Author Bio: Zoe Winters writes quirky and sometimes dark paranormal romance. She lives with her husband and two cats. Her favorite colors are rainbow and clear. For more information please visit Zoe Winters or Zoe Winters' Blog
Here is an excerpt from her new book. Enjoy!
Anna stood in the downstairs bathroom, wrapped in a towel, exhausted from spending all day decorating candles. Her hand swiped out to clean the steam from the mirror. She stopped herself in time. A single word was smeared in the moist fog.
Anna felt a tightness curl in her chest. She gripped the pedestal sink, taking a few deep breaths, knowing the ghost was watching and waiting for her reaction. If she were sane, she’d flee the house, do not pass go. But she’d left sane about three exits back when she’d bought the house to begin with. She wasn’t giving it up to a ghost.
Anna wrote her own response on the mirror with her finger, just underneath the first message.
It had taken all her concentration to keep her hand steady, but she’d accomplished the feat. She opened the mirrored cabinet and took out a comb to untangle her hair. When she closed it again, another word had been inscribed.
Anna didn’t like the sound of that. Somehow it didn’t seem like Beatrice was agreeing to be her roommate. The fear wrapped more tightly around her. She took another, slow breath. After about a minute of being a spaz, she became both angry at herself and exasperated with the ghost.
“Oh good lord! Do you go to a special drama school after you die? I mean, really. Could you possibly whine more? Oh whaaa, I’m a ghost. My life is so hard. This house is plenty big enough for both of us. It’s not like I had plans to put down tacky avocado linoleum. What exactly is your problem?”
A hot breath puffed out over her neck. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the edge of the sink to keep from landing on the floor. She’d spent all her courage on sarcasm and now couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror again, afraid if she did she’d see the fuzzy outline of Beatrice reflected back to her.
“Scarlett, Rhett, come on,” she said as she left the bathroom. Two furry little heads poked out of the towel rack.
Anna turned on every light on the way up the stairs. Now wasn’t the time to prove she wasn’t afraid of the dark. The score was: Beatrice: 1, Anna: 0. She was freaked, and she had no trouble admitting it.
The cats followed her to the bedroom weaving in and out of her legs the entire way, clearly as bent on her destruction as Beatrice. As soon as she was settled under the covers, Scarlett shoved her head up underneath Anna’s chin while Rhett curled around the back of the pillow, his paws resting on her head. Normally, Anna would toss them off the bed, but tonight she didn’t want to sleep alone.
She spent an hour staring at the back of her eyelids, occasionally opening her eyes to see the green LED numbers mocking her as the time dragged on. Once when Anna looked, the clock had miraculously sped up ten minutes. She must have drifted off.
Now she was awake again. Soft, female cries drifted up the staircase. Then the moaning started. What the hell did Beatrice have to moan about? And could she come up with a bigger cliché? Would chain rattling be next? She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the muffled groans and fell into a fitful sleep.
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