Vampire Witch by Eileen Sheehan #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular

Ghost Dream by Eileen Sheehan

I first saw a photograph of the abandoned house on Twelve Maple Laneabout a decade ago. My immediate impression was what a wonderful inn it wouldmake for those who appreciated the days gone by.  So, without so much as awalk through, I bought it.

It was nightfall when I approached the old house that had been whollyunoccupied for years with reverence and a touch of trepidation. Its residentshad long left it to the mercy of rodents, dust, and cobwebs. I felt as if I wasinvading the privacy of the ghosts who were left behind. Ghosts of occupantsover the centuries since the building was little more than an idea in the mindof the builder.

Holding my flashlight firmly in one hand, I turned the porcelaindoorknob that would allow me entry. It, like the door, was cracked with age. Mymind pondered over how many hands had turned that knob and pushed their wayinto this dwelling in its glory days. Days when vibrantly colorful rooms glowedwith the softness of gas and candle light and radiated laughter and happiness.My ponderings quickly left me when, for the first time in my life, my levelhead -that had always ignored and given no credence to superstition-experienced an overwhelming dread as an invisible cobweb clung to my face. Ishuddered. It was only a cobweb, but it felt as if I’d walked through someone.Or, better yet, someone had walked through me.

Like a frightened child, I rushed to the one room that I had madecertain was prepared for my occupancy by the workmen who were hired for thehouse’s resurrection. As I locked the door, a sense of security swept over me.I had not only locked out the moldy darkness, but the eerie feeling of unseeneyes was no longer hovering about. Someone had been thoughtful enough to makesure that there was a cheery fire burning in the oversized fireplace. Itsflickering flames did wonders to give a sense of warmth and safety to the room.I sat down before it with a comforting sense of relief. The electricity wasturned off, requiring the soft flickering lights of candles to illuminate my surroundings.Seeing the antique furnishings in such ambiance brought up visions of days goneby.

From the color and print of the faded wallpaper, and the delicacy of the bedand dressing table, I deduced that the room had once belonged to the gentlersex. I closed my eyes as I allowed my imagination to summon visions of facesout of the mists of the past. Faces that were long forgotten and voices thatlong ago grew silent for all time.

As a storm brewed outside of the thick leaded window panes, my reverie shiftedto sadness. The singing of the voices from the past was replaced by theshrieking of the winds outside. The laughter in the ears of my mind shifted toa softened wail. The incessant beating of the rain against the panes strippedthe room of all tranquility. The eeriness that I’d left beyond the closed doorslowly crept through the cracks beneath it.

A nervousness overtook me as the fire burned low. An overwhelming senseof loneliness consumed me. Eager to shake it, I arose and changed into my nightclothes. I moved about the room, stealthily preparing for slumber as if I wasamongst others whose dreams would be lethal to interrupt. Diving onto themattress, I slithered beneath the covers. With my head barely exposed, I laylistening to the rain and wind and the faint creaking of distant shutters untila blissful, deep sleep overtook me.

The acute stillness of the home when I awoke filled me with ashuddering expectancy. All, but the beating of my heart, was silent as I lay inthe pre-dawn light while I debated what to do. The workmen would not arrive forseveral hours. My stomach was announcing the need for the breaking of my fast,but my cowardly nerves refused to budge. So, I lay in the warmth and falsesecurity of my bed until an unseen force took matters into hand.

Slowly. Very slowly, the bedclothes slid toward the foot of the bed. Itwas as if someone was pulling them from me. Instead of being too nervous tomove, I was now scared stiff. Not only couldn’t I move a muscle, but I couldmake no sound. I finally regained control of my body enough to allow me to grabthe edge of the blankets and pull them back over my breast until they reachedmy chin. It took an even greater effort to pull them over my head. Beads ofnervous sweat formed upon my forehead as a result.

I lay in frozen silence while I waited for what might happen next.

After a brief interval, that steady pull on the coverings returned. Iroused my energies, snatched the covers with a vice grip, and pulled them overmy head again. Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps permeated my room. I felta sense of relief that they sounded like they were moving away from me insteadof toward me. When the footsteps reached the bedroom door, I waited for thecreaking sound of it opening and closing, but it didn’t come. The footsteps,however, continued to exit the room and fade as they walked further into theempty house.

I lay trembling while contemplating what just happened until I hadmyself convinced that it was a dream. My nerves were further soothed when Icrawled out of bed and found that the bedroom door was still bolted on theinside.

The day passed as normal. I exerted a good deal of emotional energyoverseeing the workmen in my effort to keep the integrity of the old house inplace. Once nightfall arrived and the men retired, I eagerly took my exhaustedself to my bedroom once again.

I had just blown out the candle and snuggled beneath the bedclotheswhen I heard a grating noise overhead. It sounded like a heavy box was beingdragged across the floor. When the dragging sound ended, a loud thud occurred.It was so loud that the windows shook.

Beyond my locked bedroom door, I could hear the muffled sound of doorsslamming throughout the house.

