Never Fear the Reaper: A Never Fear the Reaper Series

By Ashley Pagano

In a world filled with darkness…

can true love spark just enough light to save it?

When Chase hires the mysterious ghost exterminator, Ryder, to cleanse his house from a pesky poltergeist he gets way more than he’s paying her for…

There’s just something about Ryder that has him mesmerized.

Is it the fact that he’s witnessed her do the unexplainable? Or the fact that she’s absolutely breathtaking? Or perhaps it’s that eerie familiar feeling that they’ve met before, perhaps in another lifetime. 

Chase desperately tags along with Ryder on a whirlwind of life threatening adventures in exchange for a few precious moments of alone time with her. With the Grimm Reaper’s Scythe as their defense, Chase developing some supernatural gifts of his own and an intense crush developing between the both of them what crazy supernatural force will target them next?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Mar 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945910135

Book preview

Never Fear the Reaper

Ashley Pagano

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Never Fear the Reaper

Copyright © 2017 Ashley Pagano

All rights reserved.

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ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-945910-13-5

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave.

Pinckney, MI 48169

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Edited By Rie Langdon

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother

who gave me the confidence and motivation I needed to allow my imagination to unravel on paper.

Thank you for your guidance, patience, understanding

and for being a beautiful role model.

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I am who I am today because of you.

CHAPTER 1: OVERPRICED? I THINK NOT

As I sit here in my boiling-hot car, with the intense summer sun beating down on my lap, a million doubts rush through my head. At any second, I fear my own thoughts will get the best of me and I’ll aggressively leave the half-empty parking lot and head straight home, without even looking back. But I must think of my family now, my terrified little sister and my on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown mother. I continuously switch my glance between the run-down diner in front of me and the glossy business card in my hand. Nervously, I smooth it through my sweaty fingertips.

How did I end up here? How is it that recent events in my life are so out of my control? I’m not used to not being able to overtake any obstacle in my life, so this is totally uncharted territory.

My mother, my little sister Sherry, and I have just moved to this melancholy town in western New Jersey. My mother’s business of buying old, shabby houses and revamping/redecorating them in order to sell them at a much higher price, was thriving up until now. Sherry and I love moving from town to town with her. We love the changes in homes, scenery, and people. But more importantly, I love being able to move away from each place that I caused the most trouble and having a fresh start each time. Just to do it all over again.

Our new house, however, was what my mother called a diamond in the rough. Meaning she bought it at such a low, ridiculous price that she could flip it and sell it for almost quadruple. All she raved about was its design potential. That, mixed with her expertise in interior decorating, it was an absolute no-brainer! It didn’t take us too long to realize why she got it for so cheap. I’ve scolded her numerous times for not doing enough research, but all she saw were the dollar signs.

This parking lot is where her terrible choices have led me. Meeting with some bizarre ghost-hunter lady in a shady diner on the outskirts of town. Thanks, Mom. From the looks of this place, plus the lack of information, it is beginning to feel like a total scam.

Nonetheless, all I can think about are the bite and scratch marks all over my defenseless sister’s back. Bloody marks that formed out of thin air and with no explanation. Or the image—of her launching off the top of our majestic staircase and tumbling down every stair like a lifeless rag doll—replays in my head. It looked like she had been pushed, hard, from behind, yet there was no one behind her. There never is. These were just a few occurrences in a series of unexplainable disturbances, most of which targeted my innocent, little sister. She is the only reason I’m here. And she is the only reason I’m getting out of the car right now. I push myself toward the diner doors, still battling the what-ifs and how-comes that spin violently through my head.

When I get inside, a dingy fog of cigarette smoke hovers in the air. I thought that they had done away with smoking in restaurants but in this shithole, I guess anything goes. I guess they’re so short on customers that they’ll let the ones they do have do whatever they want just to keep them coming back.

An overly enthusiastic woman with hair that resembled straw and the reddest lipstick I’ve ever seen greets me.

How many?

Wide-eyed and uncomfortable, I respond, I’m waiting for someone. My hands fidget inside my jean pockets. Realizing I’m almost fifteen minutes late to our meeting, my eyes pan the dining area in search of the estranged, mystery woman. She must already be here if I’m already late. However, there is literally no one here that fits the build.

There’s an elderly couple to my right who vigorously shovel food into their mouths at such a pace, their own stomachs cannot possibly keep up. Food particles trickle down their chins and onto the table and I’m instantly disgusted at the sight. The cigarette culprit sits to my far left, sipping an empty coffee mug and filling his overflowing ashtray with yet another stubbed-out butt. And last, straight ahead of me, there’s a woman with her three small children, over whom she has literally no control. One of them is jumping up and down on the booth, another smaller one is trying to climb up her chest, and the third is flinging food off his plate. It’s a straight-up circus! But what would you expect from a family who comes here, or from a mother who lets her children breathe in this much second-hand smoke. This sight might be even more appalling than that of the elderly couple.

Suddenly, from behind me, a calm, raspy voice breaks the silence. Are you Chase? I’m Ryder, she asks rather firmly, extending her long fingers for a professional handshake.

