Always Dead (Welcome To Dead House Book 2)

  Always Dead

  Welcome To Dead House™ Book Two

  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 support@lmbpn.com. 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 May, 2020

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-930-7

  Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-931-4

  This book is for you, Kevin. You are a true plot master and a good friend. Thank you for allowing me to spend half my life writing. I like the other half too.

  Contents

  1. Tamara

  2. Tamara

  3. Chloe

  4. Tamara

  5. Mrs. Loper

  6. Chloe

  7. Tamara

  8. Tamara

  9. Chloe

  10. Tamara

  11. Chloe

  12. Mrs. Loper

  13. Tamara

  14. Tamara

  15. Tamara

  16. Chloe

  Epilogue—Tamara

  Author’s Note

  The Seven Sisters Cottonwood Omnibus Edition

  Meet the Author

  Other Books By M.L. Bullock

  Other LMBPN Publishing Books

  The Always Dead Team

  Thanks to our Beta Team:

  Jim Caplan, John Ashmore, Kelly O’Donnell, Rachel Beckford, Mary Morris, Larry Omans

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Micky Cocker

  Veronica Stephan-Miller

  Debi Sateren

  Deb Mader

  Diane L. Smith

  Kerry Mortimer

  Angel LaVey

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

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  1

  Tamara

  I opened the dryer, and a string of swear words flew out of my mouth. Joey, or at least a part of him, had his head and shoulders hunkered inside the appliance.

  "Joey? What the hell? Are you trying to scare me to death?" I didn't mean to sound angry, but his hiding in unexpected places was becoming a problem. I didn’t mind living with a ghost, but enough with the funhouse surprises. I didn’t understand Joey's weird obsession with electrical appliances.

  "Are you trying to kill yourself again? We've been through this. It's not possible. You're already dead."

  He scowled at me. "You don’t have to be rude, Tamara. What a potty mouth. Keep your voice down. I don't want the ‘visitor,’” he whispered as he made air quotes, “to know I'm in here. Close the door and go away." I shook my head and waved my hand in frustration.

  “No. I'm not going anywhere. Who are you talking about? Chloe isn't here, remember? She went to spend the night with Lynn. Unless you’re saying there’s another ghost in the house.”

  He didn’t say anything but put his finger to his lips.

  “I've got laundry to do so if you wouldn’t mind hiding somewhere else?”

  “Quiet, loudmouth! Are you telling me you haven’t seen that horrible wretch of a ghost? Way to go, Miss Paranormal Investigator. She’s been hanging around your office. It’s that book you’re writing. I thought it was Chloe and her woo-woo crap but it’s you. Your writing is attracting activity, Tamara. I’m sure of it!”

  I shook my head at the suggestion that somehow I was the cause of his latest freak out. “Listen, I'm down to no underwear, so if you wouldn't mind?"

  Joey faded a little, which worried me a bit. My best friend was easy to read. When he was happy and everything was going okay, he was luminous; he practically glowed. When Joey was stressed or worried or frustrated, and it was hard to believe the dead can be any of those things, he faded in and out and went translucent. At the moment, I could barely see him. He moaned as if he were in pain. This was disturbing. Something was up for sure.

  "What's going on with you? Where did you see her?" I asked, concerned his fear appeared to be climbing. Despite the fact he was a ghost and enjoyed binge-watching paranormal investigation shows, Joey did not like the idea of other spirits being anywhere around him. He was more afraid of them than Chloe and me.

  He whispered up at me, "I wouldn't have to hide in places like this if you let me have my own room. This is on you, Tamara."

  I drew back, feeling exasperated. So that’s what this was about? Hiding in the dryer was just a ploy to get me to change my mind about room renovations. “We’ve talked about this, Joey. I don’t have the money to renovate a room right now. Pick an empty bedroom and hang out in it. The most I can offer you is a box to hide in. There’s no money in the budget for a bedroom set and all the accessories on your wish list. Maybe later when the legal stuff with Chloe is worked out.”

  “That’s bull. You have the money. You just got a book deal.”

  Rolling my eyes at his assertion, I tossed a dryer sheet in on him. “No, I didn’t. I haven’t heard a thing yet. Do you know something I don’t?”

  He stuck his tongue out at me. “I know a lot but whatever. Nice to know I’m a priority, best friend. Bestie. BFF.”

  “Come on. Give me a break. Is there really a ghost in here right now, Joey? Or did you freak yourself out watching that Amityville Horror marathon? Are you actually being threatened or are you just being extra?”

  He crossed his arms and turned his face away from me. Feeling extra myself, extra aggravated, I dumped my wet clothing on top of him as he moaned again. “Disgusting, Tamara!” I slammed the dryer door and flipped the switch.

