Free Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) by Elizabeth Alix Page B

entered the spare room. The lid of the quart can had somehow exploded off, fallen from the ladder, and splattered the newly painted white wall with a huge fountain of dark brown paint.  
    She swore loudly and spent the next fifteen minutes scraping as much paint off the tarp into the can as she could salvage, tamping the lid on again firmly and leaving it on the floor. She wondered if the lid could have spontaneously popped off due to heat and pressure buildup inside the can. It was pretty warm, inside and out. All the while she imagined someone feeling very pleased with himself, which only served to annoy her more. She then took an old T-shirt and wiped the brown paint off her pristine white wall as best she could. There was a stain where the brown had been, and she would have to paint the wall with primer again tomorrow. She cleaned up her hands at the kitchen sink and decided she was too tired to cook for herself.
    The co-op deli counter had plenty of options, and the place was emptier than it had been all weekend. She picked up several salads and a cool drink and sat outside at a table on the sidewalk to think and eat.
    Something very strange was going on at her new house. The weird dreams, the eerie basement, the sensation that someone was watching her, the piano playing in the middle of the night, and Oscar being scared of something.  
    They all added up to a very scary idea. Is my house haunted? She wondered. If so, Mrs. Thomas’ non-sequiter “is he giving you a hard time?” would make much more sense. That would explain a lot of things. The more she thought about it, the more unnerved she became. The idea of a spectral person watching her at all times gave her the willies. That was way worse than having Geoffrey stalk her. At least she could see Geoffrey and get away from him. She picked at her salads, suddenly without much appetite.
    Her rational historian’s mind tried to intervene. It was still possible that she was just scaring herself for no reason. She was definitely still upset from Geoffrey’s unwanted emails earlier. But if it was true that her house was haunted, maybe she could figure out who it was. If she could give the ghost a name, maybe it would be less scary. Whoever it was didn’t like her painting but did like her piano. Maybe a temperamental pianist had lived there? Maybe she could convince him or her to go away and leave her be. But what if it wasn’t the ghost of a person? What if it was a demon or a poltergeist? That was an even more terrifying thought. She needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t scoff or tell her she was losing her mind.
    I wonder if I could tell Grandma Selene? She snorted at that idea and pressed the plastic fork against the table top, watching it bend. And what would I tell my proper English grandmamma? ‘Hey, your friend’s house is haunted, and that’s why she can’t keep her renters?’ Grandma Selene had always been supportive, but she’d never indicated that ghosts were part of her worldview. Besides, she’d said she was going away for a few days, and she was too old fashioned to carry a cell phone.  
    She couldn’t call her mom with this either. They’d been close when she was younger, but the years with Geoffrey had driven a wedge between Marianne and everyone she’d known. She hadn’t had a heart to heart conversation with her mom in years. Now that she was on her own again, it was definitely time to reconnect. She just didn’t think this would be the best topic. For now she didn’t want to worry her mom since she was so glad she was safely away from her stalking ex-husband. The plastic fork unexpectedly snapped in two, jangling her further. She looked around her guiltily, but no one had noticed.
    There really isn’t anyone I can turn to, she thought with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. I’ve run out of places I can go, short of driving away randomly. I have to find a way to make this place work. Maybe I’m just imagining