Ghostly Romance Anthology, Volume Two

By Claire Plaisted

Five short ghost stories with a romantic element and three poems delving into the romance of ghosts. Written by International Independent Authors in the English of where they live.

Authors are: Lynn Mullican, Mara Reitsma, Dan McAteer, Pamela J Silva, C Weave Lane & Kyrena Lynch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plaisted Publishing House
• Release date: Feb 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005456252

Claire Plaisted

Claire Plaisted grew up in the small historical town of Sandbach, Cheshire, England with two older siblings and loving parents. At 19 she moved to the town of Colwyn Bay in North Wales and it was from here that her adventures began with her first holiday abroad on her own at age 21. New Zealand was the destination and this is where she met her husband to be and eventually moved to in 1991. Married with four children, sadly losing their youngest child. Claire engages her time in bringing up her children along with family history research. Starting a small hobby business in 2010 to format and print Family History Books for people. It was during the formatting of one book Claire opened a word document while waiting on receiving information to finish her latest project. Her first novel was born. Though this Regency Mystery Romance novel is yet un-published Claire learnt a lot about the writing world. Writing novels of many genre, her writing has now taken over her life during the week. With six books published as e-books and four paperbacks, Claire is getting ready to publish her first Regency novel, book three of GIB and another childrens story.

Book preview

Plaisted Publishing House

Presents

Ghostly Romance Anthology

Volume Two

Copyright 2019 Ghostly Writers

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced,

scanned, or distributed to any printed or electronic form

without permission.

Please do not participate in or encourage

piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

If you feel you have received a pirated copy

of this book, please remove it and purchase a copy legally.

www.plaistedpublishinghouse.com

www.facebook.com/plaistedpublishing

www.facebook.com/GhostlyRitesAnthology

Thanks to

Book Cover Designer Mara Reitsma and to

Proofreader Cathy-Lee Chopping

Contents

Blaze

From the Pen to the Grave

Love Lore

Rebecca’s Spirit

The Tapestry

Through the Mists of Time

Tethered Souls

Sailors Demise

Author Links

Blaze

By Kyrena Lynch

Fire, fire, flames of desire

Burning beautiful and bright

Beneath the skin

Precious hearts do sing

As lovers caress

Each other.

Be wary though,

You must be

For flames do burn to ashes

All living things

They touch

Warmth and life it brings

But death and destruction also

Guard your heart

O precious one

Lest your soul be consumed

By a liars flame

And to the earth

Your body returns

While your broken ghost

Lingers on in pain.

From the Pen to the Grave

Lynn Mullican

Gigi glanced out of the window, biting her fingernail, her laptop on her lap. Dark clouds loomed overhead, bringing with them the threat of rain. Oh, how Gigi loved this weather! It inspired her as a writer, an artist, and a dancer. Gigi pulled her long red hair up tightly into a bun and glanced back at her laptop. A slight chill whisked in through the sliding glass screen, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. She shivered and pulled her robe back up onto her shoulder and tighter across her chest. Her bare legs lay open to the breeze. She shifted in her seat and pulled her robe over her legs. It was growing cold, and as she gazed down at her coffee cup, she realized she needed a refill.

Gigi closed the laptop and stood, heading for the kitchen, her coffee cup in hand. She made her way to the kitchen, her lean legs taking long strides across the floor. As she thought about adding some Bailey’s to her coffee, she glanced up at the walls in her office. Gigi was the author of twenty-six popular horror and psychological thriller books. During her twenty-year career as a writer, she made sure not to forget where she came from, and neither did her hip.

An ache within the bone caused her to stop and rub it. She winced. Every year, every goddamn year, she had to suffer because of the pain. Still, she was not going to let it stop her. Gigi took a step, staring up at the covers of her books, which adorned her walls. Then, she froze, rubbing her hip harder. The pain wouldn’t subside.

She gazed up at the movie poster of her book, The Concubine’s Lover. The Concubine’s Lover was a success, along the lines of a B movie, but successful none the less. It brought in a whopping one point three million more than her other movie, The Wolves of Q, which was also based on one of her novels.

Gigi glanced back at the movie poster of The Wolves of Q, which hung from the wall nearest her sliding glass window. Though it was a lower budget film, she thought it turned out better than The Concubine’s Lover, which was written by one of the leading screenwriters in Hollywood. Yet, Gigi thought he left much to be desired, which was frustration on her part, hence the reason she was writing her screenplay for The Dance of the Dead.

She didn’t want another screenwriter to mar her book’s image. The three films were the start of her screenwriting career, part of the reason she was going to submit her manuscript to Marcus Overton, one of the largest horror movie producers in Hollywood.

With determination and strength, she would become one of the largest horror film screenwriters ever. Her books were a long-term success, unlike her brief stint as a dancer, which lasted a mere two years due to an injury. Her mind wandered back to that day it all went wrong and to the person who had caused it, Rhianne, another dancer she was competing against.

Gigi frowned. She could still see Rhianne’s face on that day. She had a smirk Gigi would never forget. Rhianne swore she miscalculated their distance, but Gigi knew better. She knew the bitch landed in her way on purpose. The two had never gotten along, and it didn’t help that Rhianne won the lead because she slept with the Choreographer. Gigi had been in the running for the lead, but because of Rhianne and the hip injury, she had to leave her dance career. Regardless of her hatred for Rhianne, Gigi was now a successful author, moving up the rank to a screenwriter.

She decided she would add Bailey’s to her third cup of coffee and limped back to the kitchen when her phone rang in the office.

