Exploring An Abandoned House--Was it haunted?--Laurean Brooks

Summer on the farm wasn’t all hard work for my siblings and me. We found time for fun between hoeing the gardens, picking, shelling, or shucking the produce. And after a gully-washer rain, we played in the gushing creek at the bottom of the hill in the woods. By this week in July, we were eating ripened watermelons from our patch in the bottom field. And some nights we’d play outside and catch lightning bugs in a jar then let them go.

Even with the above-mentioned pleasures, none compared to what our brother deemed “Exploring”. Exploring meant following our older brother Ralph, through the woods, jumping across ditches, fighting thorn trees and briers, wading shallow streams, and climbing over fences, just to see what lay on the other side of the woods beyond our farm.

One summer day when the work was caught up, Ralph announced, “Let’s go exploring.” After a three-mile hike through the woods, we came to a clearing and upon an abandoned two-story clapboard house. Although the paint was faded, judging by its fancy trim, the old house once had her heyday. But why was it in the middle of nowhere?

Ralph pointed out a grassy trail that had once been the road leading to the house. We followed it some distance and found a wide chasm where a bridge had once spanned. After Ralph had studied it, he said, “Let’s go back and explore the house.”

I was afraid to enter the abandoned house. It looked...well, haunted. But we all trusted our big brother to protect us. As we approached, I gazed up at the second story and broken window panes. A few window panes were missing on the lower-story, also.

We reached the back door and found it unlocked. With the twist of the doorknob, it creaked open. The room we stepped into was the kitchen. It boasted an old-time wood stove like our grandmothers cooked on, cupboards, and a small table covered in a faded, checkered oilcloth with white, four painted chairs around it.

My siblings and I went in different directions to explore the house. I found what appeared to be the living room. An old footlocker sat in one corner. I imagined it filled to overflowing with rubies, diamonds, pearls, and gold coins. I couldn’t wait to open it We would be rich! And I could indulge in all the candy I wanted at Workman’s Grocery.

When I lifted the lid and found hundreds of loose photos inside, my dream was deflated. Many of them were of a blond boy around age six, sitting proudly astride a paint pony and decked out in cowboy attire. By the number of pictures and the way the boy was dressed, he was bound to be the apple of someone’s eye.

When we’d seen all we wanted of the downstairs, Ralph called us into the foyer and pointed up the once elaborate staircase. “Let’s see what’s up there.”

I cringed. All I saw was darkness. If anything sinister was in the house, it would be hiding up there. “Don’t worry,” Ralph assured us. "Nothing to be afraid of."

Single-file, we climbed the steps with Ralph leading the way. I was the last one to follow. A minute later a loud screech came from the attic. Ralph yelled, “Bats! Run!” He almost tripped over us as we ran down the stairs and out to the woods.

As we screamed and scrambled to catch up with Ralph, a string of bats streamed past us, over our heads, and out the open door. My heart pounded against my ribs and my breath came in gasps as I raced to keep up with my siblings. 

We found a safe spot in the surrounding woods and stopped to catch our breath. On the trek home, we discussed the old house and its eerie occupants and agreed it was haunted like the ones we’d seen in scary movies.

When we reached home, we were famished. Dad pulled a watermelon from the freezer where he’d placed it just after lunch. We sank our teeth into plump, juicy slices between relating our horrific experience.

Of course, Dad warned us not to return to the abandoned house. It belonged to someone, and we had no business exploring it.

I had no problem with that. You couldn't drag me back. 

Exploring the deserted house was an adventure I won't forget. The people who once lived there still remains a mystery. Younger family members enjoy hearing us re-tell the story, but nothing could persuade me to go back again. 

I think Ralph and the others feel the same.
******************************************************************************

When mail-order bride Emily, finds her mule-faced groom at the altar with another woman, she's fresh out of options. Until a handsome cowboy offers her a job taking care of his mother. Trouble is, Clint doesn't know she's a mail-order bride, and when he voices his low opinion of them, Emily keeps it a secret that she came in response to the mule-faced dentist's ad. 

What will happen when Clint uncovers her secret?

https://www.amazon.com/Half-Price-Bride-Laurean-Brooks-ebook/dp/B089WJX671/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Half-Price+Bride&qid=1595114996&s=books&sr=1-1#customerReviews

MEMORIES OF THANKSGIVINGS AT OUR HOUSE -- Laurean Brooks

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving Dinner might consist of a couple of squirrels or a rabbit that Daddy brought home from his early morning hunting excursion. Daddy rose early on Thanksgiving day, took his rifle off the rack, and trekked through the woods with our trusty dogs, Rex and Joe at his side. 

These dogs were a funny-looking pair. Rex was an Airedale mix while Joe was mostly Daschund. One small, one large. “Mutt and Jeff,” we used to call them. It didn't bother them. They were best of buddies.

After Daddy skinned the rabbit or squirrels, Mama did the cooking and made creamy mouth-watering gravy to go with it. No matter what meal we shared on Thanksgiving Day—turkey, squirrel, or rabbit, with mashed potatoes and gravy, pinto beans, green beans, sweet potato pie, and banana pudding--the best part was the conversation. And it flowed among our large family gathered around the long table as we caught up on the latest developments in each others' lives. Plenty of laughter filled the air, good-natured teasing and such.

