Haunted Waterways (Dark Legacy Series Book 2) Read online

  Haunted Waterways

  Dark Legacy Series Book 2

  Written by Sara Clancy

  Edited by Emma Salam

  Copyright © 2016 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

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  To really show you my appreciation for downloading this book, I’ve included a bonus scene at the end of this book. I'd also love to send you the full length novel: Sherman’s Library Trilogy by Ron Ripley in 3 formats (MOBI, EPUB and PDF) absolutely free! This will surely make chills run down your spine!

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  Welcome,

  Sara Clancy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  FREE Bonus Novel!

  Chapter 1

  The cold iron wall of the paddle steamer was an unyielding force at Marigold’s back. She pressed against it until her shoulder blades ached and the chill seeped through her sweater. Each breath was a staggered gasp. The blood splattered across her face was cold. It was always cold. But her blood was like fire as it trickled along the shell of her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for her heart beat to slow down once more. When she pried her eyelids open, the corpse was still there. Broken and twisted, the mangled body was draped over the round table.

  At one time, the room must have been an elegant sight. Far smaller than a normal ballroom. The hall had been used to entertain the guests on the river cruises. The tables were still set into place. Decorations dangled from the high ceiling and they adorned the railing of the second level above. Time had robbed the set-up of all its former beauty. Moss and mold crept over the layers of scum that stained the table cloths and dripped from the swaying streamers. Blood oozed out from the man, soaking into the greyish tablecloth under him, the stains growing before her eyes. He had just fallen from the balcony above but already the stench of death and rot polluted the room. He always rotted so fast. The man’s skin was grey and slick. Half of his face had been destroyed by the impact, reduced to mangled hunks of meat and bone. Yet he was still staring at her. He was always staring at her, every day, no matter where she stood, the whites of his eyes rotting to a sickening brown.

  Her fingertips rattled against the rusted wall as she reached above her head, blindly groping for something to hold onto. She found a dent large enough to grab tightly and used it as leverage to pull herself onto her feet. Her knees wanted to buckle and pain pulsed out from the gash over her right temple. Blood trickled over her ear. She brushed the back of her hand over it as she tried to regain her composure.

  You should have checked the time, she chastised herself. This is your own fault.

  For three months it had been the same. A struggle, screaming, and a crash so loud there wasn’t a spot on board long or far enough to keep her from hearing it. She knew not to come into the ballroom until after four in the afternoon. She knew. But she had stupidly wandered in nonetheless, eager to get it over with. Louis would be here soon and she didn’t want him to see this. Didn’t want him to know. She staggered forward, and cautiously approached the corpse. He had never moved before, not after his final death rattle. But it felt like his eyes followed her; watched her. Waiting.

  Dust and grime covered the paddle steamer’s windows. It turned the afternoon light into a murky brown and even the few broken windows could not salvage a normal shade. Dead leaves and twigs covered the floor. They crunched under her every step. It wasn’t exactly what she had envisioned when she had daydreamed of visiting a historic paddle steamer. The others she had seen had looked so beautiful, like a whisper from a time long gone. This one wasn’t separated from time. It had been destroyed by it.

  Carefully, with her gaze locked on the corpse, Marigold reached down and looped her fingers around the edge of the table cloth. One quick tug and she was able to cover its face. It was always easier when he wasn’t watching her. With practiced efficiency, she pulled up the remaining ends and tied them together as best she could. The result was a sack, with a large knot to hold onto and the corpse nestled inside. Blood still seeped out. It dripped on the floor with rhythmic thuds, like the ticking of a clock. She was taking too long. Louis will be here soon. He’ll see. She couldn’t let him know.

  Crouching down, she placed her hands over the rim of the table and pushed up. Her slender arms struggled to lift the weight of the corpse. They trembled with the strain as the table inched up. It toppled over with a sudden swish and a deafening crash. The sound echoed off the walls and rebounded within her chest. The bundled corpse skidded across the floor, trapping the foliage debris against the slick material while blood smeared across the floor. Leaving the table on its side, she scurried around to grab the knot. It was heavy. It was always so heavy. Her shoulders strained and the soles of her shoes squeaked as she pulled it across the floor. No matter how many times she did this, she never got used to the weight.

  There was a door on the far side of the room, wide enough to keep up with the aesthetics of the ballroom, that opened out onto a balcony. Each of the four levels of the paddle boat had matching balconies, with the lower two levels hanging out significantly further than the top two. The ballroom was on the fourth floor, with only the captain’s cabin and steering house above. Each day the man fell through the sunroof. She always heard the glass break, but there was never any glass when she came in.