A part of me wanted to get up and search for intruders, while the otherpart of me said to stay put and wait to see what would happen. I regretted nottaking the precaution against intruders by having a bat or some other type ofself-defense weapon in my room as I listened to the sound of stealthy footstepscreeping about the corridors, as well as up and down the stairs.

Sometimes these noises stopped outside of my bedroom door, hesitated,and went away again. I heard muffled sentences and occasional half-utteredscreams that were faint, but discernable. Then, a light breeze passed by me asthe swish of invisible garments reached my ears.

The eerie feeling that I’d felt the night before returned with aforcefulness unmatched. I sat up in bed and held my hand to my heart while Idid my best to slow the beating that threatened to get out of control. Unlikethe night before when the fireplace was ablaze with illuminating light, I hadlit only a small fire that rapidly turned to embers. With the candles snuffedout, I was forced to rely on the glow of the embers and the filtered rays ofthe full moon through the window to see my surroundings. The shadows bouncedabout, but I was still able to make out a cloaked figure hovering in the cornerof the room.

“Who are you and what do you want?” I nervously asked. The figureremained silent as it slowly moved toward me.

“This is my home,” I said with a boldness that I didn’t feel. “You are not welcome.”

“Why do you wish to have this home?” the figure asked in a deep voicethat had a hint of echo to it.

Surprised by the question, I was even more surprised by the way Icalmly replied with, “I wish to bring it back to its glory days and to share itwith others.”

“Glory days?” the figure mockingly said. “Those were times long gone.The house belongs to me now.”

“I purchased this house,” I insisted. “I have the deed to it.”

“You may have the deed, but I have lived in it,” the figure argued. “Itbelongs to me. You will leave.”

Fear was replaced by indignation over the shadowy figure’s demand thatI leave a home that I’d put so much of my heart and soul into and would requireeven more before its beauty could shine through once more.

“If you care so much for this home,” I challenged, “Why have you let itgo into such disrepair?”

“It is as I desire it to be,” the figure firmly announced.

“It is not as I desire it,” said a female’s voice from seeminglynowhere.

“Josephine!” the figure bellowed. “Why have you come?”

“I never left,” the voice replied. “I simply saw no reason to negateyour occupancy until now.”

“Why now?” the figure asked.

“Finally, there is someone who is willing to return the life and loveto the walls of my home,” Josephine said. “I have cried decades of tears forwant of such a thing to occur. Now that it has, I will not allow you to preventit. You must go.”

“I have occupied this place too long for you to be able to push meout,” the figure bitterly announced.

“Perhaps, if it were just myself doing the pushing,” Josephine saidwith conviction.

Too stunned and amazed by what was occurring before my very eyes, Istayed motionless while I listened to what I discovered to be two discarnatebeings verbally debating over who should take control of the house that I nowowned. I was tempted to ask them both to leave, since the house now belonged tome, but, since I was only now being exposed to the reality of a world beyondthe here and now, I was uncertain what the protocol for such a request wouldbe. So, instead, I remained stoic and silent while I waited to see what theoutcome of this verbal debate might be.

To my surprise and dismay, the arguing grew quite potent. So potent, infact, that the stillness of the air left the room. It was replaced by what Icould only describe as a violent wind. The bedroom door rattled, along with thewindows. A fleeting fear that the glass might shatter flashed through my headbefore my attention was turned to the fact that the room seemed to expand inthe darkness as the figure of a woman in a Victorian gown appeared before me.

Although I had already become aware of the presence of the cloakedfigure, he was merely a shadow. This woman, on the other hand, was as opaque asmyself.

She was neatly put together with not one hair out of place. Her dresswas of vibrant colors that glowed in the moonlight. As I stared in startledwonderment, several equally opaque spirits, both male and female, in Victorianattire joined her. Soon, the room was filled with what I inherently knew wereformer occupants of the grand house.

The shadowy figure stood his ground, alone against a roomful of spiritswanting him out. At first, as the energy he projected blew like a hurricanethrough the room to the extent that I clung fast to the bedpost, I thought forsure that he would win. It took a moment for them to gather together with handsfirmly clasped, but when they did, the wind changed direction and forced theshadow into oblivion.

I sat in silence on the edge of the bed while I debated what to donext. The spirits faded away, one by one, until only Josephine remained.

“You need not fear us,” Josephine said. “We are pleased that you bringto this home the life and love that it deserves. It has been our desire fordecades. We will protect you and it from this moment on.”

With that, she also faded away.

Feeling safe and satisfied, I silently smiled and retreated to thesecurity of my bedcovers. Within moments, I fell into a deep, exhaustedslumber.

I awoke the following morning to the sounds of workmen bustling aboutthe house. Surprised that I’d slept for so long, I raced to join them. As theday progressed, my thoughts, and memories of the battle between spirits thenight before faded. By the time nightfall returned, I considered it nothingmore than a vivid dream.

