Beneath the Mausoleum

By Bryce Warren

"The abandoned house we investigated?" "Yes?" Amy was anxious to get going to her next class, but Moira's intense glare held her frozen. "I think," Moira stated, "something followed me home." When Amy Denton and Moira Westlake investigate an abandoned home in Covedale, Kentucky for paranormal activity, they discover more than they ever imagined. Even though Garrote Funeral Services is boarded up, some secrets still lie hidden beneath the mausoleum.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387375370

Book preview

Beneath the Mausoleum

Beneath the Mausoleum

Bryce Warren

2011

THIS IS A BRYCE WARREN BOOK

Copyright © July 2011 by Bryce Warren

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Sequel to:  The Mortician’s Daughter.

Printed in the United States of America

www.lulu.com

Cover design and photo by Morgan Peterson

Author photo by Kelly Warren

Inside drawings by Bryce Warren

ISBN 978-1-387-37537-0

First Edition

First Edition

This one is for Mom and Dad.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to everyone who read my first novel, The Mortician’s Daughter.  I am overwhelmed by the interest and support everyone has given me.  Thank you to Morgan Peterson for the awesome book cover!  Thank you to Richard Warren, my dad, for editing this one.  Any errors are mine.  Thanks to Kelly Warren, my sister, for the author photo by the pool (shot while we were on a cruise to Alaska).  Finally, many thanks to Barbie, Tasha, and Jayme of Hair and Nail Studio for reading my first book and allowing me to sell my books there!

Beneath the Mausoleum

Part One

The Girls of St. Ursula’s

Chapter 1

Amy Denton stood before Jesus, a life-sized plaster effigy hanging on a cross in the middle of the school’s front entryway.  Although unexpected, the statue was not really out of place at St. Ursula’s Academy for Girls.  And though nothing about it was meant to draw feelings of an uncanny nature, its size and life-like resemblance (not to mention its placement in the center of the lobby) gave her the creeps.

She felt strange going to school in a plaid skirt and the standard white Oxford blouse, the required school uniform, because this was her initial venture into the Catholic education system.  Her parents had decided that Amy was being left behind in the public school where students had to be threatened, cajoled, and tricked into completing enough assignments in order to barely skate by with each teacher’s reluctant (but silently encouraged) nudging of the final grade toward passing.

Amy, the five-foot four blonde who kept mostly to herself, seemed as always unscathed by her aimless and apathetic public school peers; however, her parents felt that her easy A’s and B’s were not challenging enough for a child who could do so much more with a better education.

The principal was a business-suited nun who seemed already well-beyond second-retirement age.  She smiled, if Amy perceived the small curl of the corner of her lip a smile, and invited the young girl into her office.

The petite, small-framed girl of sixteen stared down at her black loafers and white socks folded over primly at her ankles, walking into the wide-open office which contained much more desk space and walking room than the one at her old school.

Not a grayish-white strand of the principal’s closely cropped hair looked out of place.

Here is a list of your classes, the woman spoke in crisp and perfect articulation.  A student aid will give you a tour of the Academy and show you where each of your classrooms are located.

Thank you, Amy murmured, wishing immediately that she had cleared her throat before speaking.

I beg your pardon, Miss Denton?

That would be great.

The popular phrasing drew a furrow between the principal’s brows.

Her first class, French I, was filled with freshmen.  She was a sophomore, but she had neglected to take a foreign language, thinking she would not do well, even though she did well in all of her classes.

Later, at lunch, she sat with a group of girls who seemed quite outgoing and popular.  They had encouraged, or insisted, that she sit with them.  They had also talked her into joining the soccer team which was hoping for a winning season this year.

The girls asked Amy a few polite and cursory questions about her background.  They balked at the mention of her public school attendance, but they assured her she was far better off at St. Ursula’s and that she would soon grow to love it and fit right in.

Amy felt less than sure of that, though.  She found herself turning awkward and inward, nearly paralyzed by her social phobia.

As if she sensed Amy’s discomfort and realized her rescue was pertinent, a girl at the next table with black-as-midnight, shoulder-length hair and heavy, dark eye makeup motioned Amy over.

Amy looked away, thinking the girl had to be gesturing to someone other than her.

Amy!

The girl had known her name.

She looked and saw Moira Westlake, the beautiful girl with china-white skin and exaggeratedly large, doll-like, wildly expressive eyes.  The heavy eye makeup made her appear almost unreal, like a department store mannequin, or perhaps like a Living Dead Doll.

Moira jerked her head to the left a couple times, waving Amy over.  A thick black strand of hair clumped together with gel and tons of hairspray hung stiffly across her right eye.

Amy noted that the girl was sitting alone and maybe felt just as lonely and isolated at this prep school as she did.

