Dark Shattering

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Smashwords Edition

Dark Shattering

The Ella Reynolds Series

Book Four

Copyright © 2016 by Liz Schulte

Editing by Ev Bishop

Cover design by Karri Klawiter

All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

About the Author

Neither of these boys was bright enough to look down when walking through a cow pasture.

I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the ache in my back after a long day. When you have to roll your butt out of bed every morning at four, the things you stay up for had better damn well be worth it. If Bennet would shut the hell up so we could go inside, tonight had the potential to be just that.

All Bennet Dunn and the new kid, Chris Kearney, had done since we arrived at the house was circle each other like a couple banty roosters—hell, that was pretty much the status quo since they’d met. I looked at Greta and rolled my eyes. She shrugged, glancing at her watch.

Not that I blamed Chris. It was clearly Bennet causing the delay. From the moment he roared up in his luxury car with dealer plates, he had a bigger bug up his ass than normal. He came here determined to bully someone and throw his metaphorical weight around, and Chris was an easy target. Just looking at the scrawny, nervous little fella gave me empathy pangs. He couldn’t have been much past high school in age, and his eyes always held that dark, haunted look of someone who hadn’t had an easy life.

Then again, who had? With the exception of maybe Bennet, we all had pasts we’d rather forget.

Bennet Dunn, on the other hand, took great pleasure in being a grade-A piece of shit. He took one look at Chris—and everyone else he thought he could twist around his finger—and you could see the devil wake up in his eyes. It always started small. Nitpicking a person’s clothes, abilities, and ideas, until their self-esteem was so whittled down that they were ripe for breaking. Chris was nearly at that point. He hardly said a word at meetings or on investigations. He most certainly never came out of his shell—which maybe was for the best.

Bennet’s harassment and bullying was only going to get worse unless someone stopped him. When I first joined the group—Beyond the Grave Investigations—he asked me out. I said no, so it became his mission to discredit me. It started with the teasing and jabs at my skills, then he came after my livelihood. Strange things started happening on the farm. It wasn’t until one cold winter night when Bennet came face to face with my double-barreled 12-gauge that we came to an understanding on how things were going to be from here on out.

That put an end to that shit right then and there. I told Chris time and again, he had to stand up to bullies or he’d never survive in this world.

Chris had finally presented his first-ever case to the group to a couple weeks ago. The presentation was good and made it sound like it would be the best case we’d ever investigated—there was no way any of us were going to miss out on it. Bennet couldn’t stand that Chris had done the one thing he couldn’t do: get us into one of Montgomery’s most haunted homes. It was one of the two houses in our town that were notoriously haunted and equally hard to get permission to visit. The first place everyone thought of when anyone mentioned hauntings was Ella Reynolds’s house, but that was only because it was the newest story and her case was rather sensational. The other house, though—the one we used to dare each other to sneak into when we were growing up—was the Kearney House. Chris was the most recent owner of the house and finally we had an all-access pass.

The house was tall and narrow, made of red crumbling brick with bay windows up one side of the front. The tiny porch and even smaller front yard wouldn’t even hold the four of us. Time and neglect had eaten away the better part of any charm the house might once have held. The street was dark and quiet; few of the neighboring houses were occupied in the decaying area. The top windows of the house were broken and gauzy white curtains billowed out, ghostly fingers reaching toward the group.

The raised voices pulled my attention back to the fools in front of me. I glanced at my phone. We needed to get a move on already. Bennet had been railing at Chris for the last ten minutes about how he made these stories up and how he only wanted attention and that he probably didn’t even own the house. But he knew very well that Chris had just moved to Montgomery. He probably hadn’t heard even half the stories and rumors the rest of us had heard growing up. I knew for a fact the history in his information packet was scant compared to what it could have been.

Hell’s bells, Bennet, just let the kid talk, I grumbled, scowling at them. Rob, our leader, shot me a look. They’re starting to give me a headache.

He’s been in the group for three months, now he suddenly pops up owning the most haunted house in Montgomery. It’s suspicious. Why didn’t he tell us sooner so we could have had time to verify his claims? We’re going to step inside and I bet you a hundred bucks the police show up and kick us to the curb. Bennet looked at Rob for support. I didn’t sign up to go to jail. We’re only supposed to do cases we are invited to investigate.

Chris’s eyelid twitched and his teeth ground together audibly as he stared at the shiny tan Oxfords on Bennet’s feet. I am inviting the group. The house is mine. I have the key. He dangled it from his finger.

That doesn’t prove anything. Bennet crossed his arms. You could have stolen the key.

My fist clenched at my side. It took everything I had not to punch that loudmouthed asshole in the face, but if I did we’d never make it into the house tonight. Too much planning had gone into this to just walk away now.

What do you want? The deed? Chris pushed his hand back through his greasy hair.

For starters, Bennet said.

Rob sighed. We don’t need to see the deed. If you are uncomfortable, Bennet, this doesn’t have to be an official investigation. You can go, but the rest of us want to see the house. Rob had known Bennet longer than any of us. He usually did a better job dealing with him than the rest of us.

Not with my equipment, Bennet said, with a smile that was anything but friendly. Or have you forgotten that everything from the van to the batteries are mine, bought and paid for? You guys are nothing without me.

Chris opened his mouth, but I cut him off. Do what you have to do, Bennet. I’m sure no one will think you left because you were too scared to go inside. Oh, wait—yes they will, because that’s exactly what I’m going to tell them.

