Dark Desires

By Brenda G. Bradley

Tanya has always seen ghosts. Most are harmless, wandering spirits seeking peace, but nothing could prepare her for Carlita—her boyfriend's vengeful, deceased ex-girlfriend.

Jason thought his past was behind him, but Carlita's ghost is a force to be reckoned with. Her jealousy threatens to destroy the fragile bond forming between Jason and Tanya. As Carlita's antics grow more menacing, Tanya must confront not just a specter but her own insecurities about the living and the dead.

Tanya and Jason's love is tested at every turn, from a nightmarish trip to Niagara Falls to a tension-filled concert. Together, they must unravel the truth behind Carlita's unrelenting hold on Jason and find a way to send her to rest—before her haunting spirals out of control.

In a tale that blends supernatural intrigue with heartfelt romance, Tanya and Jason discover that love isn't just about facing the ghosts of your past—it's about believing in a future worth fighting for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda G. Bradley
• Release date: Jan 15, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230422266

Book preview

Chapter One

In my family, things rarely go the way they’re supposed to. For instance, when I was seven, I woke up one night to the insistent tapping on my right big toe. Squinting into the dim light, I sat up and found Uncle Jimmy perched on the edge of my bed, grinning like he had a secret.

Uncle Jimmy? I whispered, rubbing my eyes. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?

At seven, I understood that once adults left this world, they weren’t supposed to come back for visits. Yet here was Uncle Jimmy—three hundred pounds of stubbornness—just as solid as ever. I wasn’t afraid; Uncle Jimmy had always been a fixture in my life, lounging in the basement watching baseball with Dad or fixing Mom’s broken appliances. Still, his appearance in my pink bedroom, a color he had famously despised, was baffling.

Why are you sitting on my bed, Uncle Jimmy? And why does Mommy cry every time someone says your name?

He shrugged, his grin widening. Tanya, I don’t even know how I ended up here. As for your mom, she’s just being a big ol’ crybaby. That’s all.

I giggled, partly because it felt so strange to hear him calling my mother a crybaby and partly because Uncle Jimmy always had a knack for making me laugh. Then his face turned serious.

It looks like you’re the only one who can see me, kiddo. I need you to do me a favor. Tell your aunt I hid some money in the China cabinet—in a Cheerios box at the bottom. Someone’s gotta find it before she tosses it out.

The next morning, I dutifully relayed the message. Mom brushed it off as the product of a grieving child’s imagination. Night after night, Uncle Jimmy returned, toe-tapping me awake to repeat his plea. After two weeks, I took my story to Dad, the one adult who always listened, even if he didn’t fully understand.

When Aunt Janice, Uncle Jimmy’s formidable widow, came over for a visit, Dad casually mentioned my dreams. Aunt Janice—who could lift a grown man over her head and was three shots of vodka deep by then—froze mid-sip.

I remember that box, she said, her voice a mix of awe and irritation. He told me it was a collector’s item. She slammed her glass down and marched out, elbowing her way to the door.

An hour later, Aunt Janice called to say she’d found five thousand dollars in the Cheerios box.

That night, he appeared one final time to thank me. You did good, kiddo, he said. I can go toward the light now.

And just like that, Uncle Jimmy was gone.

Chapter Two

Over the next few years, more ghosts visited. Word spread around our neighborhood about my peculiar gift. Where others saw weirdness, I saw an opportunity. At ten years old, I printed flyers with a red marker, advertising my services as a finder of lost objects. My spelling was terrible, and my handwriting was worse, so I didn’t get many takers.

Desperation finally brought Mrs. Josephs, the grocer’s wife, to our door. Tearfully, she told my mother that her husband had passed away and she couldn’t find his life insurance policy. I’ll lose everything if I don’t find it.

My mom was mortified, but Mrs. Josephs cried so pitifully that Mom relented. When I told Mrs. Josephs I charged a fifty-dollar finder’s fee, she balked. We compromised on a shiny new pink bike if I found the policy.

Four days later, while sitting in the grocery store eating a candy bar, Mr. Josephs appeared.

Why are you eating my candy without paying? he demanded, scowling.

Your wife gave it to me, I replied, unfazed. Now, where’s the insurance policy?

He rolled his eyes. Top shelf of the closet, he grumbled. Tell her I never want to see her again.

When I relayed the message, Mrs. Josephs found the policy, shrieked with joy, and bought me the bike of my dreams. My mom, however, was less thrilled. She forbade me from talking about ghosts, declaring my gift off-limits.

By the time I turned eighteen, I had mastered the art of keeping secrets from my mother. It wasn’t a skill I was proud of, but one born out of necessity. Like the time my late Aunt Linda’s spirit appeared, determined to deliver a message to her daughter, Kenya. Aunt Linda wanted Kenya to know the truth—that her father hadn’t abandoned her as a baby. For years, he’d been sending letters and money, only for them to be hidden away and forgotten. Aunt Linda had let Kenya believe the lie that he wanted no contact, and now, even from beyond the grave, she wanted to set things right.