Shit, she muttered.

With her hip giving her fits, there was no way in hell she was going to make it to the office without falling on her face, so she let it ring. As she stirred her drink, something in the living room crashed to the floor.

She sipped her coffee as she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, an old pair of dance slippers on her feet, allowing her to hobble along silently. Long red curtains danced about the window, knocking items off of the nearby marble table.

She grumbled, setting her mug on the end table. A broken vase lay on the floor, along with pens and paper. Of course, it would be her grandmother’s antique vase.

Gigi bent down and picked up the pieces, tears filling her eyes. Dammit! Cradling the intricate porcelain, she cradled them as she walked back into the kitchen and gently set them down. She grabbed the broom and dustpan and headed back to the living room to clean up the mess. Tears poured down her cheeks.

Her phone rang again, echoing down the hallway.

Dammit! You’re going to have to wait, she said out loud.

By the time Gigi cleaned up the mess and made it back to her office, her phone had silenced. She had three missed calls, all from her husband, Mike. Now worried something had happened, she hit the re-dial button and waited for him to pick up.

Well, it’s about time you picked up your phone, he muttered, sounding winded.

She cried. Sorry, my hip is bothering me, and I had to clean up a mess in the living room. My grandma’s vase broke.

Aw, hon, he replied. I’m sorry. What happened to it?

I opened the windows to air the house out, and the wind knocked it over.

Didn’t I tell you not to put the vase there? I knew something was going to happen to it.

She frowned. Yes, you did. She rubbed her hip again. I should probably take something for my hip. It’s bothering me.

Sorry to hear that, babe. So, listen, I don’t even know why the hell I’m doing this, but you know my buddy, Topher?

Yes, she answered, taking a seat on the edge of the chaise.

Well, oh, hell … somebody brought in an old coffin to his antique shop. They were trying to sell it, and he told them, no, he wouldn’t take it. Well, the minute he and his workers turned their back, the man and his buddy dropped the casket in front of their door and took off. So, Topher wants to get rid of it …

She interrupted, And, you thought of me? I’m surprised, honey. I don’t want a coffin somebody’s body has been in. That’s disgusting.

He was hesitant. They said it doesn’t look like there’s been a body in it, only a mannequin. I thought of you and maybe a prop for your next movie, primarily the coffin. If you’re plugging your book, it might be something cool for in the background, maybe propped up in the corner. I’ll be honest, I’m not so sure about having it in the house, so maybe we can prop it up in the garage and maybe design something around it, so if you’re taking pictures, nobody knows it’s in the garage.

Hmm, she thought. That’s not a bad idea. But, a coffin …

Before she had a chance to think it over, she found herself answering him. As long as there hasn’t been a body in there, I would be fine with it. Is there a way to check on that?

I don’t know. Nobody said anything about it being used. Topher did say he was a little leery about even touching the thing. I haven’t seen it. He says it’s a gorgeous piece, and he’s not sure if it was made to go into the ground. He thinks it may have been made as a prop for something because of the intricate work on it. Anyway, do you want to stop by later and see it? We can examine it then.

Droplets of rain hit Gigi in the face.

Oh crap, hold on, she said, dropping the phone. She scrambled over to the door and closed it. She glanced back at her laptop. Thankfully, she had set it on the table next to the chaise, but the end of her lounge wasn’t so lucky.

Ah, dammit.

She pulled her robe off and used it to soak up the rainwater on the lounge. Dressed in only her panties, she grabbed the phone.

Sorry about that. The rain-soaked the end of the chaise.

That’s alright, he answered. Well, think about it and let me know. If we don’t take it, he’s going to call someone to haul it away.

Her eyes flitted over the dimly lit room. She was frigid, her skin cold.

I will.

Her nipples hardened. She glanced down, tweaking her nipple as a morbid thought crept into her head. The thought of having sex in the coffin offered a strange and dark curiosity.

Then, she smiled, and in a sultry voice, she said. You should be here with me right now.

The tone of his voice changed. Why is that?

Because I’m thinking about you.

His voice became low. Oh really. What exactly are you thinking about?

She smiled. She could hear people talking nearby.

I’m thinking about having sex in the coffin. What do you…?

What? the pitch of his voice went up. You sick … His voice lowered. Bitch.

She could hear a smile in his voice.

Gigi giggled. Tell me it doesn’t sound morbidly and awkwardly kinky. By the way, I’m naked.

Mike cleared his throat. Uh, I can’t really …

She interrupted him. Talk?

Uh, yeah, he chuckled.

Well, get this, my beast. If you bring the coffin home, we’re going to get kinky in it.

Voices echoed behind him. Then, he whispered, I have to go. We’ll see Topher later?

Mm, hmm, she answered. I might have to …

Mike hung up. She laughed. Oh Mike, how did I wind up with such a sweet man like you? And, why am I so damn enthralled with kinky shit?

Mike and Gigi stood before the coffin, their eyes taking in the intricacies of the writing and décor on it. Gigi stood before it, biting her fingernail. The wood was old, almost ancient. As she moved in closer, she eyed the writing on it.

What kind of writing is this? she asked.

Topher scratched his balding head. I don’t know. Mark thinks it’s Latin, but he’s not positive. We tried looking it up online but couldn’t find any matches.

Hmm. Mike scratched his chin. This is interesting.

"One hundred dollars, and it’s yours. I’ll even throw in the mannequin for nothing. I’d ask for more, but I can’t have this thing laying around the store, if you know what I mean. I get a lot of religious folks from the