Ghosts of Hanover Hall

By Holly Sullivan McClure

Their dad has lost his mind. Their famous mom writes dark, disturbing poetry and ignores them. They are forbidden to contact Grandmother Magenta because she's a weirdo who solves gruesome crimes and talks to dead people, and the cutest boy they ever met, died decades ago.

Have Audrey and Aislinn inherited the gift that got Mag

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Mountain Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087894249

Holly Sullivan McClure

From a family that saw ghosts and considered it the height of ill manners when dead relatives failed to pay an occasional visit, writing paranormal mysteries is a natural for Holly Sullivan McClure. She was born in the Smokey Mountains of Western North Carolina, lived a few years in New Orleans, and spent a couple of decades on a barrier island off the coast of Georgia. Stories of local hauntings were collected and added to family lore. She first shared these tales as a storyteller at Tour of Southern Ghosts at Stone Mountain Park. Acceptance led to a full-time writing career. She now resides with her dog Sam near a civil war battlefield in Georgia where she is working on the third book in this series.

Book preview

Contents

Ghost Guardian

Ghost Guardian

Ghosts

Of Hanover Hall

Book 1 in Low Country Mystery Series

Holly Sullivan McClure

Revised Edition Copyright © 2020 by Holly Sullivan McClure

Published by Lost Mountain Press

Book cover design by Charlotte Henley Babb

Book design by Book Design Magic

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from Author except for brief passages cited in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All registered trademarks are the property of the respective owners and are used within guidelines of fair use.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9982279-3-1

2

1

Dedication

For the people who raised me to have an open mind about impossible things.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Going Home

Chapter 2 Strange Friends

Chapter 3 Meet the Neighbors

Chapter 4 Get a Clue

Chapter 5 The Prince of India

Chapter 6 Our Town?

Chapter 7 Picture That

Chapter 8 Die and Learn

Chapter 9 Too Many Secrets

Chapter 10 Even Stranger Than We Thought

Chapter 11 High Tea and Sympathy

Chapter 12 Finally, Some Answers

Chapter 13 Ship Shape

Chapter 14 Getting To Know Us

Chapter 15 Let’s Get Out of Here

Chapter 16 This Could Get Scary

Chapter 17 Getting Closer

Chapter 18 Island of the Horses

Chapter 19 I’m Beginning to Understand

Chapter 20 When does the good part start?

Chapter 21 Do We Have to Go Back There?

Chapter 22 Back Where We Belong210

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Holly Sullivan McClure

Other Books By Holly Sullivan McClure

Chapter 1

Going Home

Audrey sulked in her corner of the back seat, praying to wake up from the nightmare that claimed her life. Her twin, Aislinn, huddled in the opposite corner, eyes red rimmed from crying. All their begging, pleading, and threatening to run away from home had no effect on their father. What happened to him? The Bob Hanover they knew loved his kids, but two weeks ago, something possessed him, something that didn’t care what horrible things he did to his daughters, and, of course their mother went right along with him. She always did.

Like a family of refugees, they packed clothes and supplies into the embarrassing old gray minivan they wouldn’t be caught dead in if they had a choice and set out to the backwoods of South Carolina.

The nightmare continued.

Every mile they traveled took them farther from home, from everything they cared about, all their plans for the summer, and the only two relatives they had in the world besides the two pathetic excuses for parents in the front seat.

Their mother forgot the very existence of her only daughters. She tucked her bare feet under her skirt, opened the mystery novel on her lap, adjusted the earphones in her ears, and tapped her fingers on the book in tune to music only she could hear. A journal with a skull design on its cover lay open beside her, ready for any poetic jewels the countryside inspired. Reviewers called her work ‘dark and disturbing,’ but her books and poems sold as fast as the bookstores could stock them. As daughters of the famous Paige Farley Hanover, Audrey and Aislinn learned to smile and look proud when fans and interviewers fawned over her.

