Review
"Very enjoyable book with unique perspectives." - Kent F.
"I would definitely recommend this series to those who love the battle of good vs evil, whether human or supernatural." - D.K.
"Mr. Ripley clears it all up in the only way he knows how - more scary stuff!" - Pat
"This book was awesome. I could not put it down." - Amalthe
"Ron Ripley's books are the bomb! Never boring, wholly satisfying, always chilling." Edna G.
"A satisfying ending to a great series!" - Wen H.
"Just enough scare and description that sleeping at night can be hard." - Heaven R.
"I am completely satisfied with the way the author brought the series to a close." - Reader
"I have come to know some of these characters quite well and am enjoying every word!" - Reader
"I loved every word. This series is my new favorite." - Paige
From the Inside Flap
Chapter 2: A Brief and Cold Conversation
Stefan sat in his safe house in Burlington, Pennsylvania, tossing the lead-lined bag easily from one hand to the other. He considered his options as he did so.
In theory, he could put the item within, whatever it might be, up for sale again. The risk with that wasn't so much the threat of the ghost attached to it escaping, but rather the interception of his mail by the Burlington PD. Stefan didn't suffer any delusions about where he stood on the department's list of suspects in the death of officer Colette.
A package of any size might be seized and opened, and while it would be interesting to see what sort of havoc a ghost might wreak in the police station, it would nonetheless tip the hand of his half-sister and Victor Daniels.
The thought of those two particular individuals brought a frown to his face, and he placed the bag on his lap.
Both had almost gotten the better of him at different points in time, and he had a nagging suspicion that if they worked together, they might catch him.
The idea was decidedly unpleasant.
Thus, mailing the package out had its own risks, none of which Stefan was willing to accept.
Negotiations then, he thought and steeled himself for the encounter.
Without removing the bag from his lap, he opened the neck of the bag slightly. He kept his hands on either end of the drawstring, making certain he would be able to close the lead trap quickly if need be.
With his back against the wall, Stefan waited.
A couple minutes passed. Then 10 and then 30.
Stefan didn't move.
He merely waited.
Two hours had ticked by on the clock before the ghost made its appearance.
Stefan found himself looking at the dead boy who had drowned aboard the Lady Elgin.
The boy appeared cautious and wary, his undead eyes darting about the room, as if confirming that Stefan was alone.
The boy's gun-shy now, Stefan thought, repressing a grin. I should thank Victor Daniels, if I get the chance.
The dead boy kept his distance from Stefan, eyes searching Stefan's hands.
Iron, Stefan realized. The boy's searching for iron.
Finally, the boy took a cautious step forward and glared at Stefan.
"Who are you?" the child demanded in a high, imperious tone. His eyes darted around the room, and he added, "Where are those wretches who were trying to harm me?"
"I don't know," Stefan answered. "And I don't care. And neither should you."
The boy raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest and awaited Stefan's explanation.
He gave it to him a moment later.
"They're not looking for you," Stefan stated. "No, that's not true. They don't know where to look for you."
"Where am I?" the boy asked.
"Does it matter?" Stefan asked in reply.
The dead child grinned. "No."
The ghost stepped closer, and Stefan prepared to close the sack. He knew how the boy liked to kill, and there was far too much water in the house for Stefan to feel comfortable.
But the dead boy stopped a moment later and asked, "Why have you released me?"
"Because I'd like to help you," Stefan explained. "And, in turn, I will be helping myself."
"How will that happen?" the dead boy inquired.
"You like the water?" Stefan asked.
"Yes," the child said cautiously.
"Wouldn't you like to be closer to it?" Stefan asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Wouldn't you much rather be at a port than in some landlocked town?"
The boy nodded, his eyes wide.
"Of course, you do," Stefan whispered. "I know of a wonderful place. Ships and open water.
And people. Oh, so many people."
A smile crept across the boy's face, and he asked, "What do I have to do?"
"Nothing," Stefan answered, smiling. "Not a single thing. I will bring you there, and I will leave you there. And you will do whatever your heart desires."
The dead boy's curiously pink tongue licked his lips, and he asked in a soft voice, "What is the name of this place?"
"Mystic." Stefan grinned. "Mystic, Connecticut."
About the Author
Ron Ripley is a husband and father surviving in New England, a place which seems to be getting colder every day. He grew up across from a disturbingly large cemetery where he managed to scare himself every night before going to bed. Mostly because of the red lights that people put in front of the headstones. Those things are just plain creepy to a kid. Ron enjoys writing horror, military history and driving through the small towns of New England with his family, collecting books and giving impromptu lectures on military history to his family, who enjoy ignoring him during those dreadful times.
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