara.”

  Oh, so it’s about me.

  “Trey is picking me up.”

  “The kid from the video game store? That’s cool. Wait, here’s some money.” I stepped over Joey’s ghostly behind, still poking out of the closed oven. He was talking to himself like he was trying to muster the courage to actually do the deed. Whatever the deed was. You could never tell with Joey. I dug through my purse and grabbed my Hello Kitty pouch, quickly found a few wrinkled dollars, and shoved them in her hand.

  “What do I need money for?”

  “Gas. We pay our own way around here. With money. Nothing else.” I smiled and pretended this was natural. Joey’s ridiculous position, her taking alternative transportation to school, my…everything. This was life now. I felt sorry that her new family wasn’t normal. She didn’t refuse the cash. I imagined, and it probably was my imagination, that she smiled back momentarily.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  “Later,” I answered as she left the house. The screen door made a slapping sound behind her. I turned my attention to Joey as I poured black coffee into my favorite Hello Kitty mug. “What exactly are you doing?”

  “You heard her,” he answered, his voice reverberating in the closed oven door. “I’m going to end it all. I’m killing myself. Goodbye, cruel world! Now stand back so you don’t get hurt!” He gasped and took a deep breath, and then a few more. “Where’s the…”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “Don’t try and talk me out of it,” he panted breathlessly. He was inhaling and exhaling like a crazy person. A crazy dead person.

  “That’s an electric oven, Joey.”

  “So?” Joey snapped as he arched his back deeper and wiggled his behind a little as he breathed in deeply again. I shook my head as I dumped three teaspoons of sugar in my coffee cup and sat down at the rickety kitchen table.

  “The worst you could do would be to roast yourself to death. That sounds long and painful, and I’m sure that’s not what you want. That’s not a gas oven, Joey. You can keep your head in there until the cows come home and it won’t make a difference. And there’s one more thing,” I said as he pulled his head out of the oven and gave me a dirty look.

  “What’s that?”

  “I hate stating the obvious again, but you leave me no choice. You’re already dead, Joey. You want to talk about it, or am I supposed to guess? I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me.”

  “You heard that man last night. Death is merely a perception,” he answered as he got up and dusted himself off. It was a weird thing to watch because everywhere he dusted, like the hem of his shirt or the top of his pants, got a little blurry like he was made of chalk or something. He did look a little faded this morning. Apparently, late nights binge-watching paranormal shows wasn’t good for dead folks either. Something clearly had Joey vexed. I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out with no information. He’d been fine when I went to bed. I’d even left the television on for him.

  “It’s too early for guessing games and I’m tired. Some of us didn’t get our full eight hours of sleep. Living people need rest, you know,” I complained as I sat crossed legged in the chair and waited for my coffee to cool.

  “I can see that. What’s this?” Joey asked as he hover-sat in the chair beside me. He was thumping his fingers between his eyes. “This. Are those wrinkles?”

  “No,” I told him defiantly. I rubbed the space between my eyes and frowned at him. “I slept hard is all. Give me a break, Joey, or I’m going to stick my head in the oven.”

  “Oh, that’s not making it better. You should probably stop. Better hit that concealer, Tam. At least I’ll never have wrinkles.” He shivered as if just the thought of getting older gave him the willies.

  “I hate you right now.” I flipped him off to add extra meaning to my statement.

  “You know who else has wrinkles?” A matching coffee cup manifested in front of him.

  “I don’t have wrinkles. I’m not there yet.” I attempted to sip my coffee and avoided making eye contact with my ghostly best friend.

  “Oh, you’re such a bad liar, sweetie. Such a bad liar. Frowning, like this,” he said as he waved his nearly translucent hand over my face, “makes those lines deeper.”

  “I see what you did there,” I remarked before taking a sip of coffee. “Turning this around on me isn’t going to distract me. We were talking about you slowly roasting yourself in the electric oven, remember? Maybe we should call Dr. Phil?”

  “God forbid. His bald head would be too much of a distraction.”

  I took a big swig before continuing. “Jason’s bald, and you love him.”

  “Jason?” Joey answered coyly.

  “Yeah, Jason. Your favorite ghost hunter.”

  “Oh, he’s not my favorite.”

  We sipped our coffee in silence. I wondered why he wanted to kill himself, and if that was how he’d died.

  “What do they call those eye wrinkles? Crow’s feet?” Before I could think of a witty comeback, his face suddenly went blank. “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh, what?” I rubbed my forehead again. Was I growing a horn or something?

  “You’ve got company, sweetie. Later. You might want to pass by a mirror before you open the front door.”

  “What?” Joey vanished in a tiny puff of smoke, and I was left alone in my kitchen. I got up from the table just in time to hear heavy knocking at the front door.

  Great. I was a wrinkled train wreck and I had a visitor.

  “Just a minute,” I called, knowing good and well my visitor couldn’t hear me. The front
door was too far from the kitchen. “Shoot!” I left my cup behind and raced toward the bedroom to find a pair of shorts.

  “I’m coming,” I yelled as I hopped down the hall to greet my guest. Could it be the mailman? He didn’t usually come this early and didn’t typically knock. “Yes?” I asked as I swung open the large wooden door.

  Deputy Kevin Patrick was standing on my front porch, and naturally, he looked like he’d stepped out of GQ magazine, law enforcement edition. Damn. Did I have a warrant or something?

  “Miss Garvey? Did I wake you up?”

  No sense denying it when I looked like an unmade bed. “May I help you, Officer?” My sarcasm wasn’t wasted on him.

  “Deputy, not officer. I would think you would know that by now. What is this? Our third encounter?”

  Encounter? Geesh. Did he think I was afraid of him? That Tamara Garvey was going to shake like a virgin on prom night at the mere sight of a cop standing on her porch? From his sullen expression, it was clear I was never going to live the stop sign incident down. Or the disturbance call from the grocery store. Have one argument with the cashier about accepting a check, and they call the law on you. The good deputy acted like I was a habitual offender. “I’ve lost count. What can I help you with, Deputy?”

  “Just a welfare check. We got a call about a woman screaming. Are you okay? What about Chloe? Anyone else in the house?” I rubbed my eyes and considered inviting him in but decided against it. I didn’t like the idea of Deputy Patrick having me at a disadvantage. I always got the feeling he wanted to slap those handcuffs on me, and not in a good way.