  "Those panties are clean, Joey! If you don’t want to talk, you can hang out with my underwear. Otherwise, I'm going to the mailbox." I paused as Joey mumbled something, but since the dryer door was closed and in full operation, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. “You’ll need to come out of there if you want to talk to me.” I waited for him to manifest but he didn’t appear. “Be a stubborn ass then.”

  With a sigh, I slid my flip-flops on to make the trek to the mailbox. I noticed the entryway chandelier wobbled a little, and I studied the movement for a moment. Usually it only happened when Chloe had her music up loud or she and Lynn were working on some dance or God knows what else. There wasn’t a soul up there right now, so I had no explanation for it.

  Nothing else appeared to be moving around. I thought maybe I should break out the EMF detector, just in case.

  Once the chandelier stopped wobbling, I left the house and made the walk to the mailbox which was located at the end of the long driveway. It was a hot afternoon as it always seemed to be in Crystal Springs, Louisiana. Falls and winters weren’t very cool here from what I experienced. It certainly didn't feel like fall.

  It was November, and the leaves were crunching beneath my flip-flops. The sky was overcast, and I caught myself looking back at the Ridaught Plantation a few times as I made my way. I don't know what I expected to see in those windows—perhaps a malevolent face staring down at me from the attic or a second-
floor window, a clue as to what was beginning to manifest. Joey was definitely worked up, and I had been having plenty of dreams.

  Young guy in a hot car and the feeling of being choked. So weird. Before coming here, I wasn’t one to dream much. That had certainly changed.

  In my limited experience at the Dead House, the name locals gave the Ridaught Plantation, those top floors were the most haunted. Unless you included Joey’s activities as hauntings, which I did not. Most of the time, Joey roamed all over the house, except for Chloe’s room. That space was off-limits to everyone unless you wanted to deal with an angry teenager. I couldn’t figure out why he’d suddenly decided he wanted his own room.

  With my hand shielding my eyes against the setting sun, I studied the house again. There was nothing there. No one was watching, and there was nothing to account for the wobbling chandelier. At least there were no ghostly figures or shadow people leering at me. For all I knew, Joey might be having a bit of fun at my expense. He was a prankster at times, but never anything malicious.

  I wasn't surprised to see my mailbox stuffed with envelopes. There were the usual circulars and unwanted junk mail, and even a letter addressed to my neighbor. Shoot. I’d have to take it to her. The last thing I wanted to do was visit Linda Blabbermouth, as Joey unaffectionately called the nosy neighbor, but I'd have to. Just not right this second. What was up with the mail lady recently? This was the second time this week.

  I sorted through a few more envelopes and then paused. I’d received a letter from Bright House Publishing. I submitted my book to them recently, too recently for this to be a good letter. God, please don’t let this be another rejection letter.

  Have a little faith, Tamara. Thirteen was always your lucky number. The thirteenth was the charm, remember?

  It was strange that my internal voice of encouragement always sounded like my late best friend, Tina Louise. Shoving the rest of the envelopes under an arm, I tore the letter open and scanned the subject line for the dreaded word REJECTION. To my surprise, I didn’t see it.

  We are happy to inform you that your book The Ghost of Crystal Springs has been accepted for publication. Please contact us at your earliest convenience at...

  I shrieked in surprise. Like a kid holding an ice cream, I jumped up and down and looked around me for someone to share my good news with. There were no neighbors out, so I had no one to explain my joy to. Surprisingly, Linda’s car wasn't there either.

  Wait, Joey knew about this! He knew this was going to happen. Well, he would just have to come out of the dryer because this was cause for celebration.

  I raced back to the house, my flip-flops flapping on the leaves as I ran. It was never a good idea to run in flip-flops, but this was a special occasion. As I swung the door open, I screamed for Joey. "Joey! Come out of the dryer! You have to see this!”

  I dropped the remainder of the mail on the foyer table and unfolded the letter completely so I could take it all in. Yes, I had read it correctly.

  Bright House Publishing wanted my book!

  “Joey! I’m about to be a published author! Come see the letter! It’s time to celebrate!”

  I could barely breathe, I was so happy, but my joy was short-lived.

  My calls for Joey echoed back to me, and the house felt extraordinarily empty. Since it was the last place I had seen Joey, I went back to the dryer, hoping he might still be hanging out there. He wasn't, or if he was, I sure couldn’t see him. He was nowhere to be found, not in the dryer nor the washing machine. I also checked the oven and refrigerator, just in case.

  I read the letter again. Could this be right? It had to be. I had the letter to prove it.

  “Joey, come out, come out, wherever you are. Big news! You called it, Joey! I got a deal!”

  I heard not a sound.

  As I walked around the house, the air felt kind of odd and unsettled.

