Spook House: Southern Gothic, #3

By M. L. Bullock

Unlikely friends Mallory and Beth embark on a landmark paranormal investigation--they will explore and document Derby Hill's notorious Spook House. Surrounded by forest and cut off from the modern world, the ghost hunters slowly begin to uncover the terrifying secrets behind a macabre series of murders. Unearthly forces come against the women as they uncover a legendary room and the ghosts that call it home. Will they allow the living to enter?

Beth's attempts to connect with the dead residents leads her down a dangerous path--one she may not come back from if she refuses to let go of the ghosts who beckon her. Mallory's search for scientific truth leaves her wondering what's real. Will her obsession with the Spook House forever unbalance the archaeologist?

"Set against the backdrop of the south's notorious past, M.L. Bullock's Spook House is a dark, scary ghost story with plenty of twists and turns. I couldn't put it down!"

Spook House is the third installment in M.L. Bullock's Southern Gothic Series. Each book is a paranormal novella featuring southern hauntings. Other books in the collection include Being With Beau and Death's Last Darling.

Find a comfy spot, preferably by a rainy window and get lost in the Spook House.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.L. Bullock
• Release date: Oct 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215483237

M. L. Bullock

M. L. Bullock is the bestselling author of the Seven Sisters series. Born in Antigua, British West Indies, she has had a lifelong love affair with haunted houses, lonesome beaches, and forgotten places. She currently lives on the Gulf Coast and regularly haunts her favorite hangout, Dauphin Island. A visit to Historic Oakleigh House in Mobile, Alabama, inspired her successful supernatural suspense series Seven Sisters. For more information, visit mlbullock.com.

Book preview

Spook House

Southern Gothic Series

By M.L. Bullock

© 2020 Monica L. Bullock

All Rights Reserved.

Dedication

To Momma. The best storyteller of us all.

Table of Contents

Chapter One—Mallory

Chapter Two—Mallory

Chapter Three—Beth

Chapter Four—Beth

Chapter Five—Mallory

Chapter Six—Beth

Chapter Seven—Beth

Chapter Eight—Mallory

Chapter Nine—Betsie

Chapter Ten—Beth

Chapter Eleven—Beth/Betsie

Chapter Twelve—Mallory

Chapter Thirteen—Beth

Chapter Fourteen—Beth

Chapter Fifteen—Mallory

Author’s Note

Chapter One—Mallory

Rejected pieces of lavender ribbon and clumps of white tulle littered the living room floor. The place looked like a bridal party gone wrong—one that ended in a catfight amongst angry bridesmaids—but that wasn’t the case. Everyone was happy, just messy. Along with the unwanted pieces of bridal decor were stacks of magazines and empty wine glasses, remnants from last night’s bridal party gathering. Actually, more like the past few months. A sigh escaped my lips, but I reminded myself that this was only a temporary situation. By the time I returned from this trip, all evidence of Beth’s bridal dreams would be history and my roommate would be moving on to greener pastures with her dream guy.

Better her than me. I didn’t have much love for guys like Curtis Blake, but whatever floats her boat. As Papa used to say to Gran, Whatever makes you happy pleases me just fine. That’s probably why my grandparents held it together for over fifty years. And when Gran left, Papa was right behind her.

I had my doubts that Curtis would take the same approach to marriage. He liked being right too much. He had to have the last word about everything, even down to their reception menu. Nope, there had never been a question in my mind that I wasn’t going to that wedding. Why did I hate him so vehemently? It’s not like he was the first Neanderthal I’d ever come in contact with.

Lots of reasons, I mumbled to myself as I halfheartedly picked up handfuls of purple and white fabric.

The Curtis Blakes of the world were always too worried about their appearance. Too worried about what he looked like and what his girlfriend wore and what they drove and where they lived. With him, it was all about looks. And I couldn’t understand that because Beth was more than that. I mean, she had more to her than that. She had soul. She loved life. She was selling herself short. Way too short.

Yeah, the whole superficial thing was a huge turnoff for me; I didn’t like Curtis at all, but I wasn’t marrying him.

Lucky me. Poor Beth. I really hoped she knew what she was doing. I dropped the garbage and let it flutter to the floor.