I couldn’t tell my mother. So, I devised a plan. One afternoon, I took Kenya to a diner far from our neighborhood, miles away from prying eyes and loose tongues. Over milkshakes and sandwiches, I swore her to secrecy and shared Aunt Linda’s message. Her father’s letters were in the attic, hidden among boxes of forgotten memories.

Kenya found the letters, and in time, she reconnected with her father. Slowly, he became a part of her life, and they began to build the relationship they’d been denied for so long. My mother never confronted me about what I’d done, but every so often, when someone marveled at Kenya’s miraculous discovery, I’d catch her watching me with a sharp, knowing stare. She never said a word, but her silence spoke volumes.

By the time I turned twenty-one, I knew I had to leave. My community was too small and too suffocating. The kids I’d grown up with avoided me, whispering behind my back about how I claimed to see ghosts. I didn’t belong there. Staying meant a lifetime of loneliness and judgment. Leaving meant a chance at freedom, at starting over as someone new—someone ordinary.

On my birthday, I applied for a Canadian work permit. When it came through, I packed my car and drove north, heading straight for the border. Visiting Niagara Falls had been a dream of mine since I was a child, and now it was the gateway to a new life. I crossed into Canada with no intention of looking back.

I found work quickly at a souvenir shop near the falls, and within weeks, I had an apartment in a charming little neighborhood. My landlord was kind and told me I could decorate however I liked. With a mix of thrift store finds and a few new pieces, I made the space my own. Old art books became a treasure trove of inspiration; I framed pages and hung them on the walls, creating a home that felt uniquely mine. For the first time, I felt settled, safe, and free.

Six months passed, and with them, the shadows of my past began to fade. I made friends at work, the kind who didn’t ask too many questions and accepted me as I was. One of them, Emily, fancied herself a matchmaker and was determined to set me up with her male friends. She claimed to have an intuition for these things, though I wasn’t so sure. Still, Emily was my first real friend in years, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. So, I agreed, even as I wondered what she’d think if she knew my truth.

For now, though, the ghosts of my past stayed silent, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I belonged.

Quickly, I learned that Emily was a good friend but a horrible matchmaker. I didn’t really think that I needed any help finding guys to date. I was taking my time to find that special someone. I’m slender but have been told in the past that I look nice. And I work out regularly. My dark shoulder-length curly hair is easily kept under control with the help of hair products. People have told me that my best features are my brown eyes and my full lips. I personally thought my lips looked great when I tinted them with deep red lipstick.

The first guy Emily set me up with was recently divorced and spent the entire date talking about his ex-wife. He was very angry with her for finding happiness with another man. From what I could gather, when she left him, she lost seventy pounds and found a better job than his. He called her a bitch so many times; I lost count. I ditched him as fast as I could.

The second guy she set me up with was scary. He had dyed black hair, and even his long fingernails were painted black with sharpened points. He wore all black and claimed to be a devil worshipper. He asked me, Does my religion frighten you.

I told him, No, who am I to judge your religion. Then I asked him, How did you get into devil worship.

He replied, Ronald Reagan recruited me.

Okay, I said to myself- a nut job recruited by a dead president, and he’s a devil worshipper. He spent the entire evening trying to convert me to devil worship and extolling me with the benefits of oral sex. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Chapter Three

I didn’t want to go on any more blind dates Emily tried to set up for me. I mean, could anyone blame me? However, I finally relented and decided to give her one more try after much pleading from her to go on one more blind date. She told me she had a surefire winner for me.

Emily told me his name was Jason and that he was from New York City. He was trying to move on with his life since his parents had passed away, and he had lost his girlfriend in a traffic accident and passed away nine months before he decided to move to Canada. In New York, he was constantly reminded of his parents and his girlfriend. Despite all the trauma he had suffered, she thought he would be a good match for me.

I had to admit the next guy she set me up with was handsome and intelligent. He looked normal and was well-groomed in his blue suit and white shirt. His shoes were shined, and he didn’t try to convert me to devil worship or talk about oral sex. That was a big plus in his favor.

He was about six feet tall. That was pretty tall for a girl like me. I was only 5 feet 4 inches tall. He had dark curly hair like mine and looked like he worked out regularly. He had the most seductive smile I had ever seen. I liked him. When he asked me out, I wanted to say no. However, I heard myself say yes after a moment of hesitation. As soon as I said it, I started to worry.

Despite myself, I was looking forward to going out on a normal date. I just prayed no ghost would show up during the date asking for my help. I really didn’t want to look crazy in front of Jason. During dinner, I told him I was so sorry that he had so many losses in his life. He accepted my condolences and said he was determined we would have a nice dinner. At the end of the meal, I found myself liking him even more than I expected. He was intelligent and a good conversationalist. We talked about our jobs and our hometowns. He wanted to know all