Haunted Echoes
Chapter One
A Stormy Night

The lights flickered repeatedly as Sarah Reddington clicked the keyboard on her computer. She was worried that the electricity would eventually give out before nightfall. The sounds of the approaching storm grew closer, and the gusts of winds rattled the antiquated frame of Otter Cove Inn from attic to floor.

Dickens, Sarah’s five-year-old yellow Lab, lay peacefully in front of the fireplace and didn’t seem to be bothered by the disturbances that surrounded him.

Sarah stood up from a cozy position at her cluttered writing desk to investigate the weather and stretch her legs. She was wearing her comfy jeans, an oversized gray sweatshirt, and two different socks, as she almost always did. Of course, they never matched--one was blue argyle, and the other, solid purple. Sarah would swear that wearing two different socks was her good luck charm for writing brilliantly.

Sarah stared out the large bay window in the study, resting one knee comfortably on the cushioned seat. Her crystal blue eyes focused on the lighthouse and the bright beacon that cascaded its beam onto the deep blue waters of the Atlantic. The dark clouds were full and rolling in at a rapid pace. The setting of the lighthouse was incredible, and there was still enough daylight to make out some details of this dwelling. Its exterior dressed in patriotic colors, sitting proud and tall atop the granite cliff, with the drop below steep and immediate from the lighthouse grounds. The threatening skies in the distance overshadowed the lighthouse, giving it an eerie appearance, calling out to whoever was watching.

A cold chill ran up and down Sarah’s spine, as it felt as if someone had just entered the room. Expecting to see this someone was certainly not on Sarah’s mind, as she had this incredible place all to herself. Her body turned away from the ominous sky in one fell swoop as she took a rather quick inventory of the space behind her. This eighteenth-century two-story inn had many rooms within its walls, from master chambers to servants’ quarters complete with a wraparound porch and a row of rustic rocking chairs. But the library was without a doubt the finest setting for inspiration and creativity. The vintage whitewashed bookcases were jam-packed with the old classics, such as Great Expectations and Moby Dick. Some of the books proved their age, disclosing tattered pages and leather-bound covers that were no longer legible. It seemed the innkeepers were sensitive to every detail of how each room was presented so vacationers would return for a long, relaxing stay year after year. A combination of a neutral palette and subtle, warm textures was used so whoever occupied the room would not be easily distracted. Old photographs in sepia tones of who appeared to be kind strangers graced the hearth of the cast-iron fireplace, each photo encased in metallic, white, and wood frames. Over the fireplace hung a turn-of-the century oil painting of a young couple and their child.

A piercing clap of thunder was all it took for the lights to give a final farewell for the night, leaving the study with its only guest and the entire inn in total darkness.

“You have got to be freaking kidding me!” said Sarah, stomping her foot on the hardwood floor.

Dickens jumped up in a ready position, sensing Sarah’s frustration, and issued a low growl.

“It’s okay, boy.” Sarah assured him by patting him on his head a couple of times. “I am sure it is just the storm; no worries.”

With only the flashes of lightning from the window and absolutely no visible flame left in the fireplace, Sarah fumbled to open the desk drawer blindly and then riffled through its contents to locate some source of illumination.

I should have been more prepared for this. What was I thinking? Sarah thought to herself.

Sarah had been independent for such a long time, she prided herself, unlike many of her girlfriends, on not spooking easily. Of course, having Dickens by her side was without doubt a plus.

“Yes, a flashlight!” After pulling her elbow in toward her body, celebrating this fine discovery, she immediately pushed the button on the side of the red plastic casing, shining the flashlight directly toward the doorway. Dickens was standing in the hallway just outside the study, his nose pointed toward the staircase, his tail down and between his legs. Her curiosity, now at its peek, sent her exploring the pitch-blackness. She made sure her steps down the hallway were cautious, but deliberate, until she reached the bottom of the majestic staircase. She placed her left hand on the smooth surface of the maple banister and pointed the flashlight straight up. The staircase had three landings, but the house itself was only two stories. The third landing stepped off and led to only one room with one door … to the attic.

A deafening slamming noise came from out of the blue directly from the floorboards above Sarah’s head.

Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs and grabbed her chest.

“Holy crap! What the hell was that?” she said, still holding her chest.

This unexpected noise echoed down the staircase, conveying what sounded like a window or door opening and slamming shut, opening and slamming shut. Dickens barked just once and without hesitation bolted straight up the stairs to sniff out the noise. Sarah’s heart was beating so fast she could swear a heart attack was in her immediate future. With every step she took, the noise seemed to get louder and louder, a pounding echoing deep inside the walls.

After bypassing the second story and going on to the third, she stepped off onto the landing and then up two steps. She found herself standing directly in front of the attic door, alone and in the dark. On the opposite wall from the attic was an oddly shaped stained-glass window, which hung inside the stationary window by brass chains. Although it was difficult to see, Sarah walked up to it, and with the help of the lightning from the stormy skies and her flashlight, she was able to see exactly what was happening.

The wood-frame window was swinging wildly in the breeze, crashing over and over again up against the blue clapboard siding of the inn. Sarah reached her hand through the opening so she would not knock down the stained-glass piece, the mist of the rain spraying on her face. She quickly pulled the window shut, hearing it click so it was now secure. After wiping the moisture from her face, she ran her hand along the fine-cut glass, trying to make out the intricate pattern. It was reminiscent of a family crest accented in shades of emerald greens and crimson. It was an assumption, but it appeared to be old-fashioned just like the inn.

Spinning herself around and staring once again at the attic door, she noticed it was not a traditional entrance. It appeared to be more like a storage entry, suited for a character from a fairy tale, which immediately made her think about one of the classics, Alice in Wonderland. Just on the edge of her vision, she noticed something was lying on the floor up against the baseboard. Still able to hear the wind whirling and whipping around the inn, she now focused on this unusually shaped object. She bent down to the floor, her knees supporting her weight, picked up the object, and laid it in the palm of her hand. Sarah shined her flashlight on this newfound treasure to find it to be just an old key. After pushing herself up from the floor, she simply tucked the key in her jeans pocket and made her way down the stairs, Dickens taking the lead, of course. As she descended down the stairs, the crystal doorknob to the attic turned slowly to the right and opened just ever so slightly.

After finding her way back to the library in the pitch-darkness, wanting so desperately to write, but light-challenged, she plopped down on the sofa to rest her eyes and clear her head. She was so hoping that the storm would pass and the electricity would come back on so she could work. She reached for the navy blue afghan lying on the arm of the sofa and pulled it up over her, and then immediately felt the urge to sleep almost overwhelming. The strange feeling of someone watching returned, but her eyes fell shut anyway. As she slept, the room filled with the dark shadows and soft whispers that would become all too familiar in the days to come.