Oh God, please don’t be her, please don’t be her, please don’t be her, I repeat over and over again to myself. This girl is too young and far too beautiful to be a ghost hunter. Inconveniently, she is literally my definition of perfection, dressed all in black. Long, dark brown hair, perfect bronze skin, bright green eyes that are surrounded with the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen, a gorgeous pearl-white smile, and a slim yet slightly muscular build. I can’t help but let her catch me looking her up and down. Her appearance makes me even more uncomfortable with my situation. I even notice a colorful, feathery angel-wing tattoo that creeps down her left arm, which is ironic, given her profession. Come on, this girl is too petite and undeveloped to be doing a fierce job like this.

She smirks in response before I can conjure up an excuse for my gawking.

Not at all what you expected, huh, she says, while gesturing to the hostess with two of her fingers.

Honestly, no you’re not...not really. I figure it’s better to be honest with her right now. Finally, I build up enough courage to return her handshake. I’m embarrassed when my clammy palm touches her soft, cool skin.

As we follow the hostess to a booth at the far end of the dining area, she responds, Don’t worry, no one ever does. They expect some older, more spiritual looking woman who’s all decked out in crucifixes.

I grin back at her as I smoothly slip into the booth. She does the exact opposite, slamming her bag loudly on the table in front of us.

So...what seems to be the problem? she asks before the hostess can even leave the table, getting right down to business.

Well my sister, mother, and I just moved into an old house on Miller Way and we’re experiencing some unexplainable disturbances. In my head, I’ve practiced just how to say that line so that I’d appear more sophisticated.

She giggles slightly, picks up a menu, and begins perusing the food choices. It takes her several long seconds before she responds. Are the disturbances you speak of targeting only one person, specifically your little sister?

I’m dumbfounded at her question. How could she know something like that? Maybe she is qualified in paranormal activity after all. Not to mention how casually she asks me.

Uh, yes. How the hell did you know that? My question comes out sounding so demanding.

This isn’t exactly my first rodeo, mister, she taunts while peering over the top of her menu. Her hypnotic green eyes stare right through me, clearly judging me.

Unpredictably, I start to feel squeamish in her presence. Wait, so what exactly can you do that a priest cannot? Because we’ve already tried the whole priest thing and it didn’t work at all. They even saged and holy-oiled our entire house. I try so hard to sound more professional as I recall the disgusting spell of holy incense filtering through our rooms.

Well, clearly, I’m not a priest. she remarks sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Priests may scare away your ghost or poltergeist for a little while but they definitely do not rectify the situation. However, they still will have no problem taking your money as a generous ‘donation’ to their parish. I, on the other hand, will send your entity right back to where it came from...which is usually Hell.

Her outrageous words sound like they’re straight out of a comic book and I have to stop myself from laughing at them. But okay, I’ll play along with this elaborate sales pitch. So how is it you’re able to do such things when no one else can?

She places her menu gently on the table and folds her hands properly on top of it. "Well, you can find out if you hire me can’t you? Judging by the fact that you’re here, I’m guessing this is your last and only resort left. And judging by the fact that you were referred to me, as many others have been, then clearly I’m that good at my job. Word gets around. Plus, I have a money-back guarantee, if you’re so concerned. If the entity isn’t completely gone upon my departure from your home, then I give you all your money back." She blurts it all out in a rather cocky voice, with an over exaggerated smirk.

You’re that confident you can disband of any ghost, poltergeist, or whatever the hell I have? I ask in wonder.

I guarantee it, she confirms bluntly.

The hostess, who also doubles as our waitress, coffee girl, and busser comes over to take our orders. I can tell even she feels the chill of our awkward conversation.

After she leaves, we pick up right where we left off, without even skipping a beat. The price is $5,000, she confirms with a cold, emotionless tone.

My heart nearly jumps out of my chest and I start to panic because of the expensive price. $5,000? That’s a lot of money! Can we negotiate that down a bit? Why so high, what does that cover exactly? I barely realized I was saying all these questions out loud.

That wiseass smirk of hers sweeps over her face again and this time it irks the hell out of me. First off, that price covers damage to particular weapons, injury to myself, and travel expenses. Second off, it sounds like you have a poltergeist, not a ghost, which means they are bit trickier to diffuse of. And thirdly, no there is no room for negotiation. Once you see me work, I promise you that you will force that money into my hand without the slightest complaint.

Now wait a minute, I’ve barely told you anything about my situation, so how can you come up with an accurate price for it? I frantically try and make sense of it all as I spit out the most logical rationalization I can think of.

She seductively purses her lips at me, causing parts of me to tingle at the sight. In my head, she’s purposely trying to turn me on and agitate me all at the same time. Calm down Chase, that’s probably just how her face normally looks when she’s negotiating.

I don’t need to know every detail about your situation because I’ve seen it all and I can handle it all. All I need to know is the address and when you’re available to put this Ghostbuster to work. She pronounces the words mockingly. "But if you insist on constantly testing my credentials, then I can bet you your entity has been emotionally and physically taunting your little sister. Let me guess: biting, pinching, scratching, and pushing her around, not to mention messing with her head? And you can’t leave your precious haunted house because financially, you’d suffer? Or every time you try, it makes your sister