Restless

By RM Alexander

Restless isn't just a state of being, it's her inheritance.

 

When the dead whisper, Skylar Hale Watson is forced to listen. Returning to her family estate—a task meant to be simple and swift—soon spirals into a chilling descent as Skylar is engulfed by the ghostly echoes of the past. The dusty halls and creaking floors of the old manor house become a maze of secrets, each room holding its breath, each photograph casting a shadow darker than the last.

 

But the Hale family legacy is more than just tales of bygone days and forgotten lives. An ominous presence stirs in the silence, a sinister silhouette writ against the stormy nights. It weaves through the whispering woods that encroach upon the property, an ancient, relentless force that watches and waits.

 

With every found letter and hidden diary entry, Skylar's mission to sever ties with the estate grows more impossible. She's entwined in a harrowing narrative that claws at her from the grave, demanding she uncover a truth that should never see the light. Each revelation edges her closer to an abyss that whispers her name, promising that some family secrets carry the weight of the restless—and they're hungry for more than just answers.

 

And there, in the house that breathes memories and bleeds dread, Skylar must confront the most haunting question of all: Can she survive the nightmare long enough to let the estate go, or will the darkness claim her as its own? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: RM Alexander
• Release date: Feb 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224347605

Book preview

Table of Contents

Restless

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Author’s Note

Restless

By RM Alexander

Restless

By RM Alexander

Copyright 2021-2024

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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Books writing as RM Alexander

Strategies of the Heart Series

Impact

Mask

Stricken

The Shadows Series

Veil of Secrecy

Dark Crossings

Revelations

Birth of the Forbidden—A Prequel Novella

Stand Alone Novels

Matter of Choice

Betrayed

Restless

Box Sets

Restless Hearts

Strategies of the Heart Box Set

The Shadows Collection

The Immortals

The Order

Serial Fiction

The Immortals

Restless

Black Seas

Exposed

Books writing as Melody Ash

Web of Echoes Series

Deep Echoes

Northern Echoes

Sunken Echoes

Eastern Echoes

Familiar Echoes

Southern Echoes

Fallen Echoes

Western Echoes

Anthologies

Counterclockwise: A Fiction-Atlas Anthology

Serial Fiction

Of Power and Lies

The Remembering

Abandoned

Restless

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Author’s Note

Restless

Chapter One

It had been years since I'd been down this stretch of road. Lined by oak, evergreen, and birch on one side and, on the other, a shoulder-height brick wall concealed estates that stretched along the southwestern shore of another world built by privilege and wealth. It was one that, though I related to, I didn't understand. My parents didn't cash in on the family heritage or name. They were more of the work hard for what you want kind of people who taught humility, empathy, and a strong work ethic. Not money. To them, it was a convenient tool used to achieve goals and help others. They're wealthy, I understood that much now that I was older, but no one would ever guess it. Whatever money I'd inherit, I wouldn't see until after my parents died, and I didn't have even an inkling of what that amount could be.

Long story short, I was a third-year college student whose distant relatives once danced and housed kings and queens as the upper echelon of Chicago high society. That's it, and that's all.

As the youngest remaining heir (by the way, I hated that term) to my great-aunt's estate, well, as my mom put it in our final argument the day before, it was my familial duty. I would have argued the point that I was never close to my aunt and met my great-aunt only once as a child (which I didn't remember). But my mom is my best friend and knows how to win, so in the long run, protesting further would have landed me right where I was anyway.

Still, as I took that right and drove through an iron gate onto the private street, I had to wonder why I never had any curiosity about a mansion built at the height of the Gilded Age. Why no one discussed the house which sat absent for more than a half-century. And why the dread in my stomach roiled against the weight in my chest. Maybe it had more to do with a messy break-up with a louse of a man who thought sleeping with his co-worker would somehow be permissible three months before our scheduled wedding date.

Yeah, that was probably it.

I shook my head. I had wasted more than enough tears on the creep. No sense in allowing more.

Tapping off my SXM radio, I glanced at the time on the dashboard. I had made good time. The man I was supposed to meet, someone who represented my great-uncle's side of the family, should be arriving soon. I absently wondered what he would be like, how easy he would be to work with. Fingers crossed he would be friendly enough—the better we got along, the faster the whole process would go.

At least, that was my hope.

I scanned the neighboring estates as I drove past. Each one was far more modern than what waited for me at the end of the short road. But still, they stood impressive among the professional landscaping and natural yawns of Illinois' shoreline which filled the space around and between each wealthy family's property. Mom had said that my great-aunt's property had once stretched to the main road and in several acres to the right and left. But after my great-uncle died, the outer boundaries were sold off. Even if that much was true, what remained was still one of the largest in southern Chicago.

