The Guest House Hauntings Boxset Hazel Holmes (easy novels to read TXT) 📖

already caused the flesh over her knuckles to crack, and her left pinky had grown so dry it started to bleed. She tucked her hands back into her pockets and tried to focus on anything but the cold.

Clouds of grey blanketed the sky above, blocking out the sunlight. The road stretched ahead as she tramped several miles, and the sky darkened as the afternoon faded into evening. And just when Sarah was about to turn around, thinking that the town didn’t exist, she saw the house on the hill.

She used the term “house” loosely. It was massive, even from a distance, and the treetops ahead blocked most of it from view. Sarah stopped, glaring at the towers on either side of the mansion that thrust upward and the dozens of windows that lined the front of the house on the top floor. If someone in Bell could afford a house like that, then she might be able to find some work.

The road continued its curving path for another mile before Sarah glimpsed the rest of the town, and found it lacking the shock and awe that the mansion provided.

Seven buildings had been erected on the side of the road, three on the left and four on the right. Before and after the main-street buildings were several one-lane paths that stretched off the paved road and disappeared into the woods.

The buildings on the left side consisted of a grocery, hardware store, and a bar. But then as Sarah walked a little farther she saw another structure appear at the end of the buildings, or at least what was left of one.

All that remained of the building was the skeletal structure. Everything had been burned down, the remaining wood scorched and blackened. But even from what was left Sarah could tell that it was a church. She’d been forced to go to enough Sunday services to recognize the high-pitched roof and the charred rubble from the rows of pews.

The four buildings on the right housed several small businesses that ranged from lawyer to doctor, providing the town’s residents with their basic needs.

A small diner was the last business in the row of buildings on the right. The scent of food worsened the grumble in her stomach, and Sarah was drawn to it like a bug to a light bulb.

Through the windows that lined the front of the diner, Sarah saw only one patron, an elderly woman who was gingerly bringing a soup spoon to her mouth. She was dolled up like she was heading to the city, wearing a floral dress complete with an extravagant pink hat with a peacock feather sticking straight up out of the back.

A bell chimed at Sarah’s entrance, and a blast of warmth loosened the cold’s grip on her senses. The scent of bacon and bleach flooded her nose, and the mix of smells caused her stomach to churn.

Old stools with torn red cushion seats lined the bar, and Sarah sat down, hands folded together, as a man stepped from the back.

Like the trucker who had given her a ride, the man behind the counter was overweight, thickly bearded, and balding on top save for a few greasy black wisps. Brown stains covered his shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he removed a small pad of paper from his apron pocket. Without looking at her, he placed pen to paper. “What do you want?”

The heat from the kitchen warmed Sarah’s front, while her backside remained frosted. “Are you hiring?”

The fat waiter placed the paper and pen back in his apron pocket then pressed his hands onto the counter. He gave Sarah the once-over then tilted his head to the side. “No. Now are you going to order something or not?”

Sarah had half a mind to walk out, but the warmth prompted her to stay. “Coffee.”

The waiter tapped his finger against the counter. “Can you pay for it?”

“Only if it doesn’t taste like piss water.”

“I’ll be sure to brew a fresh pot.” He smirked and then returned to the kitchen.

Sarah planted her elbows on the counter, the rough sleeves of the Carhartt jacket providing a thin layer of cushion, and let her body thaw.

After a while, she started to grow hot, but she resisted the urge to take off her jacket and scarf. She didn’t need people asking any questions.

Sarah swiveled on the stool, sneaking a peak at the old woman, who was still working on her soup. She didn’t slurp, but Sarah noticed that after every mouthful, she’d dab her face with a new napkin. Every time.

“Dollar fifty.” The waiter set the cup down roughly, some of the coffee spilling onto the saucer.

Sarah reached inside her jacket and removed a crumpled wad of cash. She plucked out two wrinkled one-dollar bills and placed both on the counter.

The waiter snatched up both then smoothed out the bills along the side of the register. He tossed two quarters back to her, and Sarah made sure he saw her pocket his tip. He laughed and then shook his head as he pulled the rag from his shoulder and wiped down the counter.

Sarah sipped the coffee sparingly, knowing the moment it was done, the grease ball would either force her to buy something else or kick her out. Neither of which she wanted. Money and warmth were in short supply. And if she couldn’t find a job, then her dwindling cash supply would only shrink.

“How long have you been on the road?”

Coffee in hand, Sarah turned to her right, finding the elderly woman finished with her soup, which she had set aside. Her tone sounded friendly, but the old woman wore no smile.

“A few days,” Sarah answered then returned to the warmth of her coffee.

“All by yourself?”

“Yup.”

The old woman chuckled. “Well, aren’t you brave.”

Sarah ignored the old woman’s remarks.

“Where are you from?” the woman asked.

“Not here.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, will you come over here and just sit down,” the old woman