  She was out of breath by the time she managed to tug the bundle out through the door. Life would have been much easier if she could toss it over the railing from here, but she was never strong enough to lift it. She had to get it down the spiral staircase to the second floor. Taking a moment, she rested against the railing of the balcony. It consisted of three lower poles with large gaps between them, and a strip of wood at hip height. Red paint chipped off the splintering surface, but it was still sturdy enough to carry her weight. She took a deep breath, the air tainted with the dusky but sweet scent of Spanish moss, and rolled her shoulders. Not able to wait any longer, she went back to work.

  Sweat glistened on her skin by the time she got the corpse to the top of the spiral staircase. Her mind shifted rapidly between focused and reeling. She was able to stop her thoughts from wandering. Why couldn’t they have kept to the concepts of a straight staircase? Were spirals really that more appealing? It wasn’t easy to maneuver her bulky package through it, so she had taken to tossing it down in short bursts. She squirmed with each resounding contact against the railing. Some were accompanied with a wet squish, others with a crack of bone, but each time her stomach churned. There was no dignity in the process. She hadn’t known him in life, but didn’t doubt that he deserved more reverence to be taken with his body. But it wasn’t really his body, not anymore. In all of the campfire stories she had heard growing up, she had never known that ghosts could do this. That they could come back physically. Or could have their remains become a physical presence. She clung to that thought as she was forced to kick him again to get him down further. It wasn’t really him.

  The steps groaned under their combined weight, the metal they were connected to releasing rusted shrieks.
By the time they reached the next floor, her legs were screaming and sweat was drizzled along her spine. The blood was still seeping from her forehead. The neckline of her sweater was stained and slick, and stuck against her shoulder. She grabbed onto the railing and sunk down onto the balcony floor next to the sack. An empty hollow feeling had swallowed up her insides.

  Resting her unmarred temple against a pole, Marigold looked out over the thick layer of emerald green moss that blanketed the swamp. Spindly trees reached out with branches like skeletal fingers, clawing out of the ever-present fog which clung to the bayou floor. On bright days like these, it was possible to see the far bank, sometimes even a bit further. On other days, it was impossible to see past the balcony. The bayou was never really quiet. Frogs and bugs joined together to create a constant symphony. Every so often, something would thrash under the water, heard but unseen. A fish or a snake, maybe an alligator or two.

  She never knew what happened to the bodies once she had surrendered them to the murky water of the bayou. But each day the body was back, reappearing on the same table in the ballroom. Was it the same body, over and over? she thought. Or did they just pile up under the water? Since she had never been brave enough to enter the water, she never had any answers. Just questions in her head and a sick feeling in her stomach.

  The soft rumble of a car engine snapped her back into the moment. Louis. It couldn’t be. She still had hours. Why was he so early? she thought wildly. It couldn’t be anyone else. No one ventured this far into the bayou unless they were very lost. She ran to the side of the boat that was nestled alongside the muddy back. It overlooked the only place possible to park a car, even though half of it would be swallowed by the incoming tide. Her fingers twisted around the top rail, the wood splintering in her grip.

  The boat was beached in a wide clearing that was almost impassable, and dangerous if you didn’t know where to step. There were wide patches of soft mud that could easily bog a car. In other places, the floating grass was thick enough that it looked like solid land. Louis had told her stories of people who had stepped onto it and been swallowed whole; the grass would instantly close up, trapping the person underneath. Unless there was someone there who knew exactly where you had gone in, there wasn’t much of a chance you were getting out again.

  With these conditions, there was only one possible route the car could be coming from. Unfortunately, it was closely bracketed by a cluster of trees that tapped the fog, making it thicker. She peered into the grey blanket, frantically searching for a hint of a vehicle. But there was no way she was going to see him, not until he was a few yards away.

  He can’t see this. Marigold ran back to the corpse and hurled it towards the next flight of stairs. The noise grew louder as she finally reached it. She kicked at it with all her strength, forcing it down the staircase, but it kept getting trapped in the curves and bannister posts. Blow after blow, she fought for each inch with sweat and panic. The soft purr of the engine rose into a roar. With one last kick, the body toppled out onto the deck. On this floor, down at the other end of the ship, there was a hole in the railing. She knew from experience that it was large enough to fit the bundle through, but if Louis made it up to the deck, she wouldn’t have any cover. If she wasn’t fast enough Louis would see. He can’t see. He can’t know.

  Her fingers ached to the point of breaking as she fisted them into the tablecloth. The weight pulled her down, made each step tiny and hurried. All the muscles in her back clenched, her arms trembled, and she couldn’t pull in a full breath. She made it to the front of the boat in time to see twin lights begin to emerge from the fog. Marigold almost fell as she threw herself back, using her body weight to move the bundle. The car engine blared. Reaching back with one hand she grabbed the twisted railing and used it as leverage to pull herself closer. The mud sloshed and squished under rolling tires.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, she shoved the body into the gap. It clung to the edges, the blood-soaked material damp against her hands. She threw her shoulder against it, her legs skidding over the deck. With a sudden jolt and a rip of fabric the bundle slipped through. She almost fell with it. The air rushed from her lungs as she slammed against the deck, half of her torso dangling through the gap. It fell into the water with a loud splash and quickly disappeared. The floating moss rippled and swayed on the waves. Then the vibrating green moss drew together once more, concealing the water and the corpse it now held. Relief settled into her stomach as she slid herself back onto the boat. Then she noticed the blood.

