The Grey Girl: The Van Tassel Murders

By Shawn C. McLain

Chloe Miller is back from the dead and she's discovering her powers as a free, modern woman. She works together with Alex, his brother, and father, and the powerful connection she shares with Alex grows stronger. Their new project, to restore the Van Tassel Mansion, stirs an old evil that resides in the house. With its dark history of murder and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shawn McLain
• Release date: May 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732940840

Book preview

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The Gray Girl, Book Two

The Van Tassel Murders

Copyright 2018 ©Shawn C. McLain

ISBN 978-1-7329408-3-3

ISBN 978-1-7329408-4-0

Cover art created by Colin Richards

[e-mail]

For my wife, as always

And in memory of Alex, Weasley, Oliver, and Tasha

1892

Henry Van Tassel stood at the window, watching his twelve-year-old daughter playing outside. Watching her brought pain and tightness to his chest. He should not have these thoughts about his own child. She was so adorable, so innocent. How could he possibly feel this way about any child? As he stood watching, he became aware that he was no longer alone in the room. He turned to see his wife watching him. Her cold eyes bore through him and he quickly looked away.

You look troubled, said Martin, their butler, as he entered the room. Setting down a tea tray, he looked past Henry and through the window to the young girl outside. Is there something wrong with Miss Emily? The concern was evident in his eyes.

No, nothing. Why? Have you noticed something? Henry spoke quietly, trying to gauge how much the man knew.

You just seem to be watching her more so than you used to, Martin replied nervously, moving to block his employer’s view. Henry moved cautiously away from the butler when he noticed the carving knife in the man’s hand.

Were you preparing lunch? The question held no hint of malice. Henry kept his tone light as he edged toward the desk.

Martin looked at the knife in his hand. Yes, I was making—he seemed to struggle to remember—I was making chicken sandwiches for you and Emily.

That was awfully kind of you.

Henry watched as Martin’s hand gripped the edge of the desk. Thoughts chased one another through Henry’s mind, Did he know? Did Martin know the thoughts he was having? What was he going to do? Was he going to try to stop him? His heart pounded in his ears as his mind countered, Maybe that was ok. Maybe it would be better. His little girl was so innocent looking, so pretty, how could he even think of …? He shook his head desperate to clear it. He turned his back to Martin, not sure if he was hoping the butler would attack him or if he hoped his story about the chicken was true. His eyes fell on the letter opener. It was like watching someone else as his hand wrapped around the handle.

It’ll be just a moment, sir, Martin stated.

What? Henry asked, confused.

For lunch, sir. I’ll be back in a moment.

Glancing at the tea tray, Henry breathed a sigh of relief. The carving knife sat next to it. The disappearing cadence of Martin’s footsteps began to have a calming effect as Henry’s heart began to return to its normal rhythm. He rolled the stress from his neck and reached out for the dainty cup. His hand froze; the knife was gone. Time slowed as he turned to face his wife. She was advancing on him, the knife held high above her head, a look of sheer loathing on her face. He dodged left as he thrust straight up with the opener he realized he was still holding. The knife point embedded in the mahogany desktop. Time stopped—Henry did not know for how long—but then it resumed its normal flow.

The first sound Henry heard was a gasping, gurgling noise. His wife staggered backward, her hand clutched to her throat. The letter opener protruded between her fingers. Blood blossomed over the high lace collar and dripped from her chin. Her eyes were wide with fear and hatred.

She pulled the opener from her neck, renewing her attack. Henry did not hesitate. He pulled the knife from the desk, plunging it straight into her chest. He twisted it as they had taught him in the army. Pulling the blade free, he changed his grip and sliced through her throat. His hands and face were now covered in her blood. Life left his wife’s eyes as she sank to the floor. A pool of red expanded outward from the body of the woman he had loved since he was a teen.

Through the pain in his heart, he could hear her screaming. No, it couldn’t be her. She was dead. He knew death. He had killed before. The confusion began to lift. He knew this screaming. He had heard it before. It was the sound of someone finding a loved one who had been killed. He looked towards the room’s entryway. Emily stood there, screaming. Her mother lay dead on the floor while her father stood above her, blood covering him as he held the knife.

Emily looked from her mother’s corpse to her father. Their eyes met. In that instant they both knew she was going to die. She raised her hands, but there was no way she could block him. Henry screamed in horror as he plunged the knife into his daughter’s chest. Pain exploded in his back and neck. Long fingernails clawed into his flesh. He turned to see the clouded eyes of his dead wife and knew the opener was deep in his back. He could feel one of his lungs filling with blood. He spun, throwing the woman back. She crumpled to lie motionless in the pool of blood she had previously made. Each breath he took burned. He turned back to his daughter, who had fallen to her knees, clutching at the red stain that continued to grow over her white dress.

Daddy, why? Emily gasped. Her eyes rolled upward as she fell forward to create her own pool of crimson.

Henry staggered forward; he couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred. Each step felt as if he were trying to lift a hundred-pound shoe. He was cold. Struggling, he made it to the door. Each tiny gasp brought new pain. He coughed. Blood splattered the stained glass window set high in the door. He fell. Turning, he slid down the highly polished wood, leaving a streak of red. The small feet of his daughter were visible in the hall. Hee hu huh hee, he gasped. He blinked through the pain.

Standing in the hall was his daughter. She was looking down at her body. Henry could see through her. She turned to look at him. Her face held anger. Daddy, why? she demanded again.

The household staff was gathering now. Their cries seemed muted compared to hers. As his life ebbed away, darkness began to fill in the edges of his vision, but he could see her stalking toward him. Daddy, why? Why? Why! she shouted.

Before she could reach him, Henry was gone.