  Kind of crackly and very still, the air hung like a blanket. Not humid exactly, more like a kind of smothering. It reminded me of times when you walked in the woods and everything got quiet because there was a predator, like a coyote or a bobcat. I had experienced such moments when I’d been on past paranormal investigations in remote locations.

  Like the Campbell Cabin in Rhode Island. That place had been a total creep-fest. That was the night Tina Louise and I caught glowing orbs on camera and heard groans.

  That’s exactly what was happening here. It was time to take the bull by the horns and see for myself. Where had I put my EMF detector?

  Joey knew about the letter and was probably right about the new ghost at the Ridaught Plantation. If there was a new haunting, I wanted to know about it now. Better to be proactive.

  My joyous mood took a nosedive as I surveyed my surroundings. I piled all the letters on the nearest table and focused on the house. I should hear something, but there wasn’t a sound.

  Not the usual low hum from the air conditioning vents, no running refrigerator, nothing at all. It was as if I were standing inside a vacuum, and all the noise had been sucked away. I whispered Joey’s name, and I couldn’t even hear my own voice.

  Well, that was different.

  I couldn’t hear a thing—not Joey's awful singing or laughing or even him clattering down the hall in my heels.

  I was suddenly awash with heavy emotions, and they weren’t mine. I'd been kind of lonely lately, but I had not experienced anything quite like this...whatever it was. I gripped the edge of the table as I tried to fight back against whoever was forcing me to experience this.

  “I’m not a medium,” I said to whoever might be listening. “Stop doing that. I don’t like it.” It felt like I had been dropped into a vat of heavy, sad molasses. Then a blast of heat whooshed past my face and the feeling was gone.

  The hairs on my arms stood up, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt, despite my attempts at mocking Joey and belittling his fears, we had a new resident at Dead House. The thick weird feeling began to let up, and I managed to get myself together.

  "Hello? Whoever you are, I felt what you did to me, and I don’t like it. My name is Tamara, and this is my home. If you want to talk to me, I’m listening, but we have rules here." I waited for a response. Not a peep. "No touching anyone. No hurting anyone. You'll have to find a way to tell me what you need but leave Joey alone. He’s off-limits. Okay? You can’t harm him. Hello?"

  I thought about what Joey said earlier about my writing adding fuel to the fire here at the Dead House. Was I some sort of paperback medium, and my new book had attracted unwanted paranormal attention?

  I had classified my book as fiction, not non-fiction, and not a true memoir of any sort. My latest book had been inspired by a dream I had, one I’d had several times. Surely, my fiction had nothing to do with the potential paranormal presence attempting to make itself known here at the Ridaught Plantation. Whatever the reason, I had to investigate.

  I went to my room and found my EMF detector and the digital recorder. I walked back to the front room and tried a few other conversation starters with the invisible entity. The EMF spiked up to the red before it fell back to green. It only lasted a few seconds, but that was it. No one wanted to talk. This new entity wasn’t ready to reveal herself yet.

  Just as sure as the sun came up in the morning, I knew it would manifest sooner rather than later. That was the thing I liked the least about paranormal investigation, the unhappy surprises.

  Like being startled or walking into the intangible and feeling that weird spider web feeling all over your body, but hey, what was a girl going to do? I was up for the job. I had this. Now I had to figure out how to tell Chloe. Maybe she already knew. The teenager was a strong, natural medium. Unfortunately, she was in one of those “I don’t want to talk to Aunt Tamara” moods.

  Oh, well. I could handle this.

  All by myself.

  2

  Tamara

  After another thirty minutes of taking readings and getting no responses, I went into the kitchen to heat
up a can of soup for supper. As I stirred the contents, I listened to the recordings at full volume.

  Not a peep. Not a word or a sound that would lead me to believe anyone or anything had responded. I debated what next. I could try some Rem Pods, or turn off the lights and walk around with the IR camera. I had batteries for all of them.

  I secretly hoped Chloe would change her mind and come home tonight. Maybe I could call her and ask her to bring me a pizza. I couldn’t leave, but I wasn’t looking forward to this soup.

  Too bad, Tamara. Soup. It’s what’s for dinner. If you’re lucky, you may have a few crackers to go with it.

  I continued to stir the chicken-flavored concoction and then retrieved a bowl and spoon from the cabinet. I could not call Chloe and pull her away from her fun. That would be very lame of me, and I was lame enough already, according to her. I’d share the good news with Chloe when she came home tomorrow afternoon. And of course, tell her about the new ghost.

  This whole being-a-mom thing was beyond me. Tina Louise, Chloe's late mother, had been my best friend, yet I felt as if I knew nothing about her. For a long time, I didn't even know she had a kid, much less a family home or such a remarkable family lineage.

  Why would you keep all this a secret from Chloe and me? Why would you do that, Tina Louise?