Coming soon - The Ghost of Sycamore Cottage
Greg James travels north to rebuild his life after a messy divorce. He has landed a new job in Scarborough, on the North Yorkshire coast and in a nearby village his new home awaits. He knew it needed work to bring it back to its former glory, but on arrival his heart drops when he finds himself underwhelmed when he sees it – again! Did he rush into buying it. Was his euphoria after landing a new job so great it clouded his judgement. The neighbours in this tiny village are out in force looking on at Sycamore Cottage’s new owner. But is it a welcome? Then, when one neighbour drops by to question his sanity - did he actually plan to live there? After explaining that he was, a bombshell is dropped – the place is haunted by a ghost!
Undeterred, he enters and closes the door, he looks round his new home, everything seems in working order, it just needs a good dust and cobwebs clearing, but why is nobody prepared to work there? He goes upstairs to what was clearly once a woman’s bedroom, he finds she has, or more likely had, a drawer full of racy underwear. He returns to the kitchen and then the shock as a woman speaks to him. He meets its previous owner, a young woman who had been murdered within the walls of his home. Now its resident ghost. She tells a remarkable story, but not as great as that of him being able to see and hear her.
A fast-moving story of multiple murder, of transition back to mortality and a murderer’s victims returning from the dead to confront the man who killed them. To bring him to justice, or can they? A sexy romp too as more characters appear and existing relationships become strained and are put to the test.
An excerpt
‘Yes?’ I opened the door and an elderly woman holding an unlit torch stood some distance away. I knew Covid social distancing had been all the rage some while back, but all that now seemed to be in the dark and distant past.
‘You’re not staying here, are you?’ She asked what seemed an astonishing question.
‘Of course, I am, I’ve just bought it.’ I replied.
‘You’ve bought it?’ She repeated my answer.
‘Yes, I’ve got a job in Scarborough, I plan to live here.’
‘You can’t live here, you must be mad.’ I’d had my mental state questioned several times recently, but those questions had been raised by people I unfortunately knew, not by a complete stranger.
‘Is there something I don’t know?’ I reacted.
‘You mean you don’t know?’ I was getting frustrated by what was beginning to feel like questions from a pub quiz.
‘Know what? I’m new here, this place was up for sale. I arrive and half the village stare at me as if I’m some alien.’ I paused, starting to get annoyed. I then asked the important question.
‘What am I supposed to know?’ I waited patiently to be enlightened.
‘The brutal murder, here, in there!’ She leaned over and pointed into my newly purchased house. Now that was news to me. I realised the estate agent had kept that snippet of information quiet. It also gave a clue for the giveaway price I’d paid for it.
‘Really, when was this?’ I looked up and once again I saw people standing outside their homes, this was beginning to feel creepy. I looked back inside now.
‘A year ago, a man is in prison for it.’ I realised there was some research needing doing. I was starting to feel cold as the night air closed in. The woman turned and started walking away. ‘I just came by to warn you. Best you found out sooner rather than later.’ She’d reached the gate, and I was about to re-enter my hallway when she added one final repost. ‘It’s haunted too.’
I closed the door. I took a deep breath and stared forward at what I’d bought. Strangely, fear didn’t grip me. I’d always had an interest in the occult. Anything weird and unexplained. Obviously, this woman, together with half the street now expected me to come running out screaming with some apparition chasing me out with a white bed sheet over its head! They’d be disappointed. A murder, seriously? Much as I was chomping on the bit to grab my iPad and check out the history of Sycamore Cottage, I decided more practical things needed doing first. I looked upstairs, I had to sleep somewhere, and I did recall a nice double bed. So nice in fact I had nearly decided not to buy one. Perhaps a new mattress only? I now had visions of the one upstairs being soaked in blood when I pulled back the covers, I certainly had no intention of using. First, I walked into the kitchen and found a kettle with a coating of dust, I blew most of it off, before I filled it with enough water to make tea. I let the tap run a while, suspecting as yet un replaced lead water pipes supplied the water. I switched on the kettle and looked for mugs. This felt surreal. Had it not been for the grime and dust, this place had the feel that someone had just walked out the day before and left it – just as it was when I arrived. I glanced out through the rear door window. It was dark and probably best that way too. The small front garden was overgrown enough, I dreaded to imagine what the far larger rear garden was like. The kettle clicked off. I went to the hallway and grabbed a bag I’d brought in from the car which had a carton of milk and some teabags. I was sure there were teabags somewhere although I wasn’t even going to think about opening the fridge yet, to see if something the previous owner had once poured over their corn flakes, was still in there, but now covered in unmentionable green, stinking slime.