The Request

Chloe Miller wiped the sweat from her brow, leaving a black grease stain across her pale skin. Some days I think I might just give up on you, she grumbled, sliding the wrench back into place. The bolt that only a moment ago wouldn’t budge, suddenly turned. Then you do something so sweet. She smiled as she pulled the bolt free. The 1939 Harley Davidson did not respond. She patted the seat. You’re a good girl. Chloe jumped at the sound of the garage door opening. She pulled the old pocket watch from her coveralls and frowned. He’s early. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not, she told the bike’s headlight. Getting to her feet, she stretched her back as Alex’s car pulled into the garage. She smiled and waved to him then turned her back as she put away her tools.

You don’t have to stop working just because I’m home, Alex said as he shut the car door.

I know, but I want to hear how it went.

I wish you’d been there, he said, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a small kiss on the cheek.

She wriggled free. No thank you. And be careful. I’m filthy.

It went the way they always do. Oh, and I picked up the mail. There’s something for you. Alex watched as Chloe unzipped the coveralls, revealing a Grateful Dead T-shirt and jeans. He pointed to her shirt. That seems inappropriate.

What? I like the music, and the colors are nice. She pulled the bottom of the shirt up to look at the design. Anything is better than gray.

When I got you that IPod, I thought you’d find better music to listen to, Alex complained as he entered the house. Chloe was right behind him. You know, something from this century.

Chloe stared at Alex for a second. Her hand landed on her hip in the manner that was so endearing yet dangerous. I’m over one hundred years old. I can like things from any century I choose.

Not according to this you’re not. Alex held up an envelope, pulling out its contents with a flourish. You, my dear, are Chloe Miller, twenty years old, born in Pittsburgh. He couldn’t read anymore, as she had swiped the documents from his hand.

Her smile increased as she read. I’m alive again. Her smile faltered a little. It is a little disconcerting, how easy this was to get. She looked up at Alex’s smiling face, her own grin quickly returning. This means I can finally get my own place. She smirked at the look he was giving her. I mean, it just isn’t proper for an unmarried young lady to live, unchaperoned, with her suitor.

I thought you were over a hundred.

Well, then, it’s not proper for a woman my age to be with such a young pup. She laughed as he tried to snatch the papers back.

How do you plan to pay for your own place? Alex pouted.

Your father pays me for the work I do, you know, she grumbled as he snatched the papers back.

But now you have to pay taxes. Alex waved the papers at her and she grabbed for them, laughing. A knock on the door interrupted their play, and before either could respond, Alex’s younger brother, Aaron, burst in without waiting for an answer.

Sorry to interrupt, but something happened after you left, Aaron said, walking to the refrigerator. Ignoring his brother’s annoyed look, he grabbed a drink without asking. The restoration magazine was just finishing the shoot. He held the bottle out toward Chloe. They asked about you, you know.

That’s why I never attend those things.

Yeah, you look like the girl who was rumored to haunt this place, Aaron said.

Chloe took the bottle of water from his hand. Ever since that woman, what was it, postered that video.

Posted. Alex and Aaron sighed in unison.

Right. Posted. Chloe frowned. It’s all … ‘you look so much like her’ and blah blah blah. It’s better if I’m not there so you and your father can just talk about the restoration without any distractions I might cause.

"You know, it is good publicity for us," Aaron began.

We have enough work coming in without Chloe being exploited, Alex argued. Aaron raised his hands in surrender.

Chloe shook her head. This wasn’t the first time she had heard this argument. Alex, I can make my own decisions. Aaron, I want to help with the business, but I will do it as a worker. Not as an oddity or curiosity. She walked over to the couch where she dropped down, put her feet up on the coffee table, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. She pretended to watch some old cartoon.

Hey! What did we talk about? Alex asked, pointing to the table.

Yeah, yeah, over a hundred. She waved him off.

Cartoons, at a hundred? he countered.

These may be something you’ve seen before, but they’re new to me.

Aaron snickered behind them. It was something he had already heard several times. Before it could continue, he decided to put a stop to it. Listen, you two, he interrupted. As I said, something happened after you left.

Chloe shrugged. I was never there.

Yes, I know. I was talking to Al … Chloe stop it. Aaron huffed as she giggled at him.

You get so easily flustered.

And you’re too old to be acting like this. Aaron took a breath as he watched the two do that thing that drove him crazy. They could just glance at each other and know exactly what the other was thinking. Enough! They both looked at him with the most innocent faces they could muster. He took a deep breath. The brother and sister I never wanted. Anyway, we had a visitor as the magazine people were packing up. Some rich guy who just bought an old mansion and wants us to do the restoration.

Alex looked at Chloe, who shrugged. Yeah, and? Isn’t that what we do—and have been doing—the last three years? he asked.

You’re not telling us something. What’s different about this house? Chloe asked.

Aaron couldn’t meet her gaze. It is the Van Tassel manor, he explained, as if it were nothing.

Chloe stared at him with a look of polite confusion on her face. When Alex sucked in a breath, she looked at him expectantly. Ok, what’s wrong with the place? she asked.

It’s haunted, Alex replied, glaring at his brother.

"Oh, you know I’m scared of ghosts." Chloe laughed.

From what I’ve heard, these are some pretty awful, violent ghosts, Alex replied, his anger rising.

Well, in that case. Chloe frowned and returned her attention to the TV. I mean, I’m sure, after Edgar and Kerlvin, I wouldn’t know how to handle myself with angry spirits. The remote hit the coffee table hard and Chloe was on her feet. This is why I think about getting my own place, she said, poking Alex in the chest.

Behind them Aaron was slowly backing toward the door. You stay right there, Chloe demanded. Aaron stopped moving. Yes, the papers you brought say I’m twenty,