Ghost Tale

By Lisa Shannon

The Carrolls are the all-American family, complete with a house in the crowded and ever-growing Virginia suburbs. Bobby Carroll has never liked living there. His wife, Trish, likes it very much, along with their two kids. A chance phone call on an easy-going Sunday afternoon is a game changer, though not seemingly so at first. Circumstances in living the overpopulated lifestyle causes the family to do an about-face, moving to rural ground, an "if you blink, you might miss it" kind of town. But Bobby and Trish can't miss the peculiar activities that would take them on an experience they'd surely never forget. Recently made friends and family play a large role in the search for answers. Once they believe they have a grip on their situation and formulate a plan, a false rumor causes ridiculous chaos. A villain reporter with a no-scruples personality introduces herself and wants to bring down the house for career gain. Can the Carrolls persistence overpower the will of the villain? One more round of characters determines that

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684561575

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Ghost Tale

Lisa Shannon

Copyright © 2019 Lisa Shannon

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2019

ISBN 978-1-68456-156-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68456-157-5 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Though this is a fictional story, the one truth is God and His Word.

Chapter 1

Sunday afternoon, 12:55. Pizza rolls baked in the oven, filling the house with an Italian pepperoni aroma. Thirty-six-year-old Bobby Carroll sank down into his chair, a black leather automatic recliner, ready to engage with his favorite means of relaxation—football! And what made the deal even sweeter was that the wife and kids were out running errands. He figured he had at least until halftime of total silence and self-indulgence. Bobby reached to his right for the icy cold beer sitting on the end table, waiting for kickoff. Listening to the announcers give stats on various players of this preseason game, he took a long swig and sat the bottle back on the pewter coaster, releasing a loud, satisfying belch. It was nice to be one’s self, not hearing the nagging about manners for the kids’ sake. Bret would have been proud of Dad for that one.

Buzzzzzz! The sharp-pitched sound of the oven timer. Pizza rolls were ready! He pushed his dark, handsome body up and out from the black leather island of comfort, not having far to go since the living room was open to the kitchen. Grabbing the thick green potholder shaped like a mitten, he flung open the oven door and pulled out the tray of sizzling, hot snacks. After quickly setting the pan on top of the stove, he closed the door and tossed the giant mitten onto the counter, which fell to the floor, but he left it there. Then the phone rang.

Dammit! A phone call now meant missing the kickoff! He jerked up the cordless from its cradle. Hello, he snapped.

Mr. Carroll? a woman’s voice asked.

This is him, he answered, just knowing she was one of those dumb-assed telemarketers. Can’t believe I didn’t look at the caller ID, he thought.

Mr. Carroll, my name is Margret Brown, and I’m with Langston Real Estate. I’m sorry to be bothering you. (She obviously received the hint.)

Well, I’ve got about one minute to spare. What can I do for you? he said as politely as he could stand to be.

Last year I was working with your father on some property located in the Northern Neck area, a little over a year ago, I think. He was interested in buying a small estate there called Kembrook.

Right, but the deal fell through. some other guy beat him to the punch. Listen, Ms. Brown, there’s something you need to know before this conversation goes any further…

Oh, how he hated to say what he was about to say; his stomach tightened, and his eyes welled up with water (he thought he was past this part). he needed to sit down.

My parents were killed in a car accident about nine months ago.

Margaret felt sudden embarrassment, Mr. Carroll, I am so very sorry. please know that I wasn’t aware.

He could tell she was emotional as she spoke.

That’s okay, I’m sure you didn’t know.

Smearing away the tear, which managed to slip out of one eye, he asked why she was calling.

The reason I’ve called you is because I couldn’t reach them, but on their application they gave your number as a contact. I save all my clients files for a while. Anyway, Kembrook is for sale again, and I wanted to let him know, her voice shaky with those last few words.

For sale so soon?

I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but that gentleman is headed back to England.

Too bad Dad isn’t here for this. He’d undoubtedly be interested.

I remember they were both quite taken with the farm, then that Mr. Bentley, I think is his name, snatched it up as quick as he did. Please know that whole transaction took place behind my back, and the realtor that pulled that one is long gone from here.

With that, Bobby replied, No problem. Things do happen. He was tired of talking to her; this conversation had ruined his mood. Thank you for thinking of them. They would have appreciated your effort.

Hanging up the receiver, the sound of the ref’s whistle blared from the TV. The game was well into the first quarter. He picked up his tray of pizza rolls and carried them to his chair. For the next two hours he intended to watch football and not think about the realtor’s phone call.

Trish Carroll stood in the grocery check-out line, waiting for her turn to load her goods onto the rotating black conveyer belt. Both of her brown-haired, blue-eyed children gazed at the candy rack strategically placed at the register area. They had been pretty good today, so she allowed them to pick out something. Finally, the elderly gentleman in front of her gave the go-ahead signal. He placed the long blue plastic marker at the end of his grocery pile. Seven-year-old Bret helped by wrestling the twenty-four-pack toilet paper out from underneath the basket. Cindy, age nine, was still choosing a candy bar, a decision she would ponder over for as long as someone’s willing to stand there and wait. Mom warned her she had ten seconds to make up her mind.

Will that be paper or plastic, Miss Trish? said a familiar voice.