And now, for the first time since the house was built, it was going to be leaving family hands forever. That was my job—ready the house for sale. The details one what exactly needed to be done were a little sketchy, but as I turned left onto the short driveway to stop in front of a welcoming front terrace (complete with a massive fountain set in the center), I guessed I'd figure them out, all while working to dump the property.

I stepped out of the car and took in the twenty-four-thousand-foot Tudor-style mansion. Even I had to admit it was both formidable and breathtaking. Like, really, really gorgeous. I had seen a handful of family photos depicting the red brick and concrete estate that reached across three wings, but they fell short of invoking the same impression as standing in its shadows. All I could do was stare, wide-eyed, at the massive wood door. Above it, second-floor windows stared back, situated between verandahs that were perched on either side. It was clear no words of mine could ever do it justice.

The tires of another car pulled my attention from the three-floor edifice, and I turned to find an SUV pulling in behind me. Tucking my phone in my back pocket and my keys in the front, I waited for the vehicle to come to a stop.

The man who stepped out wore a suit and tie, his hair was slicked back, his jaw set stern without a hint of friendliness. You must be Skylar Watson, he said as he stepped forward to shake my hand.

I am. I offered a smile that was not returned. I was under the impression you wouldn't be stopping by until the end of the week.

The man's brows furrowed as he let go of my hand. And how's that? We are supposed to do this together, although I can't imagine why. Seems like a monumental waste of time.

I opened my mouth, but then the realization settled in. Wait. You must be Declan Maxwell.

Of course. Who else?

I laughed softly and shook my head. I thought you were the lawyer. I wasn't expecting... Never mind. It's not important. It's nice to meet you.

Shall we start touring the house? I don't want to be here longer than necessary.

I could take unfriendly. Rude was another matter altogether and this guy was bordering. Then don't. As you said, I'm sure I can manage just fine.

Yeah, well, as much as I'd like that, I was told I needed to be present. So what do you say we stop talking and start walking?

I turned away with a grimace. This was going to be a pleasant few hours. Perhaps I should have fought harder to get out of handling the project after all.

Chapter Two

If I thought the outside of Fern Meadow was breathtaking, nothing could prepare me for what waited inside. I turned the metal knob on the iron storm door, then unlocked the thick wooden door behind it to step into a massive vestibule. The tan and white marble floor cast a dusty sheen beneath a coffered ceiling. On either side, limestone archways invited further exploration.

I snapped a quick picture with my phone (I was to document every room and the details needed to restore the estate for sale) and was caught by surprise with the impression of sadness that clung to the walls.

This place is huge, I said quietly.

Yeah, well, when you got money and nothing else to do with it, I guess you build a maze to impress people you don't know, Declan remarked as he stepped to the other side of the room.

I snorted. That's a pretty cynical take. You do know the story of Fern Meadow, don't you?

Of course, I do. Declan rolled his eyes And I don't much care. Let's just get this tour over with. Places to be, remember?

Considering you told me less than five minutes ago, I suppose it would be pretty hard to forget.

Whatever.

Should we separate? It'll probably go quicker if—

No. We're supposed to do this together and, as much as I hate it, that's what we're going to do.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. No sense in even responding. Fine. Shall we? I motioned to the room to the right. We can start there and circle our way back around, then go upstairs.

He walked past me, shoulder hitting mine, throwing me off balance. I took a hard step forward to catch myself. Shook my head. With half a mind to call my mother and tell her to send someone else to deal with the cretin, I shot a glance upward and pulled in a heavy sigh. A couple of hours. That's all it would take and then I could get in my car and drive away. Whatever work was required didn't require me, especially when I had never so much as picked up a paintbrush and the only hammer I ever held was for a little craft project I'd managed to mess up when I was twelve. If anything needed to be ran past Declan, there was always text and email. And that was something I could live with.

With a passing glance at the time on my phone, I trotted after my new business partner into a reception room, snapped a picture, then continued into a sprawling living room. I crossed the wood floor that was in need of some repair to the center of the vast space where my eyes took in the architecture and attention to detail in the millwork and design. A massive central limestone fireplace served as the focal point. Lead windows afforded grand views of the lake outside. An exquisite patterned white plastered ceiling crafted with circular designs which encased rosette squares stood ten feet overhead.

I raised one eyebrow in awe. True, it was a family home. And true, my parents were far from struggling financially. Also true, I grew up living a very privileged life. All the same, it was hard not to be impressed. I was no interior designer and architecture as a science was well above my head, but I could recognize and appreciate beauty. I saw both in this single room, before going any deeper into the house.

