The 13th Room

By Katrina Deverill

The 13th Room
There's invariably a price to pay and if she runs now, they're all doomed. Life hurtles towards the end game and it always leads to death.
Kelly Brennan takes a life-changing call in which she discovers she's just won a prize worth millions. Prior to this Kelly was feeling broken bored cash-strapped and pandemic-weary. However, this is Kelly. Frequently misconceptions induce serious anomalies and when Kelly Brennan won she didn't immediately realize her loss. Doomed to a dark ominous future only her actions can save them from impending death.
But when her husband becomes the main subject of the dark machinations within the house Kelly casts off her fears and delves deep, as she tries to figure out why her, their survival is on the line. Only when she discovers her unique connection, do the past and present collide, it appears there's more to overcome to survive than a deadly curse. If Kelly can't find the secret room and break the curse, her husband will die.
Can Kelly alone solve the mystery and lift the curse? Probably not, but with a ghost from a distant past she may yet have a future.
This is suspense over horror, history weaved into the present, a sprinkle of humour when their backs are against the wall it's paranormal. The 13th Room is a suspenseful ghost story sprinkled with mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katrina Deverill
• Release date: Feb 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215283769

Katrina Deverill

I live on the beautiful island of Cyprus where the sea is cobalt blue, and it rarely rains.  Because I believe some of the best books are the ones that have yet to be discovered, I read on average four novels a month, sometimes more, but I schedule my writing time into each day. It’s a full-time job. There’s something special about curling up with a book and being transported to another dimension. Although I write in several genres, they all have one thing in common: mystery. I’m a sucker for whodunits and whether there’s a ghost, some historical data, a smattering of magical realism or a full-blown serial killer, the characters guide me through all the way to the end. If you enjoyed this title, all my books are on my website in my portfolio, where you’ll find both my current titles and those soon to be released. You can also sign up for early-bird offers, news and giveaways, but if you're more interested in leaving a comment or asking about a particular character, I’d be happy to respond. I look forward to hearing from you when you visit my home from home https://katrinadeverill.com Katrina Deverill

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to my husband and Pip my muse for their patience and to my beta readers. Also, a big thank you to Victoria Danahar for her attention to detail.

PREFACE

Edinburgh is the capital of Scotland in the United Kingdom. Although Brae House is set in Liberton on the outskirts of Edinburgh, the house is fictional. The architecture and beauty of this great City led me to write THE 13 TH ROOM , which takes historic facts about gambling fever and Faro, moulding it into a contemporary tale, a mystery with a paranormal edge. I love Scotland and it remains close to my heart.

THE 13TH ROOM

Aloss, a curse, a big win, a secret room, and a statue coalesce as the past and present collide. But there’ll be no future if the past isn’t laid to rest.

Chapter 1

It started in Edinburgh , in 1825, with a game of Faro, while Scotland’s gripped by gambling fever. Many families suffer. Their Estates lost in a simple card game. Although, one cadaver cannot rest, wreaking havoc - waiting. For soon, the past and the present will collide....

197 years later - Edinburgh 2022

I’m stuck in a rut, maybe I should say we, but I’m not sure if we are even a thing, it’s a mess. The depth of my problems drowning me, pulling me deeper into a wealth of despair; it’s the only thing I’m rich in.

It’s not like I can look forward to another August Bank Holiday weekend, when we’re broke; so, another boring day, more of the same bickering. Us doing nothing extraordinary. Our marriage is on the verge of a storm. This isn’t living, it’s survival. Not a life, an existence.

‘Please.’ he said, hand out, waiting for my response. As I stretched across to pass Jack the marmalade, he scoots the butter dish across the breakfast bar, a habit I loathe. ‘Thanks.’ I say, but my heart isn’t in it.

I’d been busy scrolling through the news when my phone interrupted the miserable silence. My heart fell further. I felt disgruntled at the impromptu interruption. Toast forgotten; I dropped it back onto my plate. A dark cloud seemed to hang over us like the sword of Damocles. Crumbs scattered across the breakfast bar; runny marmalade dripped off the edge of my plate. Jack opened one eye ‘Who’s that?’, as I stared at the screen. I answered him, ‘Unknown number’, without looking up. ‘Scam call, probably.’ he said, yawning. ‘Yeah,’ as I ignored the ring tone crescendo.

Not a fan of soggy toast, I take a fresh piece from the toast rack, a wedding present from one of Jack’s relatives. The handle, shaped like a heart, made me wince. If only our marriage was as substantial, I thought. My mind wandered as I pulled the jar towards me, my stomach making strange noises heralding its need for food.

