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  Haunted Tales

  A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY

  (Book Fifteen)

  by

  Terri Reid

  HAUNTED TALES – A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY

  by

  Terri Reid

  Copyright © 2015 by Terri Reid

  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 both the copyright owner and the above publisher 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.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  The author would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this book: Richard Reid, Sarah Powers, Denise Carpenter, Maureen Marella, Jennifer Bates and Hillary Gadd. I especially wanted to express my love and gratitude to my “clever mommy” Virginia Onines who has always supported my dreams and has offered loving advice.

  She would also like to thank all of the wonderful readers who walk with her through Mary and Bradley’s adventures and encourage her along the way. I hope we continue on this wonderful journey for a long time.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Prologue

  Kristen Banks adjusted the transistor radio on her desk to pick up the station that seemed to be fading out; she turned the knob to the left slowly and then reversed the movement, turning it to the right until the station once again came in clearly. It was hard to pick up the popular AM Chicago radio station all the way in Polo, especially within the confines of the school, but the solid rock music was worth the effort.

  Singing along to “Could It Be I'm Falling in Love,” she pulled another piece of narrow, lined paper off the stack of spelling tests and quickly reviewed it. With a frustrated sigh, she picked up the red pencil and marked the first three words. “Really, Andrew?” she muttered softly. “Did you even study the words at all?”

  Even though Andrew was only a fourth grader, Kristen could see that he had potential, but if he didn’t buckle down and start studying, he was going to fall short of the person he could be. She counted the number of red checks on the paper; he only got six of the twenty-four words correct. With a heavy heart she placed a red “F” on the top of the page but next to it wrote, “You have the ability to do much better than this. I believe in you. You should believe in yourself.”

  The radio’s jingle interrupted her paper grading, and she glanced up at the clock above the bulletin boards. It was already past seven. Where did the time go?

  She sat back in her chair, picked up the latest letter from her fiancé that was lying on the top of her inbox and smiled. “This is where all the time went,” she murmured, a soft smile playing across her lips. “I’m daydreaming about you again, Danny.”

  Pulling the thin sheet from the airmail envelope, she reread the closing lines once again, although they were already burned into her memory.

  My deployment ends in two weeks. I’m doing everything I can to stay safe because all I want is to hold you in my arms again. I can’t wait until we stand before our families and friends and I can hear you say the words, “I do.” So, I’ve been thinking we should get married right away. As soon as I get home. Between my mom and your mom, I know we can pull this off. I love you with all my heart.

  Yours forever,

  Danny

  Yes, she could pull it off! She leaned back in her chair and smiled up at the ceiling. She would love to pull it off! And, as soon as she got home that evening, she was going to give both moms a call so their quick wedding would be perfect. She looked down at the open journal that was next to the ink blotter on her desk and jotted down a few more items under her newly created list, Things for my wedding. She used to keep her journal at home but found that she had more time to write her thoughts during the week when she was sitting at her desk.

  She turned to the next page and wrote, Give Andrew’s mom a call about study habits for Andrew. She often used her journal to write down thoughts and reminders about her students and their parents, thoughts that might not be appropriate for her teacher’s notes.

  A noise in the hallway interrupted her thoughts, and she looked at the glass pane on the classroom window. She could see a shadow moving down the hall, but the lights were too dim for her to get a clear view. She knew it wasn’t the janitor; he’d already gone home for the day. A shiver of apprehension went down her back as she realized that everyone who worked at the school had probably gone home for the day.

  She shook her head. “So what?” she chided herself. This was Polo, Illinois. This was her home town. People kept their doors unlocked and the keys in their cars. There was nothing to be afraid of in Polo. Perhaps it was just a concerned parent coming to meet with her.

  She opened the desk drawer to her right and lifted up the secret compartment under the floor of the drawer where she kept her journal and her letters from Danny. She loved having them near, too, but didn’t want someone to acc
identally come across them or her journal. So, sixteen months ago, when she received his first letter, she added a false compartment that was only a few inches high and fairly undetectable. She put the letter into the journal and slipped them both into the compartment. For some reason, she felt the letter and her journal were safer in the compartment until she dealt with her unexpected visitor.

