Annabelle

By Brandon Michael Lee

In a Parisian Hotel, Charles Tippid comes across a little girl whose story will forever change his life, and all that he once believed in.

Annabelle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329527690

Book preview

ANNABELLE

A NOVELLA

ANNABELLE

A NOVELLA

BRANDON MICHAEL LEE

Copyright © 2015 by Brandon Michael Lee

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN 978-1-329-52769-0

www.brandonmichaellee.com

DEDICATION

To the four women in my life who have passed to soon.

My Mother, Tania.

My Grandmother, Estelle.

My Aunt, Vanessa.

And my sister, Fallon.

I wish you could have been here to see this.

To Jayson, always a father, always a role model… thank you for always pushing me to be more.

Natalie and Blythe, proving that cousins are siblings.

To Jodie… one day you can read this.

To my brother Tony, his wife Vanessa and their daughter Kitty.

Miss Lynn… the truest angel I’ve ever met.

Catherine McLaren, for showing me that time and space can’t break the bonds of friendship.

And lastly, Mike Frisina… babaganoush… I’m here because of you.  Thank you for always showing me which way is North.

FOREWORD

My name is Charles Tippid.

I have always thought of myself as somewhat of an Intellectual; that I would be a writer of scientific essays and journals.  But while on a trip to Paris I encountered something wholly different.

Thus a new journey has begun for me.  This, the story of Annabelle, being my first.

I would like to state here, that due to my first experience with this, I have written an account of what I was told as best I could.  Often times, my words may appear too adult to be that of an 8 year old girl.  But when one considers the fact that this… person… has been 8 years old for almost one hundred years… please believe me that her intellect far exceeded that of what would normally be expected.

My future endeavours and discussions with those of the supernatural world have all been recorded so as not to forget anything, and recount their stories as they were told to me.

Unfortunately, this instance did not allow me the opportunity to record the dialogue, as I was taken quite by surprise by what I encountered.

So this is the retelling of the young girl Annabelle, as it was told to me that one night a few years ago.

I could hear her crying.

The concierge had said I was alone on this floor, that since the article no one wanted to stay here anymore.  That’s why I got such a deal.

I don’t believe in ghosts and ghouls; so I had no issues with taking a room in this luxurious Paris Hotel for the price of Highway Motel that one would find along the deserted roads of the U.S.

But, I could hear her.  And it was keeping me up.  I needed sleep, tomorrow was a big day.  I was here to do the research for my essay and hopefully get my first published piece by interviewing the world’s leading Atomic Physicist.  And here I lie, being kept awake by the wailing of what sounds to be some child in one of the next rooms. Where are her parents?  Assuming it is a girl.

When I heard the shattering of glass, I knew I had to do something.

I climbed out of my over-pillowed King Size bed and grabbed the robe off the hook on the door, and slid my feet into my white slippers, emblazoned with the Hotel’s Golden Logo. I looked back to the bed; hopefully I could sort this out quickly so I could climb back into the softness and warmth of the heavy and luxurious blankets. It truly was one of the most amazing beds I had ever laid in. But I had to sort this noise out.  I needed my sleep.  Something had to be done.

The Hallway was unnaturally cold.  I made a mental note to call the Front Desk and tell them to put up the heat.  Slowly, I made my way down the long grandiose hallway, lined with its red and gold carpeting, the ornate lamps and antique desks. The look that one would expect from an old castle turned orphanage turned hotel. There was a dampness in the cold air.  Like morning dew, only with a hint of mildew from years of hiding in darkness.  Wet soil.  That’s what it was.  The scent of