A little worn, a little tired, but intact and ready for the love needed to bring it back to its original state.

And that was the moment I knew, Declan or not, I wanted to see the project to its end.

I HAD PROMISED MYSELF no more than two hours to tour the house and take note of its general condition. I failed miserably. Four hours passed before I found myself locking the front door. My stomach was a flutter of excitement. I was fully in love with Fern Meadow.

Behind me, I heard Declan heave out a loud grunt. You and all those pointless pictures made me late for my appointment.

I shrugged as I turned to face him. I wasn't expecting to be here this long. I'd say it was worth it, though, wouldn't you?

Looking at a bunch of empty rooms and recording every little issue? Not my idea of time well spent.

Yeah, I think I got that. But even you must have been a little impressed by what our relatives managed to do.

He scoffed. Where did you get the idea that I'm related to you or the people that built this eyesore?

I just thought... The man was about to make me pull out my hair. And I'm talking full-level bald. How could anyone manage to be so infuriating? From what my mom said, I was meeting with a distant relative from my great-uncle's side of the family, and I was representing my great-aunt in an effort to cover everyone's interests.

Then someone got their wires crossed. My father is a Hale family friend, not a relative. No one in the family was interested in taking on the responsibility, so my father volunteered my time.

Well, I guess that explains why you're so angry.

Look, I don't need your commentary on my attitude. And I've had more than enough from your little judgey eyes since we arrived. I'm leaving now. Call my father if you need anything else. He sauntered past the fountain to his car. Seconds later, he backed out the driveway, the tires squealing as he peeled down the street.

I pulled in a deep breath and started for my car, reaching for my phone in the back pocket of my jeans to find it wasn’t there. I patted the other pocket and dropped my head to one side. Must have left it in one of the rooms. Could be anywhere inside the sprawling mansion but there was one added bonus: I could walk the house again, and this time, without the ogre following and complaining at every turn. Might even notice details I hadn't during the first go around.

Unlocking the door, I stepped inside, and immediately heard the familiar ring of my favorite song. Loud and clear. Scanning the vestibule, I spotted the phone sitting on the first step. As much as I would have liked to walk the house again, it was admittedly getting late. I had a couple-hour drive in front of me back around the city and to the north. There'd be another chance to revisit the mansion, I was sure of that.

I fetched the phone, turned around, and stopped. The faintest sound of a whisper seemed to ripple through the house, the tiniest voice crying out for help. A chill ran through me. I had no doubt the house was otherwise empty. But instead of racing out, I found both feet planted to the marble. Breath held, I waited for a few more minutes.

And heard nothing but the sound of an antiquated heating as it kicked on.

Another roll of my eyes. Now I'm losing my mind. Voices. Hmm. That's a good one.

I hurried from the house, locked the front door once more, and crossed the brick to my car. As I started the engine, I glanced back at the house and thought I saw the silhouette of a man staring back from a first-floor window. Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I pulled out of the driveway and headed back home.

Chapter Three

I ’m telling you, Mom , he’s impossible. Working with him would be a complete nightmare.

Well, she replied as she pushed her hair away from her face and poured another cup of coffee. I certainly was surprised when you told me he wasn’t related to the Hale side of the family. I was sure the estate manager specifically asked for a direct member of our family to meet with a direct member of theirs. In fact, she said as she took a sip and settled at the round kitchen table, I remember him saying no one was allowed to stand in as proxy. Something about the will ... Hmm. That’s good. She took another pull of coffee. My mom was the furthest thing from a morning person and without coffee couldn’t function until at least noon. Or at least that’s what Dad and I liked to tease her. If he hadn’t said as much, I certainly would have sent someone to represent us as well. I knew you had no interest in the house.

Actually, that’s the funny thing. I drank the last of my orange juice. Coffee was never my thing. "After touring Fern Meadow, I actually want to be an integral part of the project."

Really? I guess I’m surprised.

I laid the glass on the counter and made my way to the table to sit across from her. When’s the last time you visited the house?

Me? Mom chuckled, wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain of her favorite mug. Oh, honey, I don’t think I’ve been in that house since I was very little. I barely remember it at all. I think, she propped her chin on a thumb, forefinger against her lips as she paused, thinking. I believe I remember running up and down the steps while your grandparents swept the living room? I couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.

Why didn’t you ever return?

Well, you know our family. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have warm memories of the house, best as I can recall, and didn’t really want anything to do with whatever remained of the estate afterward.

Hmm. Strange. But then, family is always complicated, isn’t it? Especially ours.