Where are you going, Amy? asked the girl with the spectacularly bright blonde hair, cinched tightly back into a ponytail.

Not until then did Amy realize she was getting up to sit with Moira.

I’m going to talk with her.  Amy pointed over to the other table without looking.  The tallest of the popular girls, the one with perfectly straight, long brown hair, wrinkled her nose just perceptibly.

Nothing else was said as Amy went over and sat across from Moira.  The popular girls at the other table went on talking as though Amy had never been there.

You don’t want to sit with them, Moira sneered.

Amy watched Moira’s bright red lips as she spoke.

They’re the popular snobs.

Amy was surprised to hear her speak out about the girls, not even caring if she was overheard.

The lunch bell rang out the hollow metallic recording of a church bell.

Amy picked up her lunch tray when Moira stopped her.

Just leave it, she said.  You’ll be late to class.

Amy hesitated but considered being late, so she decided, Why not leave it?

Let the lunch ladies pick it up, Moira said.  Besides, isn’t that what they’re paid for?

Before they left the lunchroom, Moira asked Amy for her cell phone number and deftly tapped it into her own cell’s touchscreen.  As Moira dropped her cell into her black shoulder bag, Amy glimpsed the white skulls and crossbones and hearts that nearly passed for haute couture.  When Moira’s black bird’s nest of hair nearly whipped her in the face, Amy glanced down at her new friend’s black Converse high tops and her black and white barber pole striped knee-high socks.

We’ll talk later, Blondie, Moira said, leaving Amy wondering how wild her new friend might be.

Chapter 2

Walking home from school wasn’t the worst thing she ever had to do.  School started in the middle of August, so it was still hot outside.  Looking back over her shoulder, high up on the hill, St. Ursula’s looked almost Gothic except for the modern architectural additions attempting to hide any trace that it had once been a convent.  Nothing about its structure claimed any attempt at artwork.  It looks more like a re-mastered prison, Amy thought, as though it was an old movie cleaned up for a special-edition DVD.

Amy’s back ached even after she dumped her book bag onto the kitchen floor.  Stretching, she realized how badly she wanted out of her school uniform.  No wonder Moira breaks the dress code rules, Amy mused.  She would do it too, if she thought she had any chance of getting away with it.  However, she wasn’t like Moira.

Speaking of which, Amy’s cell hopped and jigged across the kitchen’s glass table top.  She scooped it out of the air as it plunged toward the floor.

What’s up?

She knew who it was, but Amy stumbled for something clever to say in reply.

Nothin’.

Wanna come over and hang out?

Before she had a chance to think of an excuse, Amy blurted, Why not?

After changing into jeans, sneakers, and a light green t-shirt, she jotted down a quick note letting her mother know she would be hanging out with her new friend.  She waited outside by the telephone pole that stood hideously too close to their townhouse.  A yellow flyer posted on the pole at eye level declared a girl her age missing.

MISSING:  JANE PRENTISS

16 YEARS OLD

LAST SEEN IN COVEDALE

NEAR PUBLIC PARK

ANY INFO CALL

COVEDALE POLICE

The girl in the photo was blonde like her, And really cute, Amy thought.  She also looked like a girl who had known trouble all her life.  Amy knew she couldn’t really see all that from a black and white picture, but something about the girl’s smile or the glint of her eyes said there was more to the story of her disappearance.

An older model silver Mazda 6 pulled up to the curb and the passenger window slid down soundlessly.

Jump in! Moira shouted.

Amy hopped in.  The seat felt more low-slung than she expected.  Before she could even find her seatbelt, the Mazda lurched from the curbside and barreled through the first intersection, red light be damned.

At Moira’s, a row house apartment restored to its newfound glory (a privilege unknown to the vast majority of buildings throughout Covedale), they headed straight for the computer room.

I’ve got this kick-ass website I’m working on, Moira sang out with pride.  Wanna see?

You bet, Amy spoke, wondering where she had picked up that colloquialism.

Moira hovered over the office chair and dropped into it, crossing her legs on the seat.  She wore less eye makeup, if that was even possible, but with a hint of red eye shadow outlining the dark eyeliner.  She wore a tight black nylon shirt that dipped low.  That’s more cleavage than I’d ever show, Amy reflected.

Two clicks and Moira’s Dark Den of Iniquities flashed across the screen.

Amy’s eyes took in the dark graphics and the spidery font of the website heading.

Is this your Facebook page?

Nah, I gave up that shit.  Facebook’s a gossip machine.  Everyone wants to know who’s doin’ who.  I’m starting my own paranormal investigation company.  You know, like ‘Ghost Hunters.’

You are? Amy asked, wondering how serious this girl was or if she was