  Pushing her chair back, she walked across the room to the door and opened it. “Hello?” she called out into the hallway. “Can I help you?”

  She looked up and down the hall. No one was there. “That’s odd,” she murmured.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she stepped back into her classroom, turning the lock into the closed position. She wrapped her arms across her body and took a deep, calming breath. “You’re being ridiculous,” she said to herself. “It was just a reflection of a passing car.”

  She looked around her classroom, the desks neatly lined up in six rows, the bulletin boards filled with recent art projects. The counter held their science projects, sprouting bean seeds in paper cups lined up under the window, and a map was pulled down to highlight Illinois for Social Studies the next day. She tried to let these familiar sights instill a feeling of normality. But the lump in her stomach just seemed to grow larger as her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Okay, I’m just scaring myself now,” she admitted. “I might as well work from home because I’m going to be jumping at every little sound I hear.”

  Walking to her desk, she gathered the unmarked papers together and placed them in her leather briefcase, along with her favorite marking pens, a red one and a black one, and her smiley-face stickers. She closed up her desk, pulled her jacket and purse from the small teacher’s closet behind her desk and unlocked her door.

  She hated that she peered up and down the hall before she stepped out of the classroom, but there was no one there to witness it so what did it matter. The hallway was empty. She stepped out, put the key into the lock and locked the door before sticking the key securely into the outside pocket of her purse.

  Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. “All safe and sound,” she said.

  “Not quite,” a low voice from behind her whispered.

  Her scream was swallowed as a large hand was clapped over her mouth. She struggled against the strong arm that pulled her back against a hard body and held her tightly. “I just want you to be mine,” the low voice whispered in her ear. “I know you think you love someone else, but that’s just because you ain’t really had a chance to get to know me.”

  She tried to shake her head and pull away. She tried to scream. But the large hand was also covering her nose, and she was finding it hard to breathe. She felt herself moving, being pulled backwards toward the staircase.

  “You’ll be happier with me,” the voice continued, and she trembled with repulsion as she felt wet lips graze alongside her neck. “I’ll give you the kind of loving a woman like you needs.”

  Her vision was dimming, and she knew that in a matter of moments she would lose consciousness and be totally vulnerable. The hand moved lower, stroking up and down her hip.

  “Your body was just made for me,” the voice said, and the grip tightened once more and pulled her forcefully back. “And I’m gonna show you a real good time.”

  With fury born of desperation, she lifted her leg and kicked back, her high heel connecting with something solid.

  “You bitch!” the voice roared. The hands whipped her around and pushed her back.

  She didn’t have a chance to focus on a face. A scream exploded from her mouth as she stumbled backwards onto the open staircase and fell. She bounced against the concrete and steel stairs, felt the pain rip through her bones, and finally as her head collided with the wrought iron railings, she felt nothing at all.

  Chapter One

  “So, there I was as this thing came hurtling down the staircase towards me,” Bradley said, waving his arms over his head for drama. “And Mary was unconscious on the couch from a terrible head-on collision she had with a fort.”

  “A fort?” Mike asked, leaning against the kitchen wall with his arms folded over his chest, engrossed in the story.

  “A fort?’ Clarissa echoed, turning her focus from her father to her mother as they all sat around the breakfast table.

  Mary chuckled. “That’s another story,” she replied. “And I wasn’t unconscious. I was just sleeping.”

  “Sleeping, unconscious, what’s the difference?” Bradley asked with a wink.

  “Well, as a former first responder, I can tell you…” Mike interrupted.

  “So, this terrible creature…” Bradley continued, talking over Mike.

  “That you couldn’t see,” Mary inserted with a wink towards Mike.

  “Which made it even more terrible,” Bradley added. “Came down the stairs. Thump. Thump. Thump.”

  “Like the bunny in Bambi?” Clarissa asked innocently, sending both Mary and Mike a conspiratorial smile.

  “No, not like that at all,” Bradley replied, so caught up in the story that he didn’t see the smile pass among his audience. “It was more like this.”

  He lifted his boot-clad foot and thumped it against the kitchen linoleum. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “Very realistic,” Mike said. “I can totally picture it.”

  “Oh,” Clarissa replied, hiding a grin. “I get it now.”

  He looked up and studied their faces. “Do you want a ghost story or not?” he growled, the twinkle in his eyes belying the tone of his voice.

