A Ghost Story

By J.P. Bowie

Past and present exist side by side as the ghost of a young poet seeks to protect the family living in the house he haunts.

Robert Robbie' Clavell, a young Victorian poet, is murdered by a jealous competitor, but his murderer, not content with ending Robbie's life, also invokes an ancient curse that forces his spirit to remain earthbound.

When Jamie Barrett, a dancer in London's West End, receives a phone call from his mother telling him of strange knocking noises and furniture moving about, he travels home to Manchester to investigate and give support to his mother and his twelve year old niece, Laura.

Advised to contact a psychic for help, Jamie meets Kevin Singleton, and despite the seriousness of what they discover, the two men find a mutual attraction. Kevin explains to Jamie and his mother that their recent family tragedies had opened a portal allowing base spirits to enter and feed off of Laura's youthful and vibrant energy.

Kevin is able to make a psychic connection with Robbie who tells him that George Russell, his murderer, is the one responsible for the upheaval in the Barrett household. But when Robbie tries to help Kevin exorcise Russell's spirit, Russell summons up an even darker force - one that could not only destroy the house and everyone in it, but ensure Robbie's spirit will never find his way home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Jan 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9780857158598

J.P. Bowie

J.P. Bowie: I was born and raised in Scotland. Moved to London and worked in several West End shows before immigrating to the United States. First port of call was Las Vegas where I worked backstage with the Siegfried and Roy Show at the Mirage Hotel as Head of Wardrobe for the legendary stars. Another move more recently took me and my husband Phil to San Diego where we intend to stay! Love sunny San Diego.

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A Ghost Story

ISBN # 978-0-85715-859-8

©Copyright J.P. Bowie 2012

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright January 2012

Edited by Penny Chapman

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-sizzling and a sexometer of 2.

This story contains 117 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 6 pages.

A GHOST STORY

J. P. Bowie

Past and present exist side by side as the ghost of a young poet seeks to protect the family living in the house he haunts.

Robert ‘Robbie’ Clavell, a young Victorian poet, is murdered by a jealous competitor, but his murderer, not content with ending Robbie’s life, also invokes an ancient curse that forces his spirit to remain earthbound.

When Jamie Barrett, a dancer in London’s West End, receives a phone call from his mother telling him of strange knocking noises and furniture moving about, he travels home to Manchester to investigate and give support to his mother and his twelve-year-old niece, Laura.

Advised to contact a psychic for help, Jamie meets Kevin Singleton, and despite the seriousness of what they discover, the two men find a mutual attraction. Kevin explains to Jamie and his mother that their recent family tragedies had opened a portal allowing base spirits to enter and feed off of Laura’s youthful and vibrant energy.

Kevin is able to make a psychic connection with Robbie, who tells him that George Russell, his murderer, is the one responsible for the upheaval in the Barrett household. But when Robbie tries to help Kevin exorcise Russell’s spirit, Russell summons up an even darker force —one that could not only destroy the house and everyone in it, but ensure Robbie’s spirit will never find his way home.

Dedication

My thanks to all at Total-E-Bound for their ongoing support. For all who love a good ghost story this one’s for you - and for Phil, always

Author’s Note

Although this is a work of fiction, some of the events that take place are based on fact and eyewitness accounts.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Torchwood: BBC Wales, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC)

BBC: British Broadcasting Corporation

Chapter One

Manchester, England 1899

From Lord and Lady Maplethorpe:

You are cordially invited to attend an intimate soirée on the evening of February 24th at 8 p.m. The renowned poet Mr Robert Clavell will entertain us with a short dissertation of his recently published poem, Lannisbourne. A light supper and refreshments will be served.

Robert sighed as he read the words printed in an elegant scroll on the very expensive card he held. He wished now he had never agreed to attend or read a stanza or two from his latest poem. Lannisbourne meant more to him than being listened to by a gin-swilling mob of degenerates masquerading as nobility. In his opinion, the secret life he led was a damned sight more palatable than the ghastly indulgences favoured by some of the Maplethorpe’s friends.

Only yesterday, he had heard through the gossip mill that a young girl had been admitted to the local hospital suffering from a severe beating after attending a private party given by some well-heeled fops. Robert had a suspicion as to whom the gossip referred. He shuddered, hoping against hope that George Russell would not be one of the attendees at tonight’s soirée. The man was a thorn in Robert’s side, a self-proclaimed ‘master of the verse’, and one to quickly deride Robert’s work at every turn in the editorials he wrote for the newspaper bequeathed to him by his late father.

A discreet tap at his bedroom door pulled him from his dark thoughts. Come in, Danvers.

His manservant appeared in the doorway, a small smile on his lined face. Danvers had been his parents’ manservant before their tragic accidental deaths five years earlier in a hotel fire in Venice, Italy. As their only surviving heir, Robert had inherited the townhouse on Featherstone Avenue, and he had asked Danvers to stay on in his employ.

Mr Edmonton is here, Master Robert. Shall I tell him you will be down momentarily?

Ask him to come up please, Danvers. I’m not quite finished dressing.

Do you require assistance?

No, no… I can manage. Robert rarely asked Danvers to assist him with his wardrobe, requiring him only to draw his nightly bath and occasionally help with a bothersome button or collar.

