The Ghost of Arlen Hall
Arlen Hall has a history. A history that should never have been uncovered.
Arlen Hall is known to be troublesome, but that doesn’t stop one author from purchasing the estate the moment it goes on the market.
With her history tied to the manor house’s past and her heart tied to a man who died within its walls, the writer has devoted her life and her savings to owning the estate.
But when she moves in, the ghost of the man she’s determined to love plays hard to get. It’s only when she confronts him that she realizes Arlen Hall’s secrets should have remained in the grave.
Just in time for Halloween, The Ghost of Arlen Hall presents a chilling ghost story in the gothic tradition. You may want to leave the lights on for this one!
Want a Sample? Here's an Excerpt.....
Ever since I first learned of Arlen Hall, I’d studied its every detail. I knew its history and even used it as a setting for my most popular book series. When a film studio acquired the rights to that series, I bought (and consumed) one bottle of mid-priced champagne then stashed the rest of the money away. Having seen a pattern of other properties being put up for sale in the same county where Arlen Hall sits, I kept my eye on the real estate market and my royalties in the bank waiting for the Hall to join its brethren in the Great Sell Off.
It wasn’t that I desired to be a land baron. In truth, I barely knew how to maintain my two-bedroom apartment. No, I wanted to purchase Arlen Hall because of the rumors of its being haunted. All manor houses have their ghost-in-residence stories, but my years of research into my family history and its connection to the manor left me convinced that my fate must be linked to this estate.
After serving two hundred years as a home to a family who traced its descent to the Norman Invasion, Arlen Hall aided in the war effort by having one of its wings converted into a small hospital. Back in World War I, manor lords and ladies saw it as their civic duty (or may have just believed it was the "done" thing) to give a portion their homes over to makeshift wards for the injured, the unwell, and those recuperating from crippling shell shock or devastating amputations.
In its few months as a medical ward, the sitting, drawing, and music rooms of Arlen Hall saw many deaths. Not that death wasn't a rare thing at other hospitals in the countryside and villages, but the Hall experienced one death far more tragic than the others: The death of a soldier well on the road to recovery who had been imagining his wedding night less than seventy-two hours before his demise.