He’d used his knife, putting marmalade and crumbs on the butter again, and I felt my hackles rise. ‘Jack Brennan, you slovenly pig, there’s marmalade all over the butter again!’ ‘Nag, nag, nag... and it’s not nine O’clock yet.’ ‘Ah. What’s the point?’ He really tried my patience. I grabbed the jar and stared in before dipping the preserve spoon in to extract a portion. I’d had to check the marmalade jar for butter infestation. As expected, I found butter and golden crumbs in it. Yuck. Typical, I thought, but bit my lip and carried on. At least one of us cared about etiquette. I ran my hand over the area in front of me, collecting the mess I’d made with my hand, smearing sticky goo everywhere, until I had no choice other than to grab a cloth.

The edges of my mind frayed from the impromptu interruption and Jack’s disgusting table manners. The unyielding weight, my black mood, just a normal day in the Brennan household.

I settled back on my stool to finish my fresh slice of toast, only to decide I wasn’t hungry anymore, after Jack belched a good one; I held my tongue, deciding to try harder, a softer, kinder person and less judgemental. He hadn’t changed. We’d hit a bad patch, that’s all. ‘What do you fancy doing today?’ ‘Ask me again when I’m awake.’ Jack said, bleary-eyed. ‘Oh great, we get a long weekend, and you can’t drag yourself awake long enough to enjoy it.’ ‘Give us a break, Kell.’ Jack gave a weak smile as I grumped. ‘Fine, have it your way sleepy head.’

I knew I couldn’t bite my lip for long. So now annoyed with myself, I went back to reading the news. Anger simmering my heart somewhere between irritation and despair.

Five minutes later, as I sipped my morning coffee, its heady aroma filling the room, my phone rang again. ‘Jeezuzz!’ Reluctant to answer, yet I didn’t want to go through this all day. I dragged my finger up the screen in annoyance. I listened. ‘Yes, speaking,’ waiting for the woman on the other end to explain herself. ‘Who is it?’ Jack had a look of bemusement. ‘Yes, I remember. Um..., Ok. One moment.’

I grabbed my bag, which hung over the back of my kitchen stool, and rummaged around for my purse. Out came tissues, a lipstick, a brush, and loads of old crumpled receipts. Mm, not so perfect, am I? I cringed, feeling bad for having a pop at Jack earlier. I was always too quick to criticise.

‘Who is it?’ Jack asked again, as I shushed him. ‘7, 9, 8, 6, 5, 2, Q.’ I said, reading off the slip I’d extracted from my purse in reply to the caller’s question. ‘You’re kidding me? No way!’ My face had to register shock because Jack looked concerned. ‘Ok, 2pm. How will I find it? Yeah. It’s a joke, right?’ There was another pause. My face, a mass of concentration, a pinched, crinkling around my eyes. ‘Ok. Yes, I’ll check the website now. Thanks... I think.’

Jack sat waiting for me to spill. I think I had an out-of-body experience. The room spun, my head full of strange thoughts, all muddled and off the scale.

My eyes closed tight, my hand shaking. I saw us, from afar, as we sat, the perfect tarnished couple, bored with each other and sick of the constant sniping. I felt surreal, though Jack told me later I was white as a sheet.

‘Shush, give me a minute.’ I hit the chrome internet icon in my apps, determined to check the website. ‘No way!’ There was a quick intake of breath. ‘What?’ ‘That prize draw ticket I bought last week, the one for the squillion pound house; I won!’ ‘Yeah right. Pull the other one!’ ‘See. Look! My name!’ I pushed the phone under his nose, turning the screen towards him. His eyes were wide. He gasped. ‘Shit, Kelly, you’ve won that house!’ ‘I know. Can you believe it?’ ‘So, what’s the 2pm thing?’ ‘We’ve to meet at the house for them to take photos when we collect the keys.’ ‘Where is it again?’ ‘She’s sending me a PIN.’

As it sank in, I realised how much would change. No more paying rent, no mortgage. Our own house, our first proper home. Butterflies filled my stomach as my toast lay untouched. ‘Stuff like this doesn’t happen to people like us, Jack.’ ‘Well, it looks like they do.’ ‘Let’s see what it’s like before we get too excited. It might be a crumbling heap, or next to the motorway.’ ‘So, you’ve got no idea what or where it is, but you bought the ticket, anyway?’

It was just like him to take the piss, but he used an accusatory tone. I had to justify myself. These days we spent more time taking swipes at each other. Not healthy for a couple, not long married, after promising each other a lifelong commitment.