He took a couple of menacing steps toward me, but I held my ground. I wouldn’t push me if I were you, Elsie. He tapped his finger against the end of my nose. I’d hate think what would happen to you if we weren’t friends anymore.

I glared back into his cold eyes. I almost didn’t care what happened to me. Almost.

He made kissy lips at me and winked. That’s what I thought.

Slimeball.

Go ahead, Chris. Give us the historical highlights while Bennet decides whether or not he wants to participate, Rob said as neutrally as possible.

Greta met my eyes again and shook her head ever so slightly. I knew better than to go after Bennet like that, but I couldn’t help it. He was being more obnoxious than normal tonight.

Chris pushed his limp blond hair back from his acne-scarred face and adjusted his glasses. He held his research in a trembling hand and stared hard at the paper.

I had been spending more time with Chris than any of the others recently, but I still felt like I didn’t know him at all. Maybe it was because we had nothing in common. Chris didn’t talk about his childhood, or much of anything. Mostly he was silent. He only looked at me when he thought I wasn’t looking at him. I made the kid nervous. While I wasn’t certain, I still had my suspicions that he had a completely misguided crush on me.

I didn’t have time for nonsense like that. I’d probably already spent more time with Chris than was wise. I had my grandfather’s farm to run, and that took most of my time and energy. I hadn’t inherited a profitable farm and it wasn’t easy keeping it off the auction block. But who else was there? Rob had a wife and baby on the way. He couldn’t exactly babysit the new kid. Greta had a sick mother she spent every waking moment caring for, except on the rare occasion she got someone to stay with her mom so she could come hunt ghosts with us. The only other person left was Bennet—and that obviously wouldn’t work.

Chris cleared his throat for the third time in a row, the tips of his fingers turning white. The Kearney House was built in 1878 by Martin James Kearney, who is my ancestor on my father’s side of the family. That’s why I came here. I inherited the house.

But you don’t live in the house? I prompted him, tapping the toe of my weathered gray cowboy boot on the sidewalk to keep myself awake. Why not?

Because he’s a liar. Who would choose to live in a cheap motel when he had a house? Bennet said with a loud, exaggerated yawn.

Chris’s mouth dropped open. How do you know where I live?

He’s stalling, trying to come up with a new lie. Bennet reached out and pushed Chris’s chest, knocking him back a couple of steps.

All at once, Chris’s head shot up and he grabbed Bennet by the arm. Anger flaring in his eyes, Chris was finally showing real signs of life beneath his morose exterior. Maybe he had some fight in him after all.

Bennet’s face turned red and he grabbed Chris by the wrist. Next time you touch me, you’ll regret it.

Chris wrenched his arm away. Not as much as you will, Chris said softly, looking at the ground again.

You’re such an asshole, I said, moving between them and pushing Bennet away from Chris. Just leave him alone. The rest of us actually want to do this. I reached for Chris’s shoulder, but he managed to dodge me.

I’m fine. Chris took a deep breath then seemed to pry his eyes back open. The house needs a significant amount of work done, which I can’t afford. It’s in the fine print of my inheritance that a Kearney heir must own the property so I don’t think I can sell it. I guess I could just refuse the inheritance, but I don’t think that would help.

Is it safe? Rob asked.

Chris nodded. It’s safe enough. It’s old, but it’s held up over the years. It just needs new wiring and plumbing. There are a few spots where the floor needs to be replaced, and the roof’s had a couple leaks over the years. Things like that.

Normally, these discussions would have taken place at a neutral location, like a restaurant or Rob’s house, but I couldn’t get into town sooner so we didn’t have the time to waste. We all had a chance (albeit brief) to review the information. All Chris needed to do was recap what he had found so we could start setting up and get to the investigation. I glanced at Greta and she looked as anxious as I felt to get things moving. Tell us about the haunting, Greta nudged in her soft, kind voice.

I only know the legends you all heard growing up here. Elsie helped me substantiate them as much as I could. He glared at Bennet. As I said, it was built by Martin Kearney. He was an industrialist who made his living manufacturing barbed wire. He built the house for his wife, Jane, who was expecting their third child. By 1886 they had four children with another on the way, business was booming, and everything seemed to be going well for the Kearneys. However, Jane didn’t survive the birth of their fifth child—and in some ways, neither did Martin. He sold his company and became obsessed with the afterlife, devoting everything he had to contacting her. Jane’s sister moved into the house to help with the children and shield them from Martin’s obsessions. One by one she sent them off to boarding school, eventually taking the youngest home to live with her, as Martin would have nothing to do with any of them.

Chris tucked his hair behind his ear, paper still trembling in his hand. Martin blamed himself for Jane’s death. None of my research has been totally clear on why he thought it was his fault. Jane was a healthy, sturdy woman, and five children was a lot, but it wasn’t excessive for the time. It could have just been grief and guilt, but it also could have been something more. The corners of his mouth went down. In October of 1898, Martin climbed over the railing on the third floor and jumped to his death. The oldest child, Jedidiah, inherited the house. He was eighteen years old. One year later he was found in his locked office, dead.

How? Rob asked.

Chris’s lips thinned. Heart attack.

At eighteen years old. I shifted my feet and glanced at Bennet, who was doing his best not to look impressed by the history.

"The second oldest, Emily, went insane after her brother’s death. By the time she turned eighteen she was institutionalized. And I’m not sure what happened to her. She never even lived in the house, except for a brief time as a child. The third child, Paul, refused the inheritance when he came of age. On his twenty-third birthday he was trampled by a horse in Missouri. The fourth child, Matthew, lived a little longer. He did move