Their grandfather lived near their home in Atlanta and would come to their rescue if he knew about his son’s latest insanity, but Bob’s first order when he lost his mind, forbade them to call Granddaddy Hanover. Don’t say a word about this to Granddaddy. You must never tell him where we’re going, he said, then refused to explain why.

They knew enough to be confused. The house where he insisted they spend the summer, once belonged to Bob’s family. He lived there until he turned six years old but neglected to mention that part of his history until now. His secrecy about it aroused suspicion that it must be too awful to talk about.

Paige and Bob refused to allow any unsupervised contact with their grandmother, Magenta. Desperation made them risk going behind their parent’s back text her. The message they left pleaded with her to call. Even if she couldn’t do anything to change their fate, it always helped to talk to her. It might be days before she responded. As a psychic who worked on some of the most horrific cases in law enforcement, she didn’t check for messages when she went on the trail of a lost child or worked a murder case.

Aislinn took their shared cell phone out of her pocket to check it again, like she did every ten minutes since they left home.

Nothing from Magenta.

More sympathy texts from friends.

Bob tried again. Come on guys. It’s the house our family lived in since before the Civil War. It won’t kill you to spend a couple of months in it, just long enough for me to finish my antebellum ruin series. Try to understand.

It’s hard to stay angry at your father when he grovels. He almost had them, until the last sentence: How about it, little pooters?

They turned thirteen two whole months ago, and he still treated them like toddlers, calling them a word they wouldn’t even say. Disgusting.

It’s a creepy old house in the middle of a swamp that we never heard of before, Aislinn yelled. I looked it up. Low Country just means it’s below sea level with nothing but mosquitoes, moss, and alligators. I hate it there already.

Well, get used to it, Bob snapped. We’re lucky we could lease it, and just this once, we’re doing what I want to do.

Just this once?

Their parents dragged them along to art exhibits and trips to historical sites to research scenes for Bob’s paintings from the time they could walk. Paige did book signings and poetry readings, and she expected her daughters to go along and be inconspicuous. Now, the summer months stretched ahead in a string of misery, alone in the house Bob described as an antebellum beauty in the middle of pastureland and forests. How lucky could you get? What teen girl wouldn’t love summer in a cow pasture in the woods while her dad hid in his studio painting pictures?

They pleaded to stay with Magenta on the beach, knowing their parents would never allow it. Paige cried and explained about their grandmother’s odd lifestyle, and how she didn’t dare expose their impressionable young minds to her delusions.

They must avoid her bad influence, Bob said, what with her psychic nonsense and involvement with unsavory characters. The lecture ended the way lectures about their grandmother always did; Don’t call her Magenta. That’s not her real name.

Maybe it wasn’t her real name, but news reporters referred to her as Magenta, the renowned psychic, when she helped find a killer, or a dead body, or a kidnap victim. That caused the problem. Bob lived in mortal fear of Magenta’s supernatural ability. To listen to him you would think being psychic meant she had a deadly communicable disease and his precious little pooters might catch it if he allowed them to associate with her.

Miles and miles of nothing drifted by the open windows. Audrey and Aislinn watched, hoping to see something that broke the monotony and made it bearable. The nothing gave way to a town that consisted of a city limits sign, a post office, a convenience store, and a cluster of nondescript houses. Not a soul in sight, other than a scrawny old dog sleeping on a porch. Bob and Paige loved it. A bit of authentic Americana, Bob called.

Picturesque, Paige said, and turned to her journal to jot down the poem it inspired. That should be dark and disturbing enough for the reviewers. Her poem complete, she dropped the journal on her lap and went back to reading and listening to music. Her family might as well be invisible. A few more miles and they regretted passing through the town without stopping. The convenience store probably had snacks and sodas, and it might be the only hope for food in this wilderness.

Dad, I need a soda, Audrey said. Aislinn agreed. Me too, and a hamburger and some fries? I’m starving to death.

