Gridlocked Guesthouse (Locked House Hauntings Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Mixi J Applebottom
else will die."
She turned over a large sand timer and the sand starting pouring from one end to the other. Rachel certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
The twelve remaining guests began to scramble, though let's be honest since Ricky and Rachel were the hosts, they did not in fact put in effort in to the scramble, simply watching the other ones scramble. Lucy stood, horrified, and unable to move. She still stared at the slack face of her beloved.
Beezer was staring at the goats with Jenny, who didn't seem in any particular rush to find any clues. Beth timidly was watching the scene, looking at the chairs and the table. The table was long and wooden. On it sat thirteen half melted candles. The goats stood at one end while Jenny cooed over them.
John and Ben stood back from the scene, both quietly observing. Tiffany lifted candles, and checked the few cups still on the table after the toast.
Zane was quietly, but very obviously watching Beth. He hadn't been feeling smitten with her before she sat on his lap for the last hour, but now she was certainly on his radar.
Mikaela crawled under the table, clearly convinced there would be a clue. Her bottom was sparkling in the air as she crawled. Gorgeous sequins. But Mike was the one who finally found it. Being the tallest of the group--closer to seven feet than six feet--he calmly reached over to the chandelier and pulled down a scrap of paper.
"Anybody wanna guess what this says before we find out which ghost killed poor Rafael?" he said calmly.
"Hang on a minute," Mikaela said, climbing out from under the table and holding another scrap of paper.
Beth reached out and plucked a scrap from Rafael's pocket. "And this?"
Rachel had a strong frown of disappointment. Clearly she was expecting it to take a lot longer to find the scraps she had worked so hard to hide. The sand timer hadn't even run a third of its sand yet.
Ricky clapped his hand on her back and whispered into her ear, "Don't worry; the next one will take hours." She gave him a halfhearted grin.
It was true, the next one would take hours. In fact that was where the fun would start to begin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I just realized that despite all the words I have been writing about the events on that weekend, I haven't introduced myself. I'm a Scorpio. And I don't actually know what everyone is thinking. If I say, "Beth thought to herself that it seemed like a great idea to spend the weekend in a house full of ghosts and murder," then I don't know what I am talking about.
I'm just trying to breathe some depth into this story for you. I don't want to tell you what happened in such a cold, calculated way like the newspapers. I hate those things. They say in a big, cold, breathless title, "Guesthouse carnage continued after murder mystery weekend goes terribly wrong." So if I get some of the details of what each person felt wrong, please spare me the nasty reviews. I already know I'm not omniscient. I'm just...
Curious.
And this is certainly the kind of story you should be wondering about. The next bit is my favorite, right before things got scary, but right after the party started.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was around one thirty or two in the morning. It was late, like real fucking late. I'm sorry I cursed. I don't like to be up that late; it's terribly unladylike. Darkness breeds horror the same way flies breed maggots onto a perfectly good corpse.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
Lucy was still fretting that Rafael hadn't woken up yet. He was still slumped in his chair. That was a man dedicated to his role. She slowly pressed her lips to his, feeling the soft warmth of his mouth, and he just limply lay in the chair.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. And he couldn't reply. He was off his rocker. The lights were off at the farmhouse, so to speak. "Guys, do you think he's okay?" She looked up and said this in a
She turned over a large sand timer and the sand starting pouring from one end to the other. Rachel certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
The twelve remaining guests began to scramble, though let's be honest since Ricky and Rachel were the hosts, they did not in fact put in effort in to the scramble, simply watching the other ones scramble. Lucy stood, horrified, and unable to move. She still stared at the slack face of her beloved.
Beezer was staring at the goats with Jenny, who didn't seem in any particular rush to find any clues. Beth timidly was watching the scene, looking at the chairs and the table. The table was long and wooden. On it sat thirteen half melted candles. The goats stood at one end while Jenny cooed over them.
John and Ben stood back from the scene, both quietly observing. Tiffany lifted candles, and checked the few cups still on the table after the toast.
Zane was quietly, but very obviously watching Beth. He hadn't been feeling smitten with her before she sat on his lap for the last hour, but now she was certainly on his radar.
Mikaela crawled under the table, clearly convinced there would be a clue. Her bottom was sparkling in the air as she crawled. Gorgeous sequins. But Mike was the one who finally found it. Being the tallest of the group--closer to seven feet than six feet--he calmly reached over to the chandelier and pulled down a scrap of paper.
"Anybody wanna guess what this says before we find out which ghost killed poor Rafael?" he said calmly.
"Hang on a minute," Mikaela said, climbing out from under the table and holding another scrap of paper.
Beth reached out and plucked a scrap from Rafael's pocket. "And this?"
Rachel had a strong frown of disappointment. Clearly she was expecting it to take a lot longer to find the scraps she had worked so hard to hide. The sand timer hadn't even run a third of its sand yet.
Ricky clapped his hand on her back and whispered into her ear, "Don't worry; the next one will take hours." She gave him a halfhearted grin.
It was true, the next one would take hours. In fact that was where the fun would start to begin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I just realized that despite all the words I have been writing about the events on that weekend, I haven't introduced myself. I'm a Scorpio. And I don't actually know what everyone is thinking. If I say, "Beth thought to herself that it seemed like a great idea to spend the weekend in a house full of ghosts and murder," then I don't know what I am talking about.
I'm just trying to breathe some depth into this story for you. I don't want to tell you what happened in such a cold, calculated way like the newspapers. I hate those things. They say in a big, cold, breathless title, "Guesthouse carnage continued after murder mystery weekend goes terribly wrong." So if I get some of the details of what each person felt wrong, please spare me the nasty reviews. I already know I'm not omniscient. I'm just...
Curious.
And this is certainly the kind of story you should be wondering about. The next bit is my favorite, right before things got scary, but right after the party started.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was around one thirty or two in the morning. It was late, like real fucking late. I'm sorry I cursed. I don't like to be up that late; it's terribly unladylike. Darkness breeds horror the same way flies breed maggots onto a perfectly good corpse.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
Lucy was still fretting that Rafael hadn't woken up yet. He was still slumped in his chair. That was a man dedicated to his role. She slowly pressed her lips to his, feeling the soft warmth of his mouth, and he just limply lay in the chair.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. And he couldn't reply. He was off his rocker. The lights were off at the farmhouse, so to speak. "Guys, do you think he's okay?" She looked up and said this in a
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