You know I chose paper every time, Miss Regina. That option is unheard of these days. It’s one reason I shop here, Trish using a friendly tone.

It was Regina Jamison, a schoolmate of her mother’s and longtime friend to the family.

Look at those kids. They were just babies.

Well, we haven’t seen you in a while because of the surgery. How’s your eye doing?

Four months, four days, and I’m seeing much better now, thank you. This is my first week back to work, and I’m glad to be back, thank the good Lord.

The groceries were almost all rung up. Trish waited with her wallet open.

We certainly missed you, I’m glad to see your pretty face again.

Oh, thank you so much…so how’s Bobby doing?

He’s doing better. It’s going on a year now, and he’s…well…adjusting.

Has he heard from his brother?

Only at the funeral. Nothing for five years before then, and nothing since.

Oh, that’s a shame, what a shame.

Yeah, those two are like night and day. You wouldn’t know they were brothers. I know it’s selfish, but I wish they weren’t.

Regina handed Trish her receipt and said, You have young ones to look out for. Sometimes it’s not selfish. Tell Bobby I said hello.

Thanks, and I will. Come on, guys, we’re outta here.

What a game! All football fans love a good sudden-death ending; it was so intense. The crowd went wild, chanting the home team’s theme chorus over and over. One popular player motioned to the fans to be louder. People came out of their seats, giving it all they had. They were going to screw up that field goal attempt if it meant straining every vocal cord in that stadium. The kicker kicked…and missed!

Bobby nearly jumped to the ceiling, Yeah, baby! Yes, yes, YES!

He loved football, especially when it was his team. For a minute he thought about his parents; they instilled the love of the game in him…and his brother. Growing up every Sunday in the fall, they watched a game or two no matter who played—Bob, Marilyn, Bobby, and Jay.

Those were fun days.

Stupid bastard, he mumbled.

Dad, did you save me any pizza rolls? Cindy said from directly behind his chair.

Startled but with a smile, her dad, the greatest man alive, said, Yes, honey, there’s a few left.

Thanks, Dad, love you!

She sounded casual and cool like a starlet referring to her agent, but the coolness evaporated when she turned and saw Bret with his mouth full of HER pizza rolls.

Bret, those are mine! Now there’s only one left, you stupid butthead! Cindy starlet snubbed the remaining pizza roll and stomped off to her room, yelling from atop the stairs, You better not drink my Gatorade, pig-face boy!

This new name, pig-face boy, didn’t set to well with the accused, and he copied the stomping drama and went to defend himself. She slammed her door shut. There was a little yelling from them both, then silence.

"Honey, we’re home! Bet you really missed us! Trish says as she’s coming at the tail end of her children’s echoing-down-the-stairs argument.

Hey, babe, get anything good to eat? he asked, even though he felt like a bloated whale—a bloated whale washed up on the black leather island of comfort.

Doesn’t look like you’re starving any, she remarked, noticing the empty pizza-roll boxes on the counter and opened package of Pop-Tarts next to the toaster.

I shouldn’t be. I ate those pizza things, popcorn, three beers, then I had cinnamon Pop-Tarts and milk, and I’m still hungry, he said as he gave an obnoxious belch from his gut.

Nice, gross. Well, lucky for you, I brought home a bucket of chicken and the fixins. Help yourself after you pick up the kitchen, she said, stepping on the oven mitt. I’ll get the rest of the groceries.

They’re back, he thought. Game over.

In a while Trish called everyone to dinner. Afterward she had the kids check their backpacks for any forgotten homework. The school year had just begun; they needed to start off right. Then chocolate ice cream for dessert and some funny TV.

At last, blessed bedtime came for the kids. Bobby and Trish rounded out the day by their usual means—watching the history channel or the do-it-yourself home channel. Trish sat Indian-style on the couch, braiding her long, dark hair. As he watched her, he remembered the phone call from the real-estate lady.

You’ll never guess the phone call I got today while you guys were out.

She looked over at him, steadily working on her hair and asked what he meant. When he finished telling her, she consolingly replied, Sorry that happened to you, hun. So that English guy left after a year or so? That’s strange.

Yeah, if I remember right, I think Dad said the guy was loaded. Maybe business took him away, or, hell, maybe he just felt like it. Who knows?

Or maybe… she said playfully, those ghost tales your dad said he’d heard about are true.

She was referring to a rumor Bob Sr. laughed about one day when he dropped Bret off from fishing together. He made five trips to Kembrook when he was interested in buying it, and on his last visit, he stopped at one of the local convenience stores for gas. Trish remembered his voice, the hand gestures, and facial expressions as he told them the story. The memory felt bittersweet; she really liked Bob. He had said that the locals running the store snickered when he told them he was looking at Kembrook.

What the hell is so funny? he asked them.

The older woman told him it’d be like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Then the younger girl at the register told him that everyone knew that place was haunted. Her uncle seen a ghost up there one time when he was a kid, she told Mr. Carroll.

That was it. I have to have it! was his ending to the story.

Her attention drifted back to her husband. He had been talking, but she hadn’t heard a word he said.

So you wanna drive to this Kembrook place and check it out? I don’t have any plans to buy it or anything…I just wanna see what Dad saw. I know that sounds weird, but—

"Sure, we can go there.