Emily Hill is the author of 'Ghost Stories and The Unexplained'; 'Ghost Stories from Beyond The Grave'; and 'The Ghost Chaser's Daughter' ~ short stories series ~ all available at eBook outlets.
Emily Hill: https://www.avharrisonpromotions.com/screening_room.html
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Chapter 1
1853 ~ New Orleans' Garden District
It all took place in the fashionable Garden District of New Orleans, where beautiful estates hide behind the screen of tree-lined boulevards. The year was 1853, during an era when family loyalties were guarded vigilantly, some even from beyond the grave.
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Dusky afternoon sunlight streamed into the bedroom of young heiress, Victoria Calais, casting the room in a brooding hue that foreshadows an evening squall. Flying toward the Crescent City at that moment was the kind of storm that causes shutters to clatter, and the shadows of gnarled oaks to bob and weave across expansive lawns. By midnight lightning bolts would be dancing along darkened lanes, like skeletons frolicking at an undertaker's ball.
Victoria sat at her vanity, staring into her mirror but unable to make out her own reflection. Her fingertips, like the feelers of an ant, followed along the edges of each cosmetic item laid out on the embroidered runner decorating her vanity. The ingénue straightened each article, one at a time - the brush lined up next to the comb, and the comb lined up to the curling iron. She ran her palm over each colorful cosmetic jar—cornflower blue, sunburst yellow, tangerine orange. The jar lids were decorated with various textured baubles or jewels—either pearls, or sequins, or precious stones—so that Victoria could distinguish them in case they were moved around . . . by someone, something.
From memory, Victoria tapped her fingernails on the smoked-ebony container of carmine to her right. The texture of seed pearls greeted her fingertips. To the left of the carmine sat a tin of charcoal, to darken her sable brown lashes. Sequins decorated that container—easily distinguishable. A square-cut amber adorned the dainty container of beeswax. A place for everything and everything in its place. That is the only way it can be—from now on.
A gentle breeze rustled through Victoria's bedroom, bringing with it the fragrance of rose petals, reminding her that she was not alone. Victoria stiffened. She craned her neck and squinted into a milky field of vision from heavy-lidded eyes.
"Hello? Who's here?" She waited. Every instinct told her that someone was standing in the shadows of her room.
There was no response to her inquiry, other than the sputtering sound of burning candles.
She shook her head, and felt her curls bounce, unable to rid herself of the feeling that a specter of some sort was watching her.
"Is someone there?"
Shivers ran down her neck - tingling sensations prickled her armpits. She was afraid to turn her head, for fear of what she might see—or not see.
"You can't do this to me! It's cruel!"
Maybe my intuition needs to be honed even more.This calling out like an insecure child must stop. Whoever is here with me refuses to answer, and I cannot expect grandmother to be beside me every moment of the day to calm my fears.
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#Ghosts of White Raven Estate" ~ #Free #Wattpad Excerpt
Paranormal1853 New Orleans ~ "Flying toward the Crescent City at that moment was the kind of storm that causes shutters to clatter, and the shadows of gnarled oaks to bob and weave across expansive lawns. By midnight bolts of lightning would be dancing along...
