The Ghost of Ellwood

  The Ghost of Ellwood

  Ivy Grove Book 1

  Jaclyn Osborn

  The Ghost of Ellwood

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Text Copyright ©2019

  All rights reserved

  Published by Jaclyn Osborn

  Cover Art by Sleepy Fox Studio

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the publisher/author’s written consent.

  The author acknowledges the copyrights and trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Author Note

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  Other books by Jaclyn Osborn

  Author’s Note

  While this story is a sweet romance with some laughs, sexy times, and even a few scares, it also touches on sensitive subject matter. Theo’s past is filled with a lot of hurt, and he describes the physical abuse he suffered from his father.

  If this is a triggering topic for you, please read with caution.

  Dedication

  To Ben and Theo.

  Thank you for leading me home again.

  Chapter One

  “This is fucking garbage,” I said, reading over the chapter I’d just written.

  A disconnect lay between the characters and the narrative. Much like trying to force together two puzzle pieces that didn’t belong. Something was off. The flow felt forced and the pacing was all over the place.

  I highlighted the text and hit delete. Over three thousand words cut just like that.

  Sighing, I sat back in my chair and grabbed the squishy ball I kept on my desk. Squeezing it helped get out my frustrations. I was no stranger to writer’s block, but this block had dragged on for way too long. When I did write, it was trash, not even worthy enough to be in the bargain books section of a bookstore.

  Am I burning out?

  As a bestselling author, I had traveled all over the country for book tours and had a few of my novels adapted into movies and Netflix original shows. Successful was an understatement.

  However, I had hit a wall. My last two books weren’t nearly as well received, and I hadn’t produced a new one in over six months. My publisher was breathing down my neck, and everything was just so…difficult.

  One squeeze of the stress ball. Another.

  Staring at the screen, I began to type.

  The woman knew she’d made a dire mistake. The trip was supposed to be a new start for her and David, and it had turned into a bloody nightmare. David screamed from somewhere in the woods, and she ran toward him. Branches cut her cheeks, and thorn bushes reached out to snag her legs.

  A car honked outside the window, and I stopped typing. Damn it all. I lived in a luxurious house with a privacy fence, yet nothing could muffle the sounds of the city. The only way I’d get peace and quiet was to move to the country, but my boyfriend loved being in the city. Thrived off it.

  “Ben?”

  I stared at my laptop, trying to put myself back in the right headspace. I squeezed the ball in my hand. Once, twice.

  “Ben?” the voice came again.

  “What?” I snapped, looking at the office door where my boyfriend stood. “I’m working.”

  James’ wavy, red hair fell across his brow, and his wide shoulders stretched the material of his T-shirt. His green eyes narrowed. “You’re always working.”

  “Yeah? Well, someone has to pay the bills. Have to buy you all of those nice things, right?”

  “No reason to be an asshole,” James said. “I came to tell you dinner’s ready. Now I’m thinking I should’ve let you starve.”

  “I’m sorry.” I scrubbed my hands over my face and exhaled. “I’m frustrated with this book, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  The hostility in his eyes softened, if only a little. “Food’s getting cold, so don’t be too long.”

  James exited the room, leaving the door open. Everything seemed to be falling apart; my inspiration, my relationship. There wasn’t only a disconnect in my book, but in my life as well.

  Leaving my office, I turned down the hall and headed toward the dining room. My steps echoed on the hardwood floor, and an unseen heaviness weighed me down. Everything from the pictures on the walls to the furniture had all been chosen by James. Odd that I felt like a stranger in my own house. We had lived here for two years, but it had never really felt like home. Not to me.

  James sat at the table, sipping a glass of red wine, as I entered the room. A lasagna casserole steamed in the center of the table with a basket of rolls beside it. I took my seat beside him and poured myself some wine.

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” He took another drink.

  The meal was quiet aside from our forks scraping plates. The lasagna was cooked to perfection with the right amount of cheese and sauce. I shared this with James, and he nodded. More silence. Since he clearly had no desire to talk, I let my mind wander to my book.

  The concept wasn’t bad; a couple struggling in their marriage decide to go on a second honeymoon to rekindle their spark, but instead end up the targets of a twisted murder game between locals. However, the plot had been rehashed a million times in the industry. The idea lacked originality. It could be great, I believed, which was why I hadn’t given up on it yet.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  I looked up. “Hmm?”

  “Wow, Ben.” James wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin down. “Even when you’re not working, you’re still not here. You’re always lost in your head, thinking about your stupid books.”

  “Stupid?”

