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Feast of Fear: Supernatural Horror with Scary Ghosts & Haunted Houses (Tormented Souls Series Book 3) by [Ron Ripley, Scare Street, Kathryn St. John-Shin]

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Feast of Fear: Supernatural Horror with Scary Ghosts & Haunted Houses (Tormented Souls Series Book 3) Kindle Edition

4.8 out of 5 stars 67 ratings
Book 3 of 6 in Tormented Souls Series

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Length: 191 pages Word Wise: Enabled Enhanced Typesetting: Enabled
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Editorial Reviews

From the Inside Flap

Someone was in the kitchen with her.
 
Cautiously, Lindsey lowered the glass bottle and stared at the unknown thing.
 
It was tall and white, and it took her a moment to process the fact that she was looking at a young woman wrapped in a bedsheet. Her hair was choppy and messy, and she had some sort of makeup on to make it look like she had a scar. The girl, Lindsey noticed, even had a contact in to make her eye look completely white.
 
Great. All that is great, Lindsey thought sourly. Why the hell is she here, though?
 
She glanced at the clock on the stove. At three in the morning? How'd she get in? Did I leave it unlocked?
 
"Hey." The sound of her own slurred voice frightened Lindsey, and then she laughed. "You need to get out of here. Private property."
 
"You're drunk." Lindsey was taken aback by the dry, raspy sound of the young woman's voice.
 
"Only a little," Lindsey answered, her voice weak and whiny.
 
The dead woman sneered, revealing yellowed teeth and hinting at a dark disposition.
 
"What do you want?" Lindsey's voice trembled as she asked the question.
 
"Your house." The dead woman grinned, adding, "But not you. You're worthless. I had hoped to find your children here. It's been a few years since I cooked anyone younger than ten."
 
Lindsey's back stiffened. "Shut up."
 
A harsh, brutal bark of a laugh exploded out of the dead woman. "Is that all you can think to say to me? I'm here to finish you off. To take your house and keep it for whatever nasty little experiment my boss thinks up." The dead woman stepped closer. "You remind me of a pig."
 
"What?"
 
"Yes. A pig." The stranger clasped her hands behind her back and smiled. "A squealing little runt of a piglet. Have you ever eaten a trussed up little pig, or is that too much like cannibalism for you?"
 
"Get out." Lindsey trembled as she spoke, getting to her feet and desperately trying to keep her balance. She grabbed the back of a chair and swayed for a moment.
 
The ghost sprang forward, screaming as she did so.
 
Lindsey let out a terrified shriek and fell back, striking her head on the floor with enough force to crack her skull. The pain was immediate and intense, a burning, nauseating sensation which left her moaning and writhing on the floor.
 
She tried to get up but collapsed each time. She rolled onto her side and saw the dead woman was standing by the refrigerator, watching every move Lindsey made and enjoying each moment of it.
 
"Look at you," the dead woman cooed.
 
"Shut up," Lindsey hissed, regretting the words as soon as she spoke them.
 
"No control." The dead woman shook her head. "Is it any wonder that your husband is dead? Oh, yes, I've been told what happened. Simpering idiot. One of the reasons I came tonight was to see if I could sever your family tree once and for all. Perhaps I can. Maybe I could have you bring me to your children."
 
Lindsey trembled as she pushed herself across the floor, the dead woman advancing a small step each time.
 
"Where do you think you're going?" The dead woman tilted her head to one side, a genuine look of curiosity on her face. "Do you think you'll get away from me? From me? You're a fool. I'm going to enjoy killing you. Do you have any cookbooks? You must. Look at you. I doubt you ever turned down a chance to eat."
 
A smile spread across the dead woman's face, and Lindsey shuddered at the horror of it.
 
"Oh, yes, I used to enjoy cooking." The dead woman smiled, glancing around the kitchen. "I wasn't great at it, but I liked it. And I did so enjoy experimenting. Your kitchen, it's a mess, but I think it would be nice to cook in, don't you?"
 
"No." Lindsey's voice was hardly more than a whisper.
 
"Oh, I think you do." The dead woman gave her a wink and looked at the stove. "I like that you have a gas stove. Nothing quite like a fire to really bring out the taste in a piece of meat. At least, that's always been my impression. It adds a little something to it. A little bit of pizzazz."
 
Without taking her eyes off Lindsey, the dead woman walked to the stove, and to Lindsey's horrified surprise, she managed to turn on one of the burners. The flame was left on high, and the dead woman grinned.
 
"Have you ever smelled a well-done pot roast?" A smirk played on the dead woman's face.
 
"What?"
 
"A pot roast?" The dead woman sighed. "You're an abomination. Truly. Did you ever even cook for your children?"
 
When Lindsey didn't reply, the dead woman shrugged and walked to her. Fear rooted Lindsey in place as a long, slender arm reached out to her. It was heavily scarred with huge chunks of flesh missing and healed over. Before she could react, Lindsey felt the painfully cold grip of the dead woman's hand lock around her wrist.
 
With a scream, Lindsey tried to wrench herself free, but it was pointless. There was nothing to claw at. Nothing to fight against.
 
The dead woman chuckled as she dragged Lindsey across the floor to the stove. Lindsey felt her throat close with terror as the dead woman began to speak.
 
"I'd like to tell you that this isn't going to hurt. That isn't true, though. It's going to hurt a lot. More than anything else you've felt before, and you'll die knowing that your children are orphans."
 
Lindsey moaned and tried to wrench her arm free, an act which resulted in nothing more than pleased laughter from the dead woman.
 
"Here's something else for you to think about," the dead woman whispered, pulling Lindsey to her feet. "If your children come while I'm still here, I'm going to cook at least one of them. I only wish I could still taste what I cook."
 
Then Lindsey's hand was thrust into the open flame, and she screamed, not only from the pain of the fire but from the realization that a child of hers was doomed.

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