Free The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) by Brenda Hill

eyes and fell asleep.

Chapter Twelve
    When Lindsay opened her swollen eyes, her stomach was rumbling. She pushed off the lavender coverlet to rise, but discovered her legs were too weak to stand.
    Was she coming down with something?
    She lay back and burrowed under the covers.
    From outside her window, she could hear the birds singing, and in the distance a motorboat buzzed.
    She loved this room with the pastel wallpaper, the faded purple posies and green leaves against the crème background. Even though it was faded and peeling in places, she loved the pattern. She remembered pouring over patterns with Mama to select just the right one.
    “You don’t want the flowers too big,” Mama had said, tendrils of her graying-blond hair escaping from her chignon, “or you’ll get tired of it too quickly.”
    “Just as long as it has lots of lavender,” she’d answered.
    She admired the plaster medallion surrounding the ceiling light fixture, pleased that it was still in one piece and not all chipped like in some homes that had been neglected. She used to pretend to see patterns in the swirls, and even as a child, drew what she’d imagined. What wonderful features these old houses had, she thought now, extras that were full of charm that most new homes couldn’t duplicate.
    Eric had wanted the larger master bedroom but she’d felt more at ease in the smaller room with the purple posies. She would have liked the bigger bedroom; after all, it looked out onto the lake and should have been preferred. But to her, it would always be Mama and Papa’s room. Perhaps if she and Eric redid it, stripped off that awful old mauve wallpaper and bought new furniture, she’d feel more at ease in there.
    She glanced at the digital clock. Nearly one in the afternoon. Good Lord! She’d never slept that late in her entire life. Feeling decadent, she stood, but her wobbly legs forced her back on the bed.
    Must be the flu.
    Picking out patterns with Mama? Starring at the ceiling medallion as a child?
    My God, was she going insane?
    She’d always been chided for her stories of a long-ago time. Was her subconscious bringing those stories to life?
    She thought about last night. Had it all been a dream as Eric said? Or more of her imagination?
    But why bring the old stories to life now? She’d successfully repressed them for years, so what was causing them to resurface now?
    She’d research the history of the house just as she resolved to do last night. Maybe there was some connection, something Eric had told her about the house that stirred up the old stories. Or perhaps it was something she’d read.
    There had to be logical explanation.
    Otherwise she was lost.
    Still, sitting on the edge of the bed, she hesitated, dreading entering the bathroom.
    Well that was just great. Now what was she going to do? Revert back to using the old outhouse in back of the house?
    When the pressure of her bladder urged her on, she felt for her slippers, grabbed her robe, and zipped it up to her chin. She wasn’t going to face anything unknown in just her gown.
    She crept across the landing to the bathroom, paused at the stairs leading to the attic, and looked up, breathing in the air, searching, yet desperately hoping she wouldn’t detect that certain spicy scent.
    Please let it all be nothing but her imagination.
    After a few deep breaths, she detected nothing but fresh air from the open window, so she continued on to the bathroom.
    Outside the closed door, she braced herself and pushed open the door—to a sparkling clean bathroom. Eric had scrubbed everything, and all she could smell was the lavender from her favorite scented soaps. What a sweetheart!
    Fifteen minutes later, feeling slightly stronger, she dressed in lightweight cotton slacks, and, holding onto the banister, took the stairs to the kitchen.
    She wanted to grab a quick sandwich and get to the library. Should she tell Eric why she wanted to research the house? She wasn’t sure how he’d