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CHASING THE GHOST
An Abby Craig Paranormal Mystery
BY JOOLS SINCLAIR
When the case of a murdered young mother goes cold, police detective Michael Cooper is willing to try anything to breathe new life into the investigation, even if that means bringing in a ghost whisperer.
Enter Abby Craig.
Abby quickly stumbles across a dark entity at the murder scene and worries that not only is it responsible for the woman’s death, but that it is just beginning its reign of terror.
Meanwhile, Abby spends many sleepless nights chasing a shadowy figure through a maze of ancient, narrow streets in a faraway land. She is hoping that it’s simply a series of unsettling dreams, but she will soon find out that there is much more to the story.
Abby Craig senses something terrible is coming.
And she’s not wrong.
I drove through Northwest Crossing, easing up on the accelerator as I turned off Mount Washington and onto Lemhi Pass. I made a left on John Fremont and saw the car out in front of a house that had a For Sale sign staked in the lawn. I pulled in behind and cut the engine.
Detective Michael Cooper had a phone to his ear, his silhouette large and looming in the driver’s seat. I stepped out into the fading sun, walked up to the curb, and stared at the house.
The Craftsman had a charm to it, even though it was small and on a postage stamp-sized lot with other houses crowding in from all sides. The paint was a dark merlot with cream trim, a thin layer of frost covering the dead grass. A porch extended outward, complete with chairs that matched the paint on the trim around the windows.
But even though it appeared cozy enough on the surface, it didn’t feel right. I sensed the darkness all the way from the sidewalk.
“Good to see you again, Ms. Craig,” the tall man said as he slammed his car door.
Cooper looked the same as the last time I had seen him, a little disheveled with shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a thin tie loosened at the neck, black-and-white peppered hair blowing around in the cold breeze. But as he closed in and lifted his Ray-Bans, I saw that his eyes looked significantly smaller than before and bloodshot, like he hadn’t caught a good night’s sleep in a long while.
We shook hands, a quick smile on his lips.
“Nice to see you again too, detective. But call me Abby.”
He nodded as he glanced at my car.
“It isn’t mine. Just borrowing it from a friend.”
“Sixty-seven was a very good year,” he said, his eyes lingering on the Impala. “That’s a hell of a friend.”
“True,” I said, thinking of David Norton.
Cooper turned toward the house and let out a sigh, collapsing the sunglasses and sliding them into his shirt pocket.
“They slashed the price twenty-five grand last week, but I don’t think it’ll help.”
We both stared up at the house for a moment.
“What do you know about the Angela Gray murder?” he said.
“Just what’s been on the news,” I said, zipping up my fleece jacket.
Gray was a twenty-eight-year-old realtor who was murdered in a vacant house back in September.
There were no signs of sexual assault. She had been pushed out a second story window.
Almost five months later the police still had no real suspects, although Gray’s ex-husband had been a
person of interest. The community was frustrated and a petition calling for the police chief’s resignation had at last count received more than 10,000 signatures.
“I’m assuming it happened here,” I said.
He nodded slowly.
Gray’s body had been found shortly after her daughter had reported her missing. I gulped hard at the thought of that little girl on the phone. The TV news had played the recording for days, the audio of the six-year-old talking to a 911 operator asking if it was okay to make breakfast because school was starting soon and “mommy’s not home.”
“I’m hoping you can find something here,” Cooper said.
I had first worked with Cooper early last year, after he called me asking for help with a teenager who had gone missing. It only took a day to contact the ghost of her dead uncle, who told me that the girl had run away and was hiding at a friend’s house south of town.
Cooper’s mind seemed sharp and quick and he possessed an endless supply of patience. He let the silences build in a conversation and was never in a hurry. He had told me once that silence made most people uncomfortable, that they would start talking to avoid it, sometimes spilling out secrets in the process.
“You ready?” he said.
I nodded, fighting off a shiver. It had been a cold day even for February and it wasn’t getting any warmer as the sun dropped behind the trees.
I waited on the porch steps while he punched a combination into a lockbox. A small green light went on and he pushed open the door. I followed him inside, stepping into stagnant air, dust, and silence. A single dull light shone over the fireplace, but otherwise the house was dark, taking on the purple hues of the twilight seeping through the cracks in the blinds.
“Stay here a moment. I wanna make sure we’re alone.”
After checking the first floor, Cooper headed upstairs, the floorboards calling out his location.
I scanned my surroundings as I waited. The house felt bleak and grim. There was no furniture. A hammer and screwdriver sat on the floor in the corner, a few boxes of blinds leaning up against a far wall by some windows.
I walked around the living room and whispered a blessing. Then I told any spirits who might be lurking in the house who I was and that I was able to communicate with the dead. I had started this routine last year after walking through an apartment looking for a client’s wife. The wife never showed, but another ghost gave me a good tongue lashing, saying how rude it was of me to come into her house and ignore her.
When only silence answered back, I got more specific.
“I’m here, Angela. I’m here to help find out what happened to you. I want to help find the person who took you away from your family.”
I closed my eyes and conjured up a mental picture of Angela Gray, an image I had seen countless times in news stories where she had her hands up high as she crossed the finish line at the annual Pole Pedal Paddle multi-sport race held in Bend.
Suddenly a strong wave of dense energy pushed into me.
Jools Sinclair is a bestselling author of 20 books as well as an entrepreneur, educator, and book coach.
She runs her own publishing company, You Come Too Publishing, and loves helping people write books so that they can share their wisdom with the world. She holds a bachelor’s degree from UCLA and a master’s in education from Pacific University.
Links to Jools’ website, blog, books, etc.:
Visit Jools at Joolssinclair.com to learn more
Write Jools at Joolssinclair@msn.com
Thanks, Jools, for sharing your story with us!
Don’t miss the chance to read this book!