  “Of course I do, Daddy,” Clarissa replied. “‘Sides, you have to practice telling it for Halloween night when everyone’s here.”

  He nodded and continued. “So, I drew my gun…”

  “You were going to shoot a ghost?” Clarissa asked.

  “Well, I didn’t believe in ghosts at the time,” he replied.

  “You were going to shoot an invisible Thumper?” Clarissa asked while Mary stifled a chuckle.

  “Wow, that’s like shooting an invisible Bambi’s mother,” Mike added.

  “I was merely being prepared for anything,” he replied. “So then I stealthily made my way across the room.”

  Remembering the remains of her treasured cookie jar that he broke during that encounter, Mary gently cleared her throat, and he smiled up at her.

  “Perhaps not as stealthily as I would have liked,” he admitted. “But I stood between the creature and Mary.”

  “Yes he did,” Mary agreed. “He protected me from Earl.”

  “Earl?” Clarissa and Mike asked.

  “Yes, and Earl was a ghastly looking specter,” Mary added, lowering her voice. “With a body riddled with bullet holes and blood oozing from each wound.”

  “Ohhhhh,” Clarissa said, her eyes widening.

  “And he walked with a slow limp,” Mary continued, “dragging his bloodied body through the house and up the stairs to my bedroom where I lay sleeping, alone and unprotected.”

  Clarissa grabbed hold of her father’s hand. “Oh, no,” she said.

  Mike leaned forward in spite of himself.

  “And when I looked up to see him standing next to my bed, blood dripping on my white blanket…” Mary said.

  “Did it stain?” Clarissa interrupted, lifting her hand from Bradley’s and turning to Mary.

  Bradley looked from daughter to mother and laughed. “Whose daughter is she?”

  Mary chuckled and shook her head. “No, surprisingly, it didn’t,” she said. “But I was worried.”

  “Wait,” Mike said. “A headless, dead guy was in your bedroom, and you were worried about his blood staining your duvet?”

  “It was a really nice duvet,” Mary replied.

  “And then she looked up from her bed,” Bradley continued, his voice mimicking Mary’s. “And what did she discover? He was holding his head in his hands.”

  “Cause he had a headache?” Clarissa asked.

  Mike exploded in laughter and the
n clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he said to Bradley.

  Bradley exhaled in frustration. “No, because someone chopped his head off,” he said, and then he turned to Mary. “I am absolutely no good at this. Your entire family is going to fall asleep during my story.”

  Clarissa turned back to her father. “Oh, no, Daddy,” she encouraged. “You were really great. You really made me feel scared. Really.”

  He bent over and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Well, thank you, sweetheart,” he replied with a smile. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

  “So, when are Grandma and Grandpa O’Reilly and my uncles coming to tell ghost stories?” Clarissa asked.

  “Halloween night,” Mary said. “So we’ll go trick or treating early, and then we’ll all get together, light the jack-o-lantern and tell scary stories.” She paused for a moment, looked over her daughter’s head to Bradley and winked. “I know. You could tell them about the time you helped Clarissa clean out under her bed. That was really scary.”

  Clarissa giggled.

  “Scary and disgusting,” Bradley added, and then he glanced up at the clock. “Okay, kiddo, the bus will be here in five minutes. Go brush your teeth and grab your backpack.”

  “Okay,” she replied with a smile. “I can’t wait until Halloween.”

  “Me, too,” Bradley said, his voice a little less enthusiastic. “I just can’t wait.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mike teased as he started to fade away. “You’ll get better. You can’t possible get any worse.”

  Chapter Two

  “So she doesn’t suspect a thing?” Rosie asked Bradley, placing a blueberry muffin on a plate before him.

  “Course she don’t,” Stanley answered before Bradley could speak. “He’s a law enforcement officer. He knows how to keep a secret.”

  Stanley picked up another muffin from the middle of their kitchen table and slowly peeled the paper from its sides. “However…” he started.

  “However?” Bradley asked, his mouth half full.

  Stanley turned and met Bradley’s eyes. “However, iffen you keep eating my wife’s cooking after you eat your wife’s cooking every morning, she’s gonna wonder which of the two of you this baby shower is for.”