The Ghost and The Graveyard (The Monk's Hill Witch) Read Online Free PDF Page A

was turning the inside of my eyelids red and I was lying somewhere soft, surrounded by the stench of dirty feet. I tentatively opened one eye and noticed a new ugly bouquet on what was undeniably the nightstand in my new house. This was a good sign, so I opened the other eye and surveyed my surroundings.
    The quilt under my chin was the one from the master bedroom. I was back in the house, in my own room. Had Rick carried me home and put me to bed?
    I peeked under the covers, relieved to find I was still wearing my scrubs. The good news was that Rick had not taken advantage of me in my fragile state. The bad news was that Rick had returned me to a haunted house and, by the looks of it, was some kind of hoodoo witchdoctor.
    If I didn’t get my head around what happened last night, I was at serious risk of a mental breakdown. I sat bolt upright. Maybe this was it? Were hallucinations a symptom of a nervous breakdown? I was a nurse. Why couldn’t I remember the symptoms of a nervous breakdown? I needed to call Michelle.
    My phone vibrated against my cheek, not because of an incoming call but because my hands were shaking. I listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. Pick up, pick up, pick up. I was brutally disappointed when her voicemail answered. I left a hasty, probably incomprehensible message and hung up.
    The worst part was I didn’t even have work to distract me. I had the whole day off. A full twenty-four hours in a house where I’d seen (or hallucinated) two ghosts.
    That was all it took to send me into a full-blown panic attack. My heart started to pound. I rubbed my aching chest. I was hyperventilating. Tangled thoughts jumbled through my mind, truth and dream, reality and fantasy. I cupped my hands over my mouth and nose and tried to slow my breathing. Eventually, the panic seemed to find its way out of me in a parade of fat tears, and I bawled uncontrollably into my hands.
    “Shhh… Please don’t cry,” a man’s voice said from above me. It was a kind voice, low and soft, like you use to calm a skittish animal.
    I leaped to my feet, eyes darting around the room. “Who’s there?” I yelled.
    No answer.
    I moved from the bed and backed toward the hallway. Nothing by the window or on either side of the walnut highboy. I approached the cracked door of the closet turned sideways, ready to Tae Bo the crap out of anything that moved. I delivered a roundhouse, kicking it open, but it was empty.
    Only one place left to look. The door to the room was wide open. I approached it cautiously, knowing if someone was hiding behind it, I could be in grave danger. But I didn’t care anymore; I needed to know. I yanked the knob forward and stuck my head behind the door. Nothing.
    That was it. I was losing my mind.
    “Coffee,” I said to myself. “I need coffee now.”
    I walked to the end of the hall to the stair landing, but instead of continuing down the stairs to the kitchen I had an uncontrollable impulse to look up. I hadn’t noticed before but the stairs continued to what I presumed was the attic. That’s where she had come from, the legless freak of nature who’d chased me out of my house. I remembered the shrill creak of the door before she’d appeared at the top of my stairs. A sudden chill goose-pimpled my flesh and sent horror-movie-style tingles through my scalp.
    Compulsively, I climbed the staircase. I had to know. I had to face this fear. My legs shook more than a little and moved like dead weight. It took forever to make it to the painted white door with the cast-iron handle. It was locked. I tugged a little harder, jostling the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. The keyhole was the old-fashioned kind that took one of those long, roundish keys. I’d ask my dad if other keys came with the house. I needed to know what was in there.
    One thing was for certain; no ghostly old ladies were attacking me. This was just an ordinary door to an ordinary attic. I still wasn’t sure what had happened