Paige came out of her trance and heard them this time, unfortunately. No more sodas and junk food. You two are going to enjoy a healthy diet this summer. You’ll find some yogurt snacks and carrot juice in the cooler. That should hold you till we get to Hanover Hall where we can make some nice steamed veggies with bean curd.

Yet another layer to the misery.

I can’t live like this, Mom, Shades of the raw food diet fiasco from last summer flashed through Aislinn’s mind.

Did you bring any real food?

Vegetables are real food, Paige put the earphones back in her ears. The conversation ended.

Hang in there, little pooters, Bob said. We’ll be at Hanover Hall within twenty-five or thirty minutes. Drink your carrot juice like Mom said.

They shuddered. He’d actually called them ‘little pooters’ in front of their friends, and Paige wouldn’t do a thing about it.

The twins settled in their corners, hopeless and wretched, listening to their parents crooning oohs and ahs about the lovely countryside, declaring it unbelievable romantic.

What could they possibly see in an empty wasteland, basically a swamp interrupted by woods, that made them think romantic?

A mosquito as big as a hummingbird flew in the open window and sunk his teeth into Aislinn’s thigh. Bob and Paige ignored the blood curdling screams of their bleeding daughter, leaving Audrey to deal with the attack alone. She swatted the insect with her palm, peeled the bloody corpse off her poor sister, and dropped it into the front seat.

If we get malaria, you know whose fault it is, she said.

Ignored again.

The pavement ran out and their parents found it

charming. Ohhh, a sweet little dirt lane, Paige said.

I can’t remember the last time I drove on a dirt road.

Bob said.

The stone age, maybe. The twins gave each other the

little eyebrow lift that signaled their satisfaction at having the same thought at the same time. Their parents didn’t even hear them.

The wheels stirred up great clouds of red dust that poured through the windows. Bob and Paige took pity on them and raised the windows, sparing them any more attacks from blood sucking insects, or the threat of choking to death on the lovely fresh air.

A great hulking wreck of a house appeared out of the dust, looking like a resort for demons with bad taste. When Bob pulled the car over and parked on the side of the road, their summer in hell seemed complete. He fished his camera out of the console and left them sitting in the sun to go snap photos.

"Mom, please. I’m begging you. Don’t make us stay here, Audrey said.

For once, Paige saw her point. She opened the door and called to her husband, For Heaven’s sake, Bob, this isn’t even a house. We can’t live in this dump.

Thank you, mom.

Bob laughed and kept snapping pictures. Of course, we can’t, dear. Just getting some photos for my series on antebellum ruins. Our house is on down the road.

He got back in the car, grumbling about what a shame the owners allowed such a grand old house to sink into decay.

A real shame they didn’t haul it away to the landfill, Aislinn said.

Another mile, more dust and trees, and they passed an actual plantation, like something out of an old movie. A huge, white monster of a house sat back from the dirt road, flanked by magnolia trees and surrounded by an aged whitewashed brick wall that stretched beyond the house and disappeared into a grove of magnolias. On the opposite side of the road, horses grazed in a white fenced pasture.

That’s where the Whitneys live, Bob said. The folks we leased our house from. Hanover Hall is next.

The tiniest ray of hope penetrated the gloom. If their granddaddy’s house looked like that, they could take living in it for a couple of months.

They saw it around the next curve and stopped breathing.

The house their dad remembered as an elegant white columned beauty didn’t look like one anymore. Apparently, a house can change a lot in thirty-four years, and it must have been at least that long since this wreck saw a paint brush. Shutters hung from the windows on rusted hinges and kudzu vines climbed the chimneys and columns.

Bob steered the minivan onto the long, circular driveway, through a tangle of weeds and briars that passed for a front yard. When he parked, Aislinn saw something reptilian slither away toward the house.

Bob stared in disbelief. The owner said it needed some sprucing up, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.

Paige gasped in horror, Oh, good lord.

Can we go now? both girls shouted.