  Chapter 2

  Long thick strips of blood streaked over the deck, a visible track of every inch the body had travelled. Her ribs throbbed as she stripped off her sweater and hurriedly began to mop up the blood stains. All the thin nylon did was push the crimson liquid around. A car door slammed shut and she flipped her head up. Without thought, she pushed her hand through her hair, only noticing the blood on her hands afterwards. She told herself that it was okay, her natural hair color would hide most of it.

  She threw her sweater to the side, as far along the back of the boat as she could. There was some outdoor furniture on the front deck, a little sitting area Louis had arranged in an attempt to make the place seem a bit more welcoming. She made it across the place just as Louis jogged up the makeshift gangplank. He met her eyes and a soft, easy smile spread across his face.

  “Well, hey there, cher!” His southern drawl was sweet and husky and soothed the panicked core of her being.

  But Louis Dupont was an observant man and it didn’t take more than a second for him to notice something was off. He didn’t hesitate to rush towards her.

  “I’m okay,” she said hurriedly. “I just fell over and cracked my head. It’s not bad.”

  He didn’t believe her for a second, she could see it in his eyes, but he nodded and forced a smile again. With gentle fingers, he nudged at her chin to get a better look at her temple.

  “Did you hit your head on anything metal? We might have to give you a tetanus shot.”

  “No, it was a table top.”

  Again, he watched her carefully but didn’t comment.

  “Well, let’s get you patched up.”

  She grabbed his wrist and started to pull him towards the back door, careful to take him through a route that would keep him away from the trail of blood. He quirked an eyebrow at the contact. They didn’t touch for long.

  For a while, it seemed that the only time people reached out for her was to hurt her. It made her weary. She was never sure if Louis had put conscious effort into it, but he naturally kept the perfect distance away, nicely on the edge of her comfort zone.

  “I’ve got the first aid kit in the kitchen,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Okay.” Suspicion hung heavily in his voice. “Lead the way.”

  Marigold released his wrist but kept her eyes on him, worried that he might dash off to the side any second to investigate. But she needn’t have worried. Louis fell into step behind her and patiently followed her to the lower deck. The kitchen was towards the back of the boat. Even with all the dumbbell waiters that had once lifted the food to the dining hall and further on to the ballroom, it still must have been a pain for anyone who had worked on the ship in its prime. Before a hurricane had promptly relocated it into the inland swamps.

  It must have been beautiful when it was first built. A classic paddle streamer designed to let people travel the Mississippi River in style. When the fog thickened and the tide rolled in, it almost looked like it once had. At that time, it looked like it was floating. But eventually the tide receded and the boat was once again left abandoned in the reeds.

  Only a few stubborn guests and staff had refused to leave as the storm had brewed. She didn’t know the exact number, but she knew that four of them remained here. They couldn’t leave, not until they were willing to cross over to whatever existed beyond this world. All things considered, Marigold supposed that they had taken well to her becoming their new shi
pmate. But that didn’t mean that they didn’t keep the bowels of the ship as cold as a meat locker. She hunched her shoulders against the chill as Louis followed her to the kitchen.

  “So, how are things going?” Louis asked.

  Marigold was careful in her answer. Louis had taken her under his wing, partly because of their shared history, and partly because she so desperately needed someone to care for her. Louis had a strong protective instinct and didn’t shy away from doing all he could to help her. He was the kind of man who would throw himself towards danger if it would spare someone else from pain.

  The paddle steamer had been his idea. The demon that had attached itself to her had been gathering strength and she had needed some place safe. Somewhere the demon couldn’t follow. With a few territorial ghosts in residence and the addition of the voodoo charms Louis’ mother had placed around the boat, this place was like a walled castle. Not completely impenetrable, but considered safer. Louis wasn’t naive by any measure, so she never could decide if he truly believed that the demon would give up if its access was cut off. She didn’t believe it, but she never told him that.

  “As good as can be expected,” she eventually answered.

  “And what did you trip over again?”

  Marigold smiled over her shoulder, “Okay, okay. One startled me and I tripped. But it was my fault.”

  Louis grabbed her wrist to make her stop walking. The afternoon light caught his glasses and gave extra light to his hazel eyes.

  “None of this is your fault. You don’t deserve any of what’s happening to you.”

  She blushed and tried to shrug in his grip. “Well, when you consider my family, this might be karma.”

  “No, it’s not. That’s not even how karma works. Unless you’re saying that you’re a reincarnation of one of your own ancestors.”