Mom patted my hand as she stood to walk to the sink, rinsed the remaining coffee from the mug before placing it next to the glass. I tend to think the same can be said for any family.

I suppose I sighed. Well, whatever happened, there is something about the house. It’s gorgeous, in a classic kind of way, and it just holds such a captivating air about it. And something sad too. I shrugged. "I don’t know. Sounds crazy, right?’

I guess I’ve heard crazier. But out of curiosity, you wouldn’t just be trying to avoid a certain loser?

I rolled my eyes. Of course, she would know that. I’d never been able to hide anything from her. Why would I think it was any different when it came to him? Yeah, maybe a little. But I’m between semesters and could use an escape before the final year. And trust me. If Declan is going to be part of the project, we need someone to protect our interests until the property is sold.

If he’s as terrible as you say he is, you’re probably right about that. She turned to face me. Where are you going to stay? Not at the house, I hope?

I shook my head. The house wasn’t in horrific shape, but I hadn’t even considered it an option. No. There’s a decent hotel not far from it where I can sleep and freshen up. Go back and forth as needed, and that will be a lot closer than coming home every night. The estate arrangements for renovation states fifty percent of lodging will be reimbursed. It’s not perfect, but I think it’ll work.

And for how long?

I shrugged. I don’t have any idea how long it takes to do something like this. I guess I’ll just play it by ear and see how it all comes out. And hope Declan doesn’t plan on being there any more than absolutely necessary. I laughed.

Either way, honey, I’m sure you can handle him.

You know it. I paused, more than a little curious about her reaction, and quickly decided to go on a fishing expedition to see if I was right. You could always take the drive down and see Fern Meadow for yourself, you know.

Mom shook her head. No, I think I’ll take a pass on that. I’m really just not interested. But, she paused as she shot me a sideways glance. Maybe I’ll come and check out your handiwork when it’s all said and done.

I would like that.

Me too. So, when do you leave?

I shrugged. Tonight. I want to get started right away. There’s a meeting already scheduled with the estate manager tomorrow so we can talk about the available funds. Then I need to reach out to carpenters and laborers—people who actually know what they’re doing—so that repairs are done the right way, and I can be certain the house is brought up to code. The next semester starts in two months so that doesn’t leave a lot of time.

Sounds like you have all your bases covered. I knew you would. And I hoped you would take an interest in it as well. I raised my brow, and she smiled that mischievous mom-knows-best smile that I’d had a lifetime to recognize. I knew you needed the distraction.

And yet you won’t come down with me.

Oh honey, a lifetime of stories has its consequences. I don’t believe in or agree with ninety-nine-point-nine percent of them, but that doesn’t mean I’m not slightly skewed in my thoughts when it comes to that place.

Tales about my great aunt, my great uncle, and Fern Meadow were like ivy in my family—they grew and wound and prevailed in every corner. Lots of silly things that made children giggle or stare wide-eyed at late-night ceilings in fear. Suspicious of murder, suicide, mob ties, the list was longer than a mile and even more ridiculous. But other parts of the legends were true and truly bizarre. Like the fact that the house had been empty for sixty years while the grounds were meticulously cared for. And the fact that, in all that time, the electric, water, and gas continued to run with the heat set at a steady seventy-three degrees. In an empty house. It was weird.

And that thought made me ask, "Did anyone stay there over the last sixty years?"

Mom shook her head. Nope, not once. People were hired to take care of the property—to arrive in the morning and leave in the evening. They would take care of the property at a bare minimum level. Other than that, it was pretty well ignored. Why do you ask?

I thought of the figure I imagined in the window, then shrugged and shook my head. Did anyone ever say how strange our family is?

We didn’t need them to tell us. We knew, even when we didn’t want to admit it. She glanced at her phone. I better go shower and run. I have an appointment I need to get to. Think you can wait to leave until I get back? I’d like to see you off.

I’m driving not three hours away but sure. Do you need a ride?

Nope. You go ahead and get yourself ready. I won’t be gone long so you can get around the city before it gets dark.

I PICKED OUT THE MOST worn of my jeans, folded them, and then placed them in the suitcase, before picking out a couple of good pairs I could wear if I wanted to head into the city for dinner. There were a couple of friends who lived in the city that I hadn’t spoken to since high school. A chance to catch up could be a welcomed break from the details of revamping a house I knew little about.

That’s when a thought occurred to me. My mom may not know much about the Fern Meadow, and my grandparents, who died a few years back, never talked about it. The stories I heard were always spoken in whispers or else as bedtime stories. It was impossible to know how much truth was laced in with the fiction. In fact, I realized, most of my family history, in or outside Fern Meadow, was largely a