I’m upstairs now, mug of tea in hand. The main bedroom overlooked the street outside. I felt I was still being watched, especially now I’d switched on the light. “Fuck e’m” had entered my thinking again! Sure, enough the bed was still there. I pulled back the covers and found just a plain, clean sheet covering what I hoped was an equally unmarked mattress. All this needed was a good wash. I’d find a laundry somewhere surely. I went to a free-standing wardrobe and opened its doors. No bats flew out scratching my face with their sharp tiny claws. Inside, were women’s clothing. Pretty dresses and a nice coat in a shade of red some fashion designer would recognise immediately. Next was a chest of drawers. I put my mug down and opened the top drawer. Inside was quite a shock. In neat lines were unmistakably women’s underwear. The whole room had a feminine feel about it. I almost felt I was intruding as I picked up a pair. They were brief to the point of nonexistence. Here was a lady of fashion. She certainly dressed to kill. Then having created that last word in my head, the sheer magnitude of my current predicament sank in. Someone had died in this house, and it was likely to have been the owner of the garment I held in my hands. I was looking at them intimately, imagining them being worn, being removed too. But by whom? Perhaps she’d never worn them, then again what if she had? She certainly dressed to give an impression. I looked at the thin strings and knew where they went! No panti line for this girl. One other thing too. Not a single bra! She obviously didn’t wear one, probably she didn’t need to. A modern girl certainly. I needed to find out more so I carefully, respectfully, replaced the item back in the drawer and after sliding it shut, grasped my mug of now much cooler tea, and returned to the kitchen.
I turned on my iPad. Thankfully, I didn’t need WiFi and to my surprise the phone signal was stronger than I assumed it would be. Pleasant surprises had been at a premium so far. One thing for sure, a call into the estate agency I’d used would be high on my list the following day. I Googled, Sycamore Cottage, murder, Wenbury. The screen exploded into instant views of a horrific murder. I went to look it up when I froze. A female voice behind me spoke.
‘You liked my knickers then?’ I spun around and facing me in the doorway was a beautiful young woman I put in her late twenties. Where the hell had she sprung from? If I felt surprised, it was nothing compared to that shown on her face. ‘You can see me then?’ She asked.
‘Of course I can, why wouldn’t I?’ I replied, amazed she’d even questioned it.
‘You’re not frightened, others have seen me and headed out the door like Usain Bolt!’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘You still don’t get it, I’m not from the living. I’m dead, I was murdered here. I’m her ghost!’ The penny dropped like a sheet of corrugated iron dropped from a great height.
‘Oh fuck - you’re not!’
‘Oh, but I am. Can I come in?’
‘It’s your kitchen, or it was.’ Whatever it was glided past me and perched like a thick mist on the table in front of me.
‘Sorry it’s a mess, ghosts don’t get the chance to clean, change beds, run the Hoover around, although mine is actually a Dyson.’ I realised ghosts couldn’t pull out a chair either, so I moved around, and my beautiful apparition slid out of the way to allow me to pull out a facing chair. I sat down and my ghost slid into the chair opposite. I reached out and placed my hand on the table. Hers moved too and melted into mine. She was real, as described, even though she was unreal.
‘I was about to look you up, I had a weird welcome on arrival, people standing staring. Then this old woman knocked and gave me the glad tidings!’ I opened what I hoped would be an enlightening conversation.
‘The glad tidings are on me. At last, I have some company, it’s been tough here on my own, with nobody to talk to. As you could see by my knicker drawer, I liked to go out, to party and have a good time.’ She paused. ‘You met Doris, she’s an old bat, a nosy old cow, always sticking her nose into other people’s business.’ That was a reply from someone who I suspected hadn’t fitted well into the local community.
‘That was said with feeling!’ I replied.
‘It was meant to be. Living around here wasn’t easy, even as a child.’ So, she was local, but then, had I not been a southerner, I’d have instantly recognised a local accent a mile away.
