Invited

By Nicole Little

A life saved. A debt owed.

 

Once again, Ivy Tangiers finds herself reluctantly following along with another of her boyfriend's schemes. This time: a tailor-made haunted house.

The book deals, the TV interviews, the Netflix documentaries. Money and fame will fall right into their lap.

And now that he's found the perfect location, he just needs the perfect ghosts.

With the help of a world-renowned spirit guide, the long-dead children of Sparrow House are dragged back to the scene of their violent murder. But what comes back with them…is most definitely not invited.

As a storm rages, both inside and out, will Ivy find the strength to survive the nightmare, or will she too find herself haunting these unholy halls?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macabre Minima
• Release date: Jul 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223432364

Book preview

CHAPTER ZERO

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IN THE BEGINNING

Sparrow House, July 18th, 1988

Rock a bye baby…

The eerie refrain followed Alex up the stairs as he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him…away from his mother.

She scraped the blade of the knife along the wood paneling; a trail of bloody footprints came behind her, droplets spattered in a macabre pattern across her summer dress.

On the tree top…

He dropped to all floors and crawled through the darkness down the hall, struggling to control his frantic breathing. On his eighth birthday, nearly a year ago, his dad had given him a Swiss army knife. If he could get to his room, if he could reach between the mattress and grab it—he might have a chance.

When the wind blows…

He knew Birdie and Bea were dead. He’d seen their bodies in the dining room, still sitting at the table where they’d been eating breakfast. She’d slit their throats. Two-year-old Andy was being unusually quiet for such a normally noisy toddler. Alex hoped it meant he was napping and not the alternative—that she had gotten to him first, before Alex came home from school.

The cradle will rock…

A small giggle spluttered from his mother’s mouth as she tiptoed down the hallway. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized he wasn’t going to make it to his bedroom, the last at the end of the row, it was too far. Taking a deep breath, he jumped up and sprinted with all he had, sliding his way into his parents’ room, tumbling into the walk-in closet and slamming the door shut.

When the bow breaks…

He knew she was in the room, could hear her voice as she sung the lullaby. Frantic, he felt along the wall for the light switch. The small room burst to life and Alex found himself surrounded by the heady scent of his mother’s perfume, her clothing and shoes, fur coats and leather jackets, hats and purses…and his dad’s old baseball bat.

The cradle will fall…

He grabbed it, felt the heft in his hand. It was solid wood.

And down will come Alex…

Three years of softball meant he had perfected his swing. He’d need a home run to get out of this one.

Cradle and all…

She rapped on the door with her knuckles: once, twice, three times. I know there’s no lock in there you naughty boy, and there is nowhere else to hide. Come on out now and give mommy a hug. She jiggled the doorknob and Alex knew it was now or never.

Ok mommy. I’m coming out.

Good boy. Always my good boy.

Alex threw open the door and rushed at her, smashing the head of the bat into her stomach. Her breath exploded in a whoosh, but he didn’t stop pushing at her until she came up against the bedroom wall; the knife in her hand clattered to the floor. Alex bent to pick it up and felt the slam of his mother’s fist at the side of his head. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. She slapped him across the face again and the sharp tang of blood flooded his mouth.

Annabella Desrosiers deftly snatched up the knife from where it had fallen, her breathing rough and shallow. Naughty boy. Very naughty boy. Like your sisters and brother. It’s time for you to learn your lesson.

She had several inches and about sixty pounds on him, but Alex had the bat. And he didn’t hesitate. He swung with all his might. The solid wood connected with her side, just beneath her elbow. He was positive he heard a rib crack, maybe two. She screamed, her breathing grew even more ragged, and spittle flew from her lips. Before she had a chance to react, Alex swung the bat again, this time aiming for her face. The bat hit her temple with a sickening crunch. She folded to the floor, writhing and moaning as blood ran from her nose and ears. She raised a hand towards Alex, but all he could see were the images of his dead sisters burned into his memory. He hit her again, smashing at the hand, her fingers bending backwards with a sharp snap. She screamed, and he hit her again.

And again.

And again.

Until the screams had long stopped and the rush of blood in his ears had calmed.

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When they found him, a few days later—when the kids hadn’t showed up for school and no one had answered the phone—he was sitting at the dining room table eating peanut butter with a spoon, explaining batting averages to his decomposing sisters.

CHAPTER ONE

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I t’s a bit of a fixer-upper, the real estate agent offered hesitatingly, almost as if she feared we might bolt; like we hadn’t seen the state of the place with our own two eyes when we’d first arrived. Yet, we were still here. She unlocked the door and pushed it open on corroded hinges; a loud protest filling the air as a cold draft spilled out around our feet. She shivered, though she tried to suppress it. Stepping to the side of the door, she stayed on the outside, and indicated with a sweep of her hand that we should enter first. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Fixer-upper was an understatement, but I saw the look on James’s face, and I knew he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for.

Five miles from its nearest neighbor, down a long dirt road rutted with potholes, overgrown and choked by the native trees and vegetation, covered by the trailing vines that had grown unfettered for years, stood Sparrow House. It rose before us, a monstrosity that had been uninhabited for nearly a decade, its faded façade and sagging porch a testament to prolonged neglect. The place sat hunched, sullen, like a kicked dog who’d been left behind at the pound.

The agent cleared her throat, The bank is prepared to sell for well under—

We’ll take it, James said.

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Isn’t it incredible, Ivy?

I…it has a certain charm, I suppose. It was hard to be enthusiastic as I dragged garbage bags filled with moldering drapes out the front door, straining to toss them in the dumpster we’d hired to haul away the piles of trash. My patience had already worn thin from the drive here. I was sweaty, hungry, and in desperate need of a long, cold shower. With a groan, I heaved the last of the trash atop the pile and swiped the cuff of my sweater across my dripping forehead. James tore his gaze away from the crumbling structure.

You’ve got dirt on your face, he pointed out with a grimace.

"I have dirt everywhere, I replied, annoyed. Cringing at the black grime under my fingernails, I noticed the dust and smears of God-knows-what-else I saw on my jeans. I’ll never be clean again."

Come on Ivy. Don’t be such a god-damned spoil sport.

I refused to rise to the bait. James was spoiling for a fight. Instead, I took a step back beside him to look up at the old house as he was doing, trying to see what he