‘I was in a hurry. It was lunchtime. It’s somewhere in the Edinburgh suburbs, if I remember right.’ ‘If you say so.’ Jack said laughing.

As I opened my browser, the first thing I noticed felt odd. There wasn’t much information on the house. The website offered only a few photos and little to no information on the actual prize, other than it was worth a staggering 2.5 million.

How a life-changing win makes someone feel has never dawned on me before. I just didn’t expect it to feel like this. Hollow.

I gazed out of the window. I’d opened it wide to smell the rising aroma of jasmine on the trellis against the outside wall. My skin felt clammy, and my heart raced as I breathed deeply.

The need to ground myself, to feel joy, to want to share good fortune, without tarnishing it, gripped me. I wondered if either of us could stay civil. We were adults. It couldn’t be that hard; could it? My mind spun, but the joy wasn’t there. Without the missing piece of the jigsaw, it may as well be another prison, a life sentence. I mourned for the love, our friendship. Somewhere along the way it had dissipated, a boiling kettle, the steam evaporating, until the contents lay diminished and cold; that was us.

Was I dreaming? This could easily turn into a nightmare. If we really had won a house, there were six months left on the tenancy for this place and the Landlord would demand compensation. Then there was the furniture. This was a furnished flat, and nothing was ours except the clothes on our back and they weren’t up too much. I just felt sick. We’d lived through a pandemic, then all this! Massive energy bills and food prices skyrocketing. It had all got too much. Why wasn’t I dancing round the room, jumping for joy? This was a good thing, right? But it felt off, as if there was a worm in the carrot, something unseen and unpleasant.

I fought my inner fear. All I could see were the negatives. The gloom, not a fleeting emotion, the concrete set. I paced the floor. Would I hold it together, would he, not a question. I knew the answer, no.

I had a sudden insatiable thirst. But no matter how much water I drank, my mouth felt dry, my throat tight like it was full of cotton wool. I had a shiver. It climbed up my spine, feather light, almost unperceivable. How would we ever afford the council tax? It was madness. We’d have to sell it!

In contrast to most people’s idea of euphoria after a big win, lay my fear. I already had deep reservations about the property. We weren’t rich; Jack and me, well, we lived month to month. And that was the problem. It plagued us, living hand to mouth from one month’s salary to the next. It was the rising debts, which worried us most, just to stay afloat.

The whole idea of living in a two million plus property or even anything over three rooms seemed ludicrous! Jack appeared happy enough, his grin annoying me.

Now, I felt anxious. I wondered if this was how it felt to win the lottery. I looked at the kitchen, the worn cabinets, the pealing wallpaper we’d painted over. We couldn’t afford much else, but it was a roof, a place to call our own in the short term. The rent was high, restrictions like the no dog policy meant we couldn’t live the way we wanted, but it gave us a home and for now, we felt secure.

Jack hummed a tune as he put everything away, dumping my uneaten breakfast in the food waste bin. One thing we never argued over, recycling, it ranked too high on our list of must do’s.

Next, Jack collected the plates and deposited them in the sink with a clatter. We didn’t have a dishwasher, unless you count me. Jack dumps them in the sink and I take them out to fill it with hot water and a squirt of washing up liquid; it was what it was. I hated doing dishes. Maybe, I wondered, would the new house have one?

The notion was stupid. I’d no intention of living there, but if we sold it... Well, that opened up so many new possibilities. My mood lightened, but there was that question I heard others mutter so many times, if it sounds too good to be true... And once again my heart sank, the fog in my mind clogging rational thought and darkening every corner.

I washed the dishes, scrubbing at the dried crumbs, which seemed to laugh at my attempts to free them from their ceramic home. I realised I was taking out my frustration and fear on the dishes as my hands turned white. Why and how could anyone not be happy with a win like this? I continued to grip the crockery forcibly, rubbing them clean. The pattern long faded before we’d bought them from the charity shop.

I used to get by before we got married. Now everything was different. I’d had to be frugal, even to the point of buying what we needed, not what we wanted, and even then, the second-hand shop was my first stop.

Angry again now. It wasn’t Jack’s fault, but if an accountant can’t make ends meet, what chance did I have? The arguments, niggles and snipes all brought me down. So why was a massive win such a terrible revelation? I scrubbed harder.

‘Penny for them.’ Jack said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a formidable smile. I squirted more detergent in protest, my mood like a kid on a seesaw, swinging up and down. My thoughts are as cloudy as the water in front of me.