  “Let’s be honest here.” James tapped his finger on his glass. “Your last few books have been mediocre at best. You used to be brilliant. Creative and innovative. Now? You’re just another washed-up writer with nothing new to offer the world.”

  His sudden aggression took me by surprise. “I know I’m in a slump right now. Okay? And I know the past two books weren’t my best, but I’m fucking trying here, James. While I appreciate your honesty, it’d also be nice to have your goddamn support every once in a while.”

  “My support?” Fire blazed in his green eyes. “That’s all I’ve given you, Ben! My support. My time. And for what? For you to treat me like shit? When you’re doing well in your writing, you’re happier. You take me out and actually remember I exist. But when you’re like this—” He waved a hand at me “—you might as well not even be here. I can’t remember the last time you touched me.”

  My first impulse was to get angry. But he was right. I hadn’t been present in our relationship, and my mood was all over the place—much like my writing.

  “I…I’m sorry,” I said, placing my fork down, no longer hungry. “I didn’t realize you were so unhappy.”

  “How could you realize it? You barely talk to me. All you do is sit in that damn office with your million book ideas and unfinished manuscripts. We’re two strangers living under the same roof, Ben, and I can’t do it anymore.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  James finished off his wine. “I’ve met someone else. Someone who actually gives a damn about me.”

  As his words registered in my head, I struggled to find the sadness and anger I should’ve felt. Almost three years together, and I felt nothing as he admitted to having an affair.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” James asked, furrowing his brow. “I’ve cheated on you and all you can say is okay?”

  “What do you want me to say, James? As you pointed out, I haven’t been here for you. We’ve grown apart, and this has been coming for a while. You’re a bastard for cheating, but I can understand why you did.”

  He visibly relaxed, and for the first time all evening, the irritation slipped from his expression. “I did love you, Ben. More than I can ever explain.”

  “I loved you, too.”

  I noted the past tense in both of our confessions. We hadn’t been in love for a very long time.

  “What happens now?” he asked.

  That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? What did two people do when they fell out of love? The house was in my name, but I didn’t want to kick James out with nowhere to go. What if I was the one who left? A change of scenery might be good for me.

  A new beginning.

  “I can stay with Shane,” James suggested as his cheeks darkened with a blush. “He’s already offered several times, and I kept saying no.”

  Shane…

  “Shane Walsh?” I asked. “As in, my agent?”

  His horrified expression told me all I n
eeded to know. It was also clear why he’d blushed earlier, not from embarrassment but shame.

  Great. Now I was kind of pissed.

  “So, what? You two cozied up behind my back as I’ve been killing myself with my work? Is that why you have such a poor opinion of my career right now? Because Shane is disappointed with his percentage of sales and vents to you about it?”

  “Ben, it wasn’t like that. We got to talking during your last signing, and…I guess…it just grew from there.”

  “My last signing was about a year ago, James! You two have been going behind my back since then?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” I said, scooting my chair back from the table and standing.

  “I thought you weren’t mad about the cheating.”

  “That was before I found out who you were fucking.” I shook my head and stepped away from him. “After you eat, you can pack a bag and go to his place for the night. I have work to do. You know, so I can keep filling his pockets, as well as yours, too, it now seems.” I started to walk away before turning and grabbing the bottle of wine. “Taking this with me. You can see yourself out.”

  I stormed out of the room before I could lose my temper even more.

  If I was being honest with myself, though, I wasn’t so much upset about James fucking Shane as I was about possibly losing Shane as my agent. He was damn good at his job and had saved my ass on more than one occasion. That betrayal was what hurt most.

  Back in my office, I slammed the door and filled my glass to the brim. Some of the wine sloshed over the side as I took a drink. The windows let in light and sights of the city. I hated the view. Too many buildings. Too many people. I pulled the blinds closed before slumping in my desk chair and glaring at my laptop and the work-in-progress taunting me on the screen.

  James was right. My work was mediocre.

  When did writing become such a chore? I used to love it. It was my happy place.

  And now it made me want to rip my hair out and chuck the damn laptop out the window.

  I was lost, and I wasn’t sure how to find my way home.

  ***

  James moved out days after our argument. I came home from running errands to find all of his things gone and an envelope on the kitchen counter that had his house key tucked inside along with a note.

  Ben,

  Here’s my copy of the key. Maybe the next man you give it to will have more luck than I did.

  -James

  I searched for the heartache I should have been feeling, but it was absent. Every life was like a novel, and James was just one of the chapters in mine. Maybe there’d be a moment in the future when I looked back at his chapter, re-read the pages and remembered the good times with him, but for now, I had no trouble flipping to the next section.