Paige forced a smile and made a feeble attempt to be supportive of her man. Let’s see what the inside is like, dear. Maybe it’s better. She turned to her daughters in the back seat. If it’s as bad as the outside, we’re going to the nearest motel for the night.

Aislinn whispered a triumphant, Yes! to her sister.

Even Mom can’t see anything romantic about this wreck. "Oh yeah, we’ll be going home tomorrow. Audrey remembered a motel way back before the pavement ended. It didn’t look like much at the time, but compared to this god-awful horror show, it was pure luxury.

Wait in the car while your mom and I check inside, Bob shoulders slumped as he stood in the overgrown driveway looking at what was once his home.

Audrey and Aislinn pointed to the jumble of weeds and

thorn bushes outside the minivan, and the deadly wildlife that probably lurked among them and assured their dad they

wouldn’t step one foot anywhere near that jungle.

They watched their parents pick their way between the weeds to the ornate marble steps leading to a wide veranda.

Bob struggled with the key in the lock for a moment, then swung wide the tall double doors. They hesitated at the entrance for a moment, then slowly went inside and shut the doors behind them. The twins could only imagine the horrors that greeted them.

They waited for what seemed like hours. The searing Carolina rapidly turned the minivan into an oven. A few feet away, a row of trees shaded a stretch of lawn that looked less weedy. Grey-green moss hung like veils from the branches. Spooky, but it looked cool under in the shadows.

They ventured out and made their way through the weeds toward the shade. The going got easier when the weeds gave way to the ruins of a narrow cobblestone path. It parted the vegetation and wound its way through a tall hedgerow at the edge of the yard. Who knows why they decide to walk down the path, maybe because a day in the minivan with their parents left them bored out of their minds and willing to take risks. It gave them something to do while they waited to leave for home in Atlanta.

Beyond the hedgerow, tall poplars lined the path. A flash of red through the trees caught their attention. What is that? Audrey said.

Aislinn looked back toward the hedges; a little alarmed to see how far they wandered from the minivan and their parents. The flash of color provided the only thing she saw all day that even vaguely intrigued her. Let’s go see what it is. She trotted down the path and Audrey followed.

The path meandered through a clump of shrubs and ended at the gate of a white corral around a bright red barn. The barn and the fence sparkled with fresh paint. The surrounding grounds looked neat and well-tended, which didn’t fit with the house and the rest of the property at all. Somebody used this barn and corral every day. Double doors in the barn, wide enough to drive a truck through, stood wide open. From inside, came the whickering of a horse.

Horses? They had to check this out.

The latch opened easily when Audrey tried it and the gate swung wide on oiled hinges. The latch clicked closed behind them when they followed the cobblestone walk leading up to the open doors.

Anybody here? Audrey called.

"Nobody answered.

They gathered their courage and inched inside. Hello. The echo of Aislinn’s call sounded like it came from miles away.

Something felt weird. The temperature in the barn must have been twenty degrees cooler than the outside. No complaints about that, but who would air condition a barn, then leave the doors wide open? The smell of hay and horses filled the air.

Again, the whickering of a horse, softly from the shadows.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim light in the barn. A row of stalls stretched out along the wall. They peeked into the first one.

Empty.

A voice spoke behind them, near the door behind them, where they saw no one when they walked through seconds ago.

Whoa, Skeeter.

Wow! How did they miss him? Long, dark brown hair sweeping against wide shoulders, tight jeans slung low across slender hips, dark eyes, tanned skin. Gorgeous! They didn’t meet boys like this back in Atlanta. He looked at them a moment, then, like they weren’t there, turned back to the horse and resumed brushing her. Skeeter?

Another horse, the exact twin of the one the boy brushed, stood tethered nearby munching on a mound of hay. Her shiny brown coat and her glossy black mane looked just like Skeeter’s.

Cool horses, Aislinn said.

Yeah, real cool, Audrey said.

The boy acted like he didn’t know they were there. How rude.

Audrey tried again. Our parents didn’t tell us we had horses. Must be our dad’s way of making up for bringing us here.

"I