One plate slid from my hand as I lifted it to rinse, a result of my overuse of washing up liquid. It hit a mug and broke. I cut my hand as I attempted to save it; the blood turning the murky water pink. I swore as the stinging pain shot through my conscious thoughts. ‘Shit!’ Jack ran my hand under the cold tap and tried to stem the bleeding. It looked worse than it was, but he took over and finished the job for me.

Now I felt angry again. Anger at my clumsiness, rage at the words swilling around, none of which made sense.

‘How’s it looking Kell?’ ‘I’m okay, it’s stopped bleeding, just bloody annoying cause it still hurts.’ ‘I think you need to calm down, take a break love, we’ve got hours to go yet.’ ‘I know, I’m trying.’ ‘Well, try harder.’ ‘I felt sick before I cut my hand, now I just feel annoyed. And you’re not helping!’ ‘You’re not making any sense.’ ‘My head’s in the shed.’ But Jack was still on a high as he stacked the clean crockery and wiped his hands dry. He flipped the kettle back on. ‘Cuppa?’ ‘Yeah, green tea please.’ ‘Ok, one green tea coming up.’ ‘Thanks.’ I said with little enthusiasm, feeling heady and weird all over. Maybe I needed to lay off the caffeine?

When the electronic map with its PIN arrived, Jack hovered over my shoulder. Another bad habit of his. We had a 2pm appointment, but I didn’t know how far we’d have to travel. My heart rate seemed elevated; there were spots before my eyes. Jack, however, acted out like a schoolkid. He was laughing and whooping. All I could think of was negatives.

‘Brae House, it’s in Liberton, or at least on the outskirts, close to the Braid Hills.’ ‘Ooh, a posh area.’ I ignored his optimism. ‘A forty-minute drive in weekend traffic.’ He said. I looked at him. How could he think with a modicum of logic despite being excited?

I can tell you; it wasn’t infectious. I couldn’t even work out what time it was now, and I had a clock the size of a bin lid facing me on the chimney wall. ‘We can’t keep it.’ I said. ‘Why not?’ ‘The council tax, heating, maintenance, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.’ ‘We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even have the keys yet!’ ‘I know.’ I said, but my mood was melancholy, like I’d lost something instead of winning the prize of a lifetime.

Jack sat on the sofa. He tried to persuade me to sit down too. ‘Come on, Kell, try to relax. We’ve got hours yet.’ I harrumphed, but I couldn’t settle. The incessant noise of the TV in the background, while he played on his phone, seemed wasteful. So much for saving energy.

Did I hear myself? When did I turn into such a bitch? Today Jack had been trying, not that it happened often. We were as bad as each other. It was a miserable existence.

I picked up an old magazine. Linda, my best friend, had passed it over when she’d finished with it. Jeezuzz, I couldn’t even afford a copy of Homes. As I flicked through the pages, it solved nothing. Pictures of perfect interiors and expensive nick-knacks only heightened my frustration.

I flung the mag down on the coffee table, stood and paced up and down. ‘For god’s sake Kell.’ I couldn’t do this, him and me. It was too much. My hand throbbed, my head banged, and my nerve endings were on fire.

For the next few hours, I tried to chivvy myself along. I bounced from excitement to depression, like I’d got a dose of mania; this wasn’t me at all.

All I could think about was getting it over and done with. It didn’t feel real, so I had phoned no one. Why share news when I wasn’t sure if it was good or bad?

So far, it did not convince me of anything. I’d hardly said a word to Jack since breakfast and I didn’t know why I felt as dry as a grain of Sahara sand. But the rawness it delivered, the feeling of my flesh, ripped from my body; it was the closest to a sandstorm as I would ever come. It stung, and I felt raw.

I played with the edge of my sleeve, pulling at a stray thread, almost drawing blood as it sliced my finger with what was akin to a paper cut. ‘Ow!’ I sucked my finger as I tried to relieve the stinging. ‘For god’s sake, not again. If you carry on like this, you’ll have committed hari-kari before 2pm.’ As he chuckled away to himself. His incessant good mood only wore me down further, my stress levels hitting a new high.

I Brushed my sweaty palms on my jeans, after licking the metallic tinted blood from my finger, which flowed after I’d drawn it out, sucking hard to salve the pain. My jeans felt coarse against my damp skin. The melamine covered worktop, cold to my touch, warmed under my grip. Its pealing surface, worn with age, tatty, like everything we owned. Only we didn’t own it. Everything here came with the flat.

My nerves jangled, all soft edges furred, as if I’d used an emery board and given up before the chips