Her Ghostly Dom

One

Katherine

It was the night before Halloween, and Katherine Tamara Jefferson was settling in for the evening when a sudden gust of wind surrounded her, blowing out the fireplace she had lit a moment ago and nearly knocking her off her feet.

A quick glance at the sealed window assured her she had not been careless in leaving it open. But where had the draft come from?

For good measure, she approached, checking it for any cracks or openings.

As she stared out at the dark courtyard below of Winterderby Estate, she couldn't help but notice the wind, or lack thereof. No trees rustling. No wind howling. No branches scraping the side of the house. The night was still, calm, and motionless.

A chill crept up her spine as she considered the daunting possibilities for the sudden wind attack. Surely it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She refused to entertain thoughts of the paranormal. She was a practical woman, after all. A journalist tasked with spending the next few nights in the so-called "haunted manor" to put the silly fables to rest so that the property could find a buyer.

It had been a property of the state for fifty years and sold fifteen years ago to a developer Giles Branson. Since then, it has been renovated and updated with modern decor and amenities in hopes of flipping it for a hefty profit. Only the developer hadn't counted on anyone showing no interest in owning the haunted house on the hill, said to be occupied by a murderous ghost.

Despite its disturbing reputation, the manor was quite lovely. Exquisite, really. Its Gothic structure stood out among the picturesque landscape surrounded by trees and local flora and fauna. The manor sat beside a glittering lake, which in the dark appeared like an endless sea of dark matter, an abyss inescapable that had no beginning and no end.

The manor had originally been built in England centuries ago. Recently an insanely wealthy man took an interest in the property and its history, bought it, and had it moved brick by brick and reconstructed right here in Los Angeles County.

Katherine pulled her threadbare robe more fully over her generous curves, assaulted by the chill of the night without the warmth of the furnace.

As she began to crawl beneath the covers, that's when she heard the faint sound of an operatic melody in the distance.

Purcell's Dido's Lament, if she weren't mistaken. Her feet carried her forward before she could think better of it. Slipping out of her bedroom and down the infinite hallway of the sprawling mansion, letting her trained ear guide her toward the music. It was a song from her favorite opera, a song she had played many a time on her violin.

She went down the long corridor, descending the staircase and into the grand ballroom, when a stranger with long dark hair tickled the keys with expert precision.

Katherine thought she would be alone in this mansion but perhaps not. She approached the subject with caution. His back was to her, and he didn't appear to be aware of her presence yet. She didn't want to interrupt the beautiful aria.

In her mind, she sang the words along with the melody, and for one small moment, she was up on stage again, blinded by the spotlight, surrounded by throngs of adoring fans, utterly silent, hanging on her every key as she raised her voice to the heavens.

When she opened her eyes, the mysterious musician was no longer playing the piano. He was facing her with his arms leaning back on the grand as he studied her with deep chestnut eyes, twinkling with amusement and something else. Something darker.

"You have a beautiful voice," he said.

Katherine couldn't mask her shock. Had she really been singing out loud?