‘Do you realise we’ve been talking for maybe ten minutes, and I don’t even know your name.’ It felt strange, but not weird or unpleasant finding myself talking to somebody apparently real, yet so intangible.
‘You’ll be the only person in this neck of the woods who doesn’t. It’s Poppy, Poppy Appleton, that’s a fine old Yorkshire name.’ I didn’t know that, but then how could I, having lived all my life so far away.
‘Greg James.’ I held out my hand automatically before realising what a futile gesture that was.
‘How does it feel playing host to a ghost, having her as a permanent house guest?’ That was an interesting question. I still hadn’t got my head around her being a ghost, she felt so damned real.
‘It just hasn’t sunk in yet. It’s nice to sit down and talk to a beautiful young woman again, it’s been a pretty barren last two years for me.’ She looked back.
‘Shame we didn’t meet before it happened.’ She added.
‘The “it” being what turned you into a ghost.’
‘If you wish to put it that way, yes.’ I was already taken with her in her virtual state. I wasn’t sure I now wanted to know what took place in this house. She seemed to want to prolong it too. ‘I wondered how you’d react when I appeared. Just one other person has ever seen me, an estate agent who was inside the house measuring up. She ran out screaming and I don’t think she’s worked since.’
‘I don’t know what I thought, I just took you appearing in my stride. Where were you when I was rummaging in your knicker drawer?’ I asked with a big smile on my face.
‘In the doorway, I saw you arrive and observed you from upstairs. When you came up, I kept out of sight. I didn’t want to surprise you halfway up. You’d have seen me eventually.’
‘What if I hadn’t seen you?’ I asked.
‘Played gooseberry. Especially if you’d brought a woman home. I’d have had to settle for being a voyeur, I guess.’ She replied.
‘What if I was gay?’
‘It would have been a first.’ She answered with a broad smile.
‘Where do you sleep?’ I asked next – curious to know if I was to share the same bed.
‘Ghosts don’t sleep Greg, we just float around.’
‘So, you’ll be a constant presence, always there, somewhere in the background?’
‘Only if you want me to be. I’ll understand if you want privacy.’
‘Maybe not the smallest room!’ I suggested.
‘I was a kinky girl, but not that kinky, that would be gross!’
‘So, the line is drawn.’
‘Looks like it.’ There was a period of silence. We both knew there was an elephant in the room, and it wouldn’t go until she had explained her fate. It was late and despite wanting her explanation, I was tired, and I felt that would be better achieved by getting a night sleep and evicting the large thick-skinned, long trunked mammal in the morning.
‘Would you mind if I make up a sleeping bag and head to bed, I’m very tired.’
‘You can sleep in the bed of you’d prefer. It only had little me inside it before…’ a pause. ‘You know.’ I knew.
‘Sounds good to me. When I pulled the covers back, I wondered what I’d find.’
‘Well, good job you didn’t look under the pillow.’ I hadn’t, obviously whatever was there would still be there.
‘I dread to think Poppy.’ She laughed. Seems ghosts did have a sense of humour.
‘I should warn you, I always slept naked.’ I smiled as the flirting continued. Flirting for God's sake with a ghost.
‘In that case I’ll never wash the sheets!’
Murder, mystery, hot romance and GHOSTS
Also by B.L.Miller - The Girl Who Saw Ghosts
Tim, a divorcee, had always wondered if there was life after death. Unexpectedly, while playing golf he finds out, after dropping dead on the 8th. He later finds himself alone in the 19th hole clubhouse, facing the ultimate torture, drink in abundance, yet no means to enjoy a single drop. He finds a neat way to return home, but surprisingly, once back inside he finds he is not alone. He meets a woman of similar age who unknowingly has lived there for over forty years.
Soon the vultures hover, scrapping over what he has left behind. If tensions are high, they go up several notches when his Will is read where a surprise awaits which infuriates his ex-wife Angela, a woman with a checkered past and one thankfully having been discarded by Tim.
More revelations follow as Tim, his daughter Daisy, and his new, (to him) housemate Carol explore the the afterlife and its links to present day issues.
A fast-moving short novel which explores the paranormal and proves there can be love after death.
Available on Amazon - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0D2TZX6QG
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