The restoration of the house continued until it was restored to itsoriginal glory with no more incidents from the unseen world. Since there wereno more bumps in the night, bedclothes mysteriously sliding off me on theirown, or spirits appearing before me, I eventually completely dismissed thedream as a reaction to the unsavory ambiance of a neglected home.

Today, I operate an historic inn that offers tours that are accompaniedby the history of the house and its occupants that I acquired from the locallibrary and town records. On rare occasions, I will receive a report from oneof my overnight guests reporting vivid dreams of a woman in Victorian dresssmiling as she stands at the foot of their bed.

Vampire WitchVampire Witch TrilogyBook OneEileen Sheehan
Genre: Paranormal/thriller/romancePublisher: Earth Wise BooksDate of Publication: 01/01/2016ISBN: 978-1726737524ASIN:  ‎ B0195YJ1Q0Number of pages: 378Word Count: 91,903
Tagline: She falls for two handsome vampire brothers. Now, she must choose.... Lovers of VAMPIRE DIARIES or TRUE BLOOD will enjoy this story.
Book Description: 
Discovering the mother that you thought was dead for over a decade is very much alive will shake your world.
And so begins Casey's dilemma. Add to that her mother has become a mutant vampire and has promised her in marriage to a wicked vampire king in order to unite the two kingdoms. Now, let’s combine that with the fact that the bearer of such news is a hot and sexy guy who turns out to be a vampire and he steals her heart. Then, to top it off she finds that he has an equally hot vampire brother vying for her love and who she just might have feelings for too.
Ready or not, Casey's life just took a turn for the strange.
Join Casey in this sizzling, action-packed first book of a paranormal romance thriller trilogy.

Book Trailer: https://bit.ly/3PDgAWJ

Amazon      BN     Kobo     Apple     Smashwords

Luthias groaned and raised his hand to his head.  Gwendoline wasat his side in a flash.  She lifted him into a position that allowed himto easily drink the liquid she held to his lips and then lowered him back downagain.

“This will help him regain a bit of his strength, but he’ll still needblood,” she said. She went to a tall refrigerator in the corner of the room andinspected its contents. “I doubt I have enough to bring him back to normal.”
“How much do you need?” I asked.

“He’s almost bled dry,” she said.  “I have enough to keep him alive,but not much more than that.”

I bit my lower lip while I watched Gwendoline pull every bag of bloodshe had in her supplies and place them on a tea cart to roll next to the table. She emptied the first bag into a glass and urged him to drink.  Heweakly obliged. By the time she’d fed him the last bag, the hollow around hissunken eyes was beginning to disappear and his wounds were starting to shrink.

I pointed this out to Gwendoline and she smiled faintly.

“If he has more blood will they heal completely?” I asked.

“Within seconds,” she said.

“Where does he usually get his blood?” I asked hesitantly.

“He hunts deer or wolf. Large animals are generally the best,” shereplied.

“No humans,” I mused admiringly.

“Verso vampires refrain from drinking human blood whenever possible. The risk of developing an addiction is too great,” she explained. “Welive peacefully amongst ourselves and rarely venture out into the rawness ofwhat’s left of our planet. An addiction to human blood would require they leaveVerso.”

“There are some who drink it,” I said.  “A maid told me humansdon’t last long in Verso because rogue vampires drink their blood until they’redead.”

“That’s true,” she said with a nod. “It takes a strong vampire to beable to stop drinking a human’s blood before they drain them dry. In mycenturies of life, I’ve known of only a few who could do it.”

“Is it the magic that keeps you alive?” I asked.

“Indeed,” she replied with pride. “As it will ye.”

“I plan on becoming a vampire,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but until ye do, the magic will slow down the aging process,” sheexplained. “There’s no need to rush things.”

“How old was Geo when he was turned?” I asked while I mindlesslystroked the length Luthias’s arm.

“He was twenty-eight. He had a wife and three children, poor lad,” shesaid.

 “I never thought about him having a family,” I gasped. “Whathappened to them?”

“They were killed by the raiding vampires. Geo was saved because of thestrong magic in his veins.  Luthias found him and brought him to me to tendto.  He looked much like Luthias does now,” she said.

“When did Luthias turn vampire?” I asked.

About the Author:
Sitting at her antique rolltop desk in her home in upstate New York, Internationally Published and Award Winning author, Eileen Sheehan, writes steamy romance thrillers for the mature adult with a sexy male and strong female. The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love. As the years progressed, so did her writing style. Although she still includes romance and has a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and horror in them.
She makes it a point to write a novel length that will allow the busy readers to be able to sit down in an evening (no more than two) and be taken on a journey that was created by her active imagination without having a week go by before they gets to the end of the story.
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters... one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
Eileen started out as a freelance writer for periodical magazines and newspapers. From there, she tried her hand at writing screenplays. Her screenplay, "When East Meets West" was a finalist in the 2001 Independent International Film and Video Festival at Madison Square Gardens, NYC. Finally finding her niche, she lets her imagination loose with paranormal romance/thrillers. 
If you want to see more quality writings at a reasonable price, please support her efforts by leaving a review and becoming a follower
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