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

I glanced at my watch as I rolled my suitcase to the front door of my normally neat apartment. Yep. She should be walking down the aisle right about now. Good for her, if that’s what she wanted. I would never do anything as pedestrian as marrying my high school sweetheart—at least not someone like him. Not that I had one. I was a loner and had been for as long as I could remember. I liked operating solo; it had its advantages.

I was trying very hard to be happy for Beth. This is what she wanted, and I wished her nothing but the best. I was sure that wasn’t Curtis Blake, but it wasn’t my choice. In my opinion, he wasn’t good for her or anyone. Except himself. Yeah, he really enjoyed himself, but again, this was my unwanted and unasked-for opinion.

I should be breathing a sigh of relief that Beth never asked me what I thought about Curtis. He wasn’t my problem—none of this was my problem. She was just a roommate. We weren’t even like besties. I think Beth was a smidge disappointed that I didn’t come to the wedding, but she said she understood. I couldn’t pass up this investigation opportunity. It had been on my calendar for a long time. And once I got the final approval, well, there was no stopping me. This was literally a window of opportunity.

In a way, Beth and I were both launching new adventures.

Beth would marry her dream guy, and I would be able to check an item off my bucket list. A lot of paranormal investigators had this place on their bucket lists. And for some reason, probably sheer luck, I had been granted access to Kentucky’s most haunted location—Derby Hill, also known as the Spook House. I even loved the name.

When I received the email approving my paranormal expedition, I almost fell out of my chair. All it had taken was a small donation to the foundation in charge of restoring the place and a few letters of recommendation. Oh, and years’ worth of begging. In their response, the foundation mentioned the recommendations and my history and archaeology degrees. Whatever the true reason, I was extremely grateful for the chance to investigate one of the state’s strangest mysteries.

What happened to the Smithfield family?

Seven souls vanished and left not a clue behind. Not a drop of blood or any trace of the family had ever been found. Wherever they went that dark October night, the Smithfields left everything behind. All their housewares, furniture, clothing—even the children’s toys. Of course, those artifacts were long gone now. Stolen by God knows who. The family’s disappearance was the stuff of mystery when it occurred in 1856, and it remained one today.

According to my contact at the foundation, the plantation the locals called the Spook House was nothing much to see anymore. A few broken columns and a broken kudzu-covered wall were all that was left. That was enough for me. This was a chance of a lifetime, a chance to retrace the steps of the mysterious Jay McArdle, the man responsible for the original report of the Spook House at Derby Hill.

A chance to test out my newly designed piece of equipment, my very own Squawk Box. I liked the name, despite Hannah’s objections. What did she know, anyway? She was never into this stuff, not like me. I would never forgive her for stealing my orange tabby, Peaches. Who steals someone’s cat? If she wanted to leave so bad, leave. Don’t take the best relationship I ever had—and I wasn’t talking about Hannah. What a crappy relationship that had been. Total proof that I wasn’t good at romance. Not in any way, shape, or form. Not with Hannah, not with Dylan. Not with anyone.

But enough of being all emotional. I patted the box that contained my new toy. If my theory was correct, this piece of equipment could not only detect EMF and operate as a kind of spirit sounding board, but also give entities more power to fully manifest in a variety of ways. Unlike other so-called ghost boxes, my Squawk Box had a visual component that allowed the spirits to use the natural energy fields to produce moving images and possibly communicate more profoundly. Instead of broken speech patterns and green screens, my Squawk Box could produce solid evidence of the paranormal. Wouldn’t that be great? Besides the monetary advantages of having such an amazing piece of technology, the Squawk Box would mean I didn’t have to lug all that other equipment around.

To make it even more exciting, this would be a solo paranormal investigation. Some of my friends in the paranormal community considered solo investigations reckless, even foolhardy, but I say boo to that. They didn’t have the Squawk Box. They didn’t have the dedication—the absolute obsession—I had for the Other Side.

Scaredy-cats.

No. There isn’t always safety in numbers. Untrained hobbyists dabbled way too much with spirit boards and séances. It happened all the time. I didn’t do nearly as many rookie investigations anymore. Too many fanboys or fangirls showed up wearing black and already oppressed. Then I was expected to investigate with them. No thanks.

That’s exactly what happened at the Stanley Hotel. What a nightmare! I was glad to see the field expanding, but there were a lot of clumsy rookies out there. A lot of people who believed they knew all there was to know about ghosts, poltergeists, demons, and everything in between. Until they were confronted with pure evil.

Not many people