Very good, Master Robert. I shall send him up directly.

Thank you, Danvers.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to garner his friend John Edmonton an invitation to tonight’s gathering. John, a successful lawyer based in London was in Manchester for a weekend visit, staying at a gentleman’s club. With John there it would be bearable, and perhaps afterwards they could return here for a brandy, and…

Another tap on the door, this one more robust, and John entered, his handsome face wreathed in smiles. Robert, how dashing you look in your best bib and tucker!

Robert chuckled and opened his arms to his friend. And you will turn every head tonight, John.

The only head I want to turn is the pretty one perched on your shoulders. John wrapped his arms around Robert and kissed him, gently at first, then as longing and need took over, with a fervour that had both men moaning into each other’s mouths.

Oh, Robbie… John groaned his pet name for Robert softly against his lips. It’s been too long since last we enjoyed one another’s company like this.

Robert ran a hand over John’s thick, sandy-coloured hair, his fingers straying over the nape of John’s neck in a tender caress. I know, my love, but it’s difficult when we live so far apart.

You could move to London. John kissed Robert’s neck. What is there here for you that makes you refuse to leave?

This is my home, John. I have friends here…

"You have friends in London, you have me in London, but more importantly I hear that you have a jealous enemy in Manchester. I wish you would reconsider and move away so that you’d no longer be exposed to the vitriol George Russell spews about you in that rag he calls a newspaper."

Russell is a boor, and everyone knows it. Robert’s tone was dismissive. I just pray he’s not there tonight.

John tightened his arms around Robert. If he throws one disparaging comment at you or about you, I shall whip the man to within an inch of his life.

Mmm… Your role as my protector makes me want to send a message to the Maplethorpe’s saying I cannot attend, then divest you of every bit of clothing and make love to you until dawn.

A notion I cannot for the life of me fault.

Robert canted his hips to press his erection against John’s, taking his lips again with a kiss that sent fire through his blood and very nearly made him forget that he was needed elsewhere in a very short space of time.

Danvers’ tap on the door had them springing apart and straightening their clothes as the manservant announced without opening the door, Lord Maplethorpe’s carriage is here, Master Robert.

Damn, but your man’s discretion is to be lauded, John muttered, smoothing down the front of his trousers in an effort to disguise the obvious bulge.

They chuckled together, then after a quick kiss that held a promise of more, they made for the door.

* * * *

Robert’s heart sank as he entered the elegant but crowded salon at the Maplethorpe’s town residence. Despite the throng, he could almost feel the stare of hatred George Russell sent his way. Damn the man, and damn Lady Maplethorpe for inviting him, he seethed. Even John’s strong grip at Robert’s elbow was not enough to give him complete comfort.

As far as he was concerned, the evening was already ruined. He had half a mind to feign a sudden illness and give his hosts his apologies. It would serve them right for having the charlatan in the same room as him. Surely they knew of the discord between Russell and himself? A rumour had reached Robert’s ears that Russell dabbled in the black arts, that the man had been seen casting runes in order to destroy the success of a competing newspaper publication. As far as Robert was concerned, any wrong-doing that was laid at George Russell’s door most likely had some merit—outlandish as this story seemed.

Steady, Robbie, John murmured close to his ear. Ignore the swine.

Easier said than done, John, Robert remarked through a forced smile at an elderly dowager who was bearing down on them like a silk-clad galleon at full mast.

Mr Clavell, how gracious of you to attend my daughter’s soirée, she gushed, one eye appraising John as she came to a stop only inches from the two men.

Robert bowed over her hand. The pleasure is mine, Lady Brightwell. May I introduce my friend, John Edmonton?

Delighted, the lady simpered, accepting John’s bow with a smile and a faint nod in his direction. And we are to be regaled with a recitation of your latest work, are we not?

If it pleases Lord and Lady Maplethorpe. Robert tried hard not to glance in George Russell’s direction even though he knew the man was still glaring across the room at him. He was never quite so glad to see Lord Maplethorpe as he was at that moment, the man’s vast girth blocking Russell from his sight.

The guest of honour! Maplethorpe declared, shaking Robert’s hand. And who’s this fine-looking fella?

Robert introduced John to a tipsy Lord Maplethorpe, who then swept them from Lady Brightwell’s startled presence, a massive arm around each of the men’s shoulders as he led them to where wine was being dispensed by the household staff.

Wonderful red from the Loire Valley, he informed Robert and John, pressing a glass into each man’s hand. Just arrived yesterday. What d’you think?

Very good, John said after taking a sip. Very good indeed.

Robert nodded his agreement, hoping the wine would take the edge off his unease. He downed half the glass in one quick swallow, enjoying the vague dizziness that accompanied the bouquet as the wine slid over his tongue. He was suddenly filled with a longing to leave the crowded room, be completely alone with John and make love to him until they were both exhausted. He flicked a look at John over the rim of his glass and saw the same lust in his friend’s hazel-green eyes.

Oh, but let’s put a speedy end to this evening!

Come now, Clavell, Maplethorpe was saying. Let us hear your splendid new poem… Hush now, he practically bellowed at the assembled crowd. Mr Robert Clavell, the esteemed poet, will now honour us with a recitation from his magnificent work.

Robert’s face burned with embarrassment, but he kept his composure, allowing