The Second-Best Haunted Hotel on Mercer Street by Cory Putman Oakes EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Cory Putman Oakes
- Language: English
- Genre:Paranormal & Urban Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 14.9 MB
- Price: Free
WILLOW
The ghost would have been a head taller than the girl—if the ghost had a
head at all.
Instead, the ghost had a stump. It was right between her shoulders,
marking the spot where her neck used to be. The stump was framed by
several lacy shirt collars that were so stiff with dried blood they stuck up at
weird angles.
The ghost’s long skirts billowed as she silently floated up behind the girl.
The sharp spurs on her leather riding boots dangled in midair as the
apparition slowly stretched out her arms.
The girl was busy straightening a display of brochures on the mantel
while balancing a stack of towels on her hip. She didn’t see the ghost.
The ghostly woman rose even higher into the air. Her long coat blew
back in an unseen wind. She leaned closer to the girl. The ghost’s milkywhite fingers were inches from the girl’s light brown curls . . .
. . . when the tip of one of her spurs caught on the handle of a basket of
firewood.
The ghost careened into an end table, which wobbled dangerously. It
didn’t fall over, but the brass candelabra and two picture frames on top of it
went crashing to the floor.
“Molly,” the girl said without turning around. “Haven’t we talked about
you going headless in the lobby?”
“Sorry, Willow,” Molly said. Her boots floated back down to the ground.
Willow Ivan had never been able to work out how Molly, the Hotel
Ivan’s resident Headless Horsewoman, was able to talk when she was not
always in possession of a mouth. Or a tongue. Or vocal cords. Somehow,
she managed.
Pity the same couldn’t be said for her eyesight.
Molly knelt down and felt around blindly. When she found the
candelabra, she set it back on top of the table. Two of its three candles had
snapped in half, and Willow made a mental note to replace them later. After
she put away the towels, and signed for the linen delivery, and fixed the
toilet in room eight.
No, maybe before she fixed the toilet. The lobby needed to look nice.
Willow kicked the broken candle halves under the couch, then picked up the
two picture frames—unbroken, luckily—and set them back on the table.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said again. “I can go . . .”
“Don’t be silly,” Willow said, holding her breath as Molly’s skirts
swayed perilously close to a shelf full of breakable knickknacks. “Just be
careful, OK?”
“Sure thing,” Molly agreed, feeling her way around the coffee table.
“What I really need is—”
“To find your head?” Willow suggested hopefully, looking around. “It
can’t be far. Last time it was in the pantry, wasn’t it? Or maybe the dining
room?”
“—someone to mope with,” Molly finished. She collapsed onto the
overstuffed red sofa and patted the cushion next to her. “What do you say?”
Willow sucked in a breath. “So, you’ve heard, then?”
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