Fallen Stones Read Online Free

motion a plan, which had to be carried out at the exact time and place of their designation and which would not only affect him, but also another unsuspecting group of Livingston decedents.
    The apparition looming before him had a face a white as chalk, and its blood red eyes were sunken deep into dark-rimmed sockets. If Washburn had looked at his own sickly reflection in the surrounding mirrors, he would have been shocked at how his countenance was almost as deplorable as the long dead being before him. The creature’s once fine garments were soiled and smelled as musty as a tomb. What must have once been the man's white linen shirt now hung askew was yellowed and covered with blood and filth. Washburn knew the reason the specter appeared to be much younger than Washburn’s own sixty-three years, was because of the couple’s early death.
    Washburn sat stock still in the rapidly chilling bath water, feeling especially vulnerable in his nakedness. He was having second thoughts about reading the agreement from the confines of the tub, even though the spirit had demanded it. Then again it was not as if he had either a choice or the willpower any longer to oppose the specter's orders. After months of anguish, he knew it was futile to resist the commands of his tormenter. He started to wonder if perhaps he actually was losing his mind or if he might have already gone mad several months earlier. He no longer understood his own actions, nor could he seem to be able to control them.
    The image began to emerge from the mirror, slowly floating through the air, finally hovering near the document, which rested on the marble floor. With a wave of its ghostly hand, the pages of the document quickly flipped open, and turned rapidly until the thing found what it was looking for. It stared down at the document on the floor for a moment and a look of satisfaction spread over its withered dead face. It had seen what it needed to see; the circle finally was about to be closed. What had happened before was destined to happen once again, and he would see to it.
    Washburn had not taken his eyes off of the specter and with caution said “Dwight… Grandfather… I… I have done… what you requested… I have named her as my heir… the one you said... will you now please go and leave me be?” The creature did not speak but simply floated and stared blankly at the man.
    Washburn asked once again, “What more can you possibly want from me? I have done as you ordered... I always do what you wish …I have left all of my property, all of my money and all of my earthly possessions to a niece I have never even met... isn’t that what you requested? Isn't that enough? Please, I beg of you... I am a sick and tormented soul... Go now and leave me in peace.”
    But the image did not fade, did not leave nor did it melt back into the glass as Washburn had hoped against all hope. Instead, it stared silently at Washburn. It did not speak, nor did it convey any message through its typical mysterious telepathic means, which it had used on previous occasion. Instead it simply stood and stared expressionlessly at Washburn, as if uncertain of, or deciding what its next move would be.
    No, Washburn did not quite believe that to be true. He knew the creature had a plan; it always had a plan, and Washburn was certain the ghost was moving events in the direction necessary to carry out that specific plan. This time surely the situation would be no different although he feared it might not end well for him.
    Then the translucent image began to dissolve before Washburn's eyes, breaking down into a mass of millions of tiny glowing, sparkling particles. It had never done any such transformation in his presence before. The sight transfixed Washburn. A moment later, the cloud of luminous white iridescent specks floated over toward Washburn and surrounded his head like a throng of flying insects. Next the collection began to