  There was one thing I needed to verify, though. I found Shane’s number in my phone and called him.

  “Shane Walsh,” he answered on the second ring.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Oh. It’s you.”

  “Yeah. It’s me.” I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the cap before taking a swig. “So, James moved out and I know he’s with you. I don’t care about that. You can have him. What I do care about, though, is our business relationship.”

  “You firing me?”

  “No.” Sort of funny that I didn’t mind splitting with my ex-boyfriend, but I had no desire to break up with the agent who took him. Then again, I’d been with Shane way longer. He helped my career sky rocket, and I owed him a lot. “If you can’t handle working for me, I get it, and I’ll find another agent. But if we can remain civil and keep our personal lives out of it, I’d like to keep you.”

  “Oh.” Shane sounded surprised. “Gotta admit, Ben, I wasn’t expecting you to be so nonchalant about it. If you still want me, I’m here. But you need to get your head in the game. Finish your book. I’ll be here when you need me.”

  “Thanks.”

  I disconnected the call and jogged up the stairs to my office. Once at my laptop, I responded to several emails and opened my social media page to interact with readers. They all asked when the next book would release, and if it would be more like my old stuff or new stuff. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they had no interest in the latter.

  Before shutting everything down, something came over me. I opened a new tab and typed houses for sale into the search engine.

  Numerous results appeared. Most of them I had no interest in. They were in crowded parts of town, were too big, too small, or otherwise unappealing. I extended the search to include available homes farther away, outside of the city.

  Scrolling through them, none of them spoke to me.

  But then one did. My heart beat a little faster and a nervous energy traveled through me, shooting from my chest to my gut.

  Charming Victorian Home for Sale!

  Built in 1887, this beautiful Queen-Anne styled manor has 6 bedrooms and 2 full baths. A three story staircase is there to greet you in the foyer, and with over 11,000 SF of living space, there’s room for the whole family. 6 original fireplaces with the mantels are still intact, as well as the original carpentry and stained glass details. The manor is a bit of a fixer-upper cosmetically, but it’s move-in ready! Contact for more details.

  A picture of the manor had been attached, and as I stared at the arched doorway, multitude of windows, and the gorgeous property it sat on, the nervous energy from earlier spread farther through my body. A tingle spread from my neck, down my arms, and to the tips of my fingers.

  It was magnetic.

  Without giving it a second’s thought, I sent an email to the real estate agent. The asking price seemed too low for what a manor of that caliber should’ve cost, which led me to believe there might have been more than cosmetic issues.

  The agent responded twenty minutes later.

  Good afternoon!

  Thank you for your interest in Blackwell Manor! There are no major issues with the home, other than a need of fresh paint on the outside. Some sections of the floor need to be replaced, mainly in the second story and the attic, and some of the wallpaper is peeled. All of the appliances work; electric, water, heating and air, though you may want to update the bathrooms—if you prefer a more modern look. Any other renovations are purely up to the buyer! Let me know if you want to set up a time to view the property.

  -Caroline Humphries

  Even with the needed repairs, the cost was still too low. I had seen some Victorian houses with far more issues and less square feet going for upwards of five-hundred thousand dollars. And this one was only going for a hundred and a quarter.

  Maybe it had been on the market for so long that the owner was just ready to sell it, so they cut the price. Whatever the reason, I was interested.

  Very interested.

  Although it was way too large for one person, it had a charm that drew me in. I could renovate it to my heart’s content, turn a room into my office, build my own library like I’d always wanted. The four acres of land were appealing as well. That meant no close neighbors—at least not house-to-house like my current one. I wouldn’t be smack-dab in the center of the city.

  Victorian houses had intrigued me for many years and had appeared in several of my novels. Living in one would be…different.

  Maybe it was the kind of different I needed to pull me out of my slump.

  So, I made the spontaneous decision to email the real estate agent and make an offer. It took a few days to run it by the owner, but my offer was accepted, and we moved onto the next phase. With the contract underway, I then proceeded to list my house for sale.

  And for the first time in months, I was genuinely excited for what lay ahead.

  Chapter Two

  Seeing Blackwell Manor in person was like being lost in the woods and stepping out into a sunny clearing.

  The pictures didn’t do it justice. No photo could capture the atmosphere; the gentle swaying of the trees or the scent of pine, firewood, and crisp leaves carried by the wind. They hadn’t captured the essence of the house, the sheer magnificence of the structure, and the way the light bounced off the windows.