All The Lonely Spirits

Hello all. I've just released my debut novel, "All The Lonely Spirits" by Jane J. Henri, through Amazon Kindle. It's priced at .99. The sequel will be on Kindle in about a month.

This is not the usual ghost story. The characters are fun, and the ghost hunting is done in the light of day. The spirits are normal people who forgot to go all the way to the light, and Abby Nelson is going to help them find their way...even those who really don't want to leave their cozy new digs.

Amazon book blurb.....

Hunting down a ghost shouldn't be that hard. In fact, it can often be downright fun.

That's how medium Abby Nelson feels about it. She knows very well what to do with clingy ghosts who just won't leave. Most of the time, outsmarting them is the easiest way to get rid of one. Sometimes a little love or some long awaited justice works even better.

Brigadier General Matthew Jackson and his team of three Marines are only there to supervise and keep her on track while she attempts to reclaim an abandoned but essential Army building from an overwhelming number of boisterous spirits who've taken control of it.

It sounded easy enough in the beginning, but they soon find that the job is far more dangerous and shocking than anyone ever dreamed. The fact that every day brings more discoveries about a defunct hellhole of an orphanage, old murders and new spies soon puts the team and their top-secret project in a spotlight that attracts the attention of everyone from the Colorado locals to the White House.

Though she's practical and meticulous in the biggest project of her life, trouble seems to come at Abby from around so many corners that the Marines soon learn that they have to be on guard at every moment just to keep her out of harm's way. It quickly becomes apparent that this would fall under wishful thinking on their part.

And despite the fact that she inadvertently causes some of the trouble, Abby still manages to endear herself to the special unit with her cheerful and feisty personality. They give her plenty of room to do what she does best…coax the stubborn horde of spirits to finish their delayed death journeys.

janejhenri@gmail.com

Abby Nelson read Matthew's email again. He wanted her to contact his friend, a Russian named Igor. She typed out a reply; 'I have time to do a séance for you today. What's your friend's full name and when did he die? I'll ask my spirit guides to find him now, and I should have a report for you tomorrow by email.'




The light in the refrigerator lit up the kitchen when Abby opened the door looking for a quick snack. Except for a soft lamp in the living room, the rest of the house was dark. The rain had stopped, and now the wind was screaming out a warning that things would get worse during the night.

She sensed more than heard something behind her. Dreading what she might find in the gloom, she set the fried chicken back down, eased the door shut and turned.

Fifteen feet away, two men stood at the living room archway.

One was a thin, bald man seven feet tall wearing a dark robe tied around the waist with a cord. The Healing Master. A spirit who'd been her friend and teacher for years.

The other was shorter, in his thirties. George