Charlotte Mistry - Taken by a Ghost [MF] (), 2015 Best Ebooks, pobierz pdf

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//-->Taken by a GhostBy Charlotte MistryCopyright 2012 Charlotte MistryDiscover other titles by Charlotte Mistry at herAmazon page.Cassandra’s car sped along the lonely road, kicking up twin dust plumes dyed gold bythe setting sun. She’d meant to be at her destination already, but like an idiot she’d puther trust in her car’s GPS over her own intuition. After a few wrong turns she washopelessly lost in the countryside. Every little two-lane road seemed to lead to five more,and she hadn’t seen a highway sign in hours.It wasn’t so bad, she guessed- the scenery was nice enough, and the weather waswarm. The problem was that night was rapidly descending. She’d been watching the sunsink for the past hour, and if she didn’t find her way back to the main road soon she’d beout of gas soon enough. That dampened her enthusiasm for bucolic country vistas. Whenthe sunlight faded from gold to pink to dark dusky blue-black and she flipped on herhigh-beams.She was just beginning to despair when a roadside sign swam up out of the murk. Nota highway sign, but something nearly as good that she just managed to read as it flashedpast.The Welcome Inn Motel, 3 Miles.Well, thank god for that- at least she’d have somewhere to sleep, and they had to havea phone or a map orsomething.Maybe there was even a town where she could get somefuel and a good meal. Even just the idea of a shower and a warm bed was heavenly, rightabout now.She kept her eyes peeled for the motel, and soon enough there it was, rising out of thedimness like a shabby, neon-lit phantom.TheWelcome Innwas anything but welcoming. Cassandra pulled into the lot and satthere in the driver’s seat, peering doubtfully up at the peeling façade and stainedmasonry. It looked to have been built sometime in the fifties, sort of a tacky fake-westernrevival stucco thing, and it hadn’t weathered well. There was exactly one light on in thewhole place, and it was in the manager’s office. She didn’t see anyone inside. Theparking lot was deserted, but for her. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see atumbleweed rolling past.She sighed, looked at the clock, and sighed again. If she didn’t sleep soon she’d beuseless. Her powder-blue car pulled into a spot with a crunch of gravel. When shestepped out, the air was just starting to carry a chill. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Sheshivered, rubbed them, and made for the manager’s office. Every footstep made thegravel underfoot crunch, and it just made her more aware of her isolation. The onlysounds were that, the high-pitched buzzing of neon lights, and the faint sound of the windin the trees.The motel office door was unlocked when she tried it. She nudged it open with anelbow. “Hello?”No one answered, so she stepped in farther. The door clicked shut behind her. Theoffice was just as shabby as the rest of the place. The carpet was worn and stained, and itmight have started off red, but now it was a dingy brown with a threadbare path wornfrom the desk to the door. The desk was battered and chipped, and a pile of dustymagazines sat on one corner. None was from later than nineteen eighty-six. They were allabout bass fishing. The bare bulb above her buzzed with the familiar sound of badly-repaired wiring, and there was no sign of the manager, but a rack of room keys hungbehind the desk.More importantly, there was a little round service bell sitting on the desk. Cassandragave the button a tap, but it made a muted, sad littledonkinstead of ringing. Shefrowned. “Hello? Is anybody here?”She waited, and waited, and finally gave in to frustration. She was tired and gettingcold and she just wanted a warm bed. She leaned on the desk and raised her voice.“I’m taking a key, if anyone can hear me. I’ll pay you in the morning!”Still nothing. She stretched out, hooked key number eleven on one finger, and stuffedit in her pocket. Some service you got, out here in the middle of nowhere.The wooden-beam sidewalk creaked under her feet as she slipped out of the officeand made her way across the gravel to her car. Room number eleven was just two doorsdown from where she’d parked it. It only took a second to grab her overnight bag fromthe trunk and bring it along with her. The key fit in the lock, after a little struggling, andshe shoved it open. She had to try twice- the frame was swollen with humidity, and itmade the door stick and screech.The smell hit her first, dust and dampness. Cassandra wrinkled her nose and squashedthe door back into its frame. When she turned on the light it flickered for a second,strobing dingy yellow-black-yellow, and when it settled into working she tossed her bagon the table.It wasn’t as horrible as she’d been expecting, given the state of the outside. Thewallpaper was a nicotine-stained floral print that had gone out of fashion sometime in thesixties, there was a brown water stain on the ceiling, the mirrors were grungy, the TV wasabout a foot wide and the bathroom tap was slow-dripping water onto a rust stain, butother than a little dust, the place was pretty much clean. The beds were made with crispwhite sheets that had maybe been washed a few too many times over their lifespans, andthere was no sign of roaches.Not a place she’d want to live, but it was more than enough to crash in for a fewhours. The carpet was worn but not dirty. She kicked her shoes off one by one. Herclothes went next, piled up on the table. She wanted a hot shower more than just aboutanything right now, followed by some sleep. Hopefully the manager would actually bearound, tomorrow, and she could get directions to the nearest highway onramp.Turning the bathroom taps made the pipes squeak and rattle. The first spurt of waterinto the tub was rust-colored, and she stood clear until the water ran clean. It smelled toostrongly of sulfur and chlorine but it was hot enough to scald, and she danced in and outof the spray, scrubbing herself clean with relief. There was only so much sweating in ahot car you could take, and after a while, even the too-hot water was almost pleasant. Itwas invigorating, at least, and she stepped out of the shower with flushed-pink skin anddripping hair and a…And a red handprint on her hip, too big to be her own.Cassandra frowned at herself in the mirror. What was this? It wrapped around her hiplike someone was holding her from behind. She looked down, but now there was nothingbut even pink skin. She looked back at the mirror. There was the handprint, clear as day,but she didn’t actuallyhaveit. What was going on? She stared at her own reflection andgave the handprint a hard poke.She got two sensations back. One was normal, her finger poking skin, and layeredovertop was a weird tingling hot-cold buzz like chewing tinfoil. She recoiled. Thehandprint faded into nothing, and when she poked where it had been, there was nothingbut normal sensation. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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