Only when the older kids went to work, did our family feast on Butterball Turkey for Thanksgiving. Henry I. Siegel, where I worked, gave one away to its employees at Christmas, while my brother got one from his factory for Thanksgiving.

When I was in my teens, my two older brothers joined the service to fight in the Vietnam conflict. They were sorely missed, more so during the holidays. The empty chairs around the table spoke volumes. But, although they were absent in body, they were still in our hearts and in our prayers.

These Thanksgiving memories dwell in my heart as proof that family ties, love and laughter can still exist while conflict rages across the ocean. I thank God for those special family get-togethers and for bringing both my brothers safely home.

A Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends. Enjoy these special holidays with your loved ones. But most of all make lasting memories while you can. 

May God bless you all. 

***************************************************************

When Josh Kramer picked up his aunt's house help at the depot, he had no idea she had actually ordered the young woman as a bride for him. The plot thickens. Carrie Franklin isn't even the young woman Josh's aunt ordered. She's an imposter, running from the law. 

If you enjoy Western Romance with plenty of unexpected twists, you will love NOT WHAT HE ORDERED.

https://www.amazon.com/Not-What-Ordered-Laurean-Brooks/dp/194509429X

Once More, With Feeling by Vonnie Davis

Yesterday, I released a self-published book that had been published six years ago by The Wild Rose Press. I don't know if it was the title I'd chosen or that I was still a new author, but the series didn't sell well at all. I got the rights back and changed some characters' names, updated technology, added roughly 15,000 words, gave it a new title and a different series name.

What was originally Mona Lisa's Room, book one of The Red Hand Conspiracy became NIKO: Licensed to Kill, Paris Intrigue--Book One.

To protect buyers, I listed on Amazon's description the book was previously published under another title and what it was.

http://a.co/i3fyX5o 

Why give a book with lack-luster sales another try? Because the series is set in Paris and is full of my memories of places we'd visited and things we saw on our trips over there. The series was a labor of love. Every time I work on one of the books, it's like being back in the city I so adore.

In two months, JEAN-LUC: Once is Never Enough releases and finally BASTIAN: The Spy Who Loves Me.

Will the books sell any better this time around? I hope so. If not, I've had such fun getting them ready to market again, the process was worth it.

If you enjoy romantic suspense in an exotic place with page turning action as my characters try to keep ahead of the terrorists, give them a try. Oh, and if you enjoy humorous, sexy banter and situations that will make you laugh out loud, you will definitely want to fly on my magic carpet ride of words to Paris...the Normandy coast...and Budapest...and Berlin.

www.vonniedavis.com

I See Dead People--An Author Thing

Actually, anyone writing historicals featuring those who've gone before us see dead people. Most of the folk who've ever walked this earth are departed, if you think about it. But not necessarily gone. Characters speak to me, unless they're sulking. And I see them, unless they're being elusive. Conversations and scenes unfold like watching a movie. Some only in snatches; others are far more in-depth. The trick is to capture these tantalizing glimpses before they fade like mist in the sun. I'm certain this time I'll remember. How can I forget something so vivid, right? A faulty assumption on my part. The bold enactment that played so brightly before me only last evening, or a few hours ago, grows hazy. I struggle to recall the details. Life intrudes and the clarity is lost. I'm learning to jot down some notes before the words zoom away, except for the scene I'm flirting with now that I'm positive I'll remember...tomorrow. 

Speaking of communing with characters, sometimes out of the blue, I was walking in our meadow one afternoon when I heard  a woman say, "Master Stuart do not venture here." And she floated toward me in the mist so that I wasn't certain she was real. Neither was Stuart Monroe, hero of the story, especially as he was in the graveyard at the time. That's how ghostly Gothic historical romance novel, Traitor's Curse, opens, and now you know why. I never know how inspiration may come, only that it will.

Traitor's Curse (out Nov. 6th) is available for pre-order in Kindle and Nookbook and will also be available in print. The novel is the third in my Traitor's Legacy Series and the sequel to Traitor's Legacy, released by The Wild Rose Press

Excerpt from Traitor's Curse:

 “Turn back. A man watches you.”

Again, the warning carried from the unseen source.

What man, and how did she know Stuart was observed? He could barely discern anything.

“Who are you? Show yourself.” Uneasiness lent indignation to his demand.

Through the haze, he spotted the figure of a young female dressed all in white. A death shroud?

Pray God, it wasn’t. His gut knotted, and he stood staring at her.

Ethereal, ghostly, she seemed to float toward him, but must have walked.

 Must have.

A cold shiver stood the hair on the back of his neck on end. Was she flesh and blood, or spirit? Had she crossed the divide between the two worlds?

He scarcely dared to breathe.

Still, he stood rooted to the trail. And not only from fright. Fascination. Despite fear of being haunted, an aura about her drew him.

He waited, every muscle taut, poised betwixt heaven and earth, the scent of crumbling leaves in his nose. At least, that was real.

Whiteness swirling around her, she neared.

Then he spotted it, an ivory coverlet draped over her head and around her slender shoulders pinched together in front with pale fingers.

No shroud.

The blanket reached to her ankles and trailed behind along the ground. Mist muted the flowers stitched into the cloth. This accounted for him not spotting her sooner. She’d blended in with the vapor.~

***Visit my Amazon Author Page where ALL my books reside.