Bliss House

Bliss House

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Summary

The derelict ante bellum house in the North Carolina mountains called out to Jill Carey, almost as if living beings compelled her to buy it and restore it to its former glory. For good reason. It’s inhabited by the ghosts of century-old illicit lovers, trapped in the place where they died until a descendant returns to Bliss House, finds a lasting love he is free to marry. Kyle Randall, great great grandson of one of the ghosts, hates coming to the haunted house but agrees to restore the place for Jill, only to set in motion a dark, sometimes frightening tale of sexual obsession, ghostly intervention—and the healing power of lasting love.

Summary

The derelict ante bellum house in the North Carolina mountains called out to Jill Carey, almost as if living beings compelled her to buy it and restore it to its former glory.
For good reason. It’s inhabited by the ghosts of century-old illicit lovers, trapped in the place where they died until a descendant returns to Bliss House, finds a lasting love he is free to marry.
Kyle Randall, great great grandson of one of the ghosts, hates coming to the haunted house but agrees to restore the place for Jill, only to set in motion a dark, sometimes frightening tale of sexual obsession, ghostly intervention—and the healing power of lasting love.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Bliss House

Author Chapter Note

The derelict ante bellum house in the North Carolina mountains called out to Jill Carey, almost as if living beings compelled her to buy it and restore it to its former glory. For good reason. It’s inhabited by the ghosts of century-old illicit lovers, trapped in the place where they died until a descendant returns to Bliss House, finds a lasting love he is free to marry. Kyle Randall, great great grandson of one of the ghosts, hates coming to the haunted house but agrees to restore the place for Jill, only to set in motion a dark, sometimes frightening tale of sexual obsession, ghostly intervention—and the healing power of lasting love.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 21, 2015

Reads: 655

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 21, 2015

A A A

A A A

Chapter One

“Stop!”

Jill Carey knew the moment she saw the derelict of an ancient house, perched at the top of a gentle rise above the road. This was it, the refuge she had seen in her dreams, the home that had called out to her. She pictured fragrant jasmines climbing those stout columns that marched across the front, clumps of mountain laurel brightening the sloping yard that was now a maze of unkempt brambles.

“You don’t want Bliss House.” As he pulled his car into the overgrown driveway, Jill sensed fear in the portly realtor’s rumbling voice.

“Yes I do. This is just what I’ve been looking for. It will be perfect after I renovate it. Is this place on the historical registry? How old is it?” Jill could hardly contain her excitement about the old house outside the little town of Gray Hollow high in the Great Smoky Mountains yet not too far from either Greensboro or Charlotte. Wanting to see more, she opened the door and started to get out.

None too gently George Wilson, the realtor, grabbed her arm. “You don’t want this place. It’s been haunted for nigh onto a hundred years. Nobody will buy it. It’s been listed for sale off and on, since long before I started selling real estate around here.”

Jill laughed. She had always heard mountain folk were superstitious. Now she was beginning to believe it.

Haunted houses and ghosts. What a joke. If I can live with the mess I’ve made of her own life, I can certainly make room for these figments of George Wilson’s active imagination.

“I’m not afraid of a few spirits, George. Come on, I want to see inside.” She extricated her arm from the realtor’s grasp, slid out of the car and headed briskly up a weed-filled path to the porch.

When George caught up with her, he was huffing and red-faced. “I can’t let you go in there by yourself,” he grumbled, catching Jill’s arm and placing himself in front of her. “Watch out for those rotten porch boards.” He reminded her of a very reluctant knight of old she’d once seen in a movie, standing there shaking as though he was scared to death but determined to shield a stubborn lady from her own folly.

They made their way across the sagging porch, and George fit an ancient, rusty key into the lock of the front door. When he opened it, the creak of long-immobile hinges made Jill jump. Still the house called out to her, as though it were a living thing too long deprived of the warmth of human occupants.

“You might be able to salvage some old heart pine,” George muttered as he made his way across wide board planks that hadn’t seen a broom, much less wax and nourishing oils, for decades. “Guess you could build a mighty nice place here after you tear this one down.”

Jill could practically feel the old house shudder. “Tear it down? That would be practically a crime. I’ll have it restored. Look. This looks like it was all carved by hand.” She knelt and traced dust-filled crevices in a baseboard where she discovered a design of delicate, interwoven leaves and vines. When George made his way down a wide, empty hallway, she stood and followed him, taking in the ambience of deserted rooms and century-old furnishings.

“Miss Jill, you don’t want to live here.” Opening another creaking door, he leapt back as though being in here terrified him. “Here’s the very room where they got what was comin’ to them. Nobody ever fixed it, they just boarded it up and left it to the ghosts.” In a shaky voice, hands trembling, George related a tale of ill-fated lovers who’d died in the still-charred ruins of what must have once been a cozy bedroom. “You know, they say the bed burned first,” he said as he closed off the room with a trembling hand and made his way as fast as he could toward the gaping front door.

The story—and the sight of the gutted room where repairs apparently had been limited to the outer walls—shook Jill for a minute. But she’d made up her mind. This was where she’d mend her life and her battered heart. She wouldn’t rest until Bliss House belonged to her.

 


© Copyright 2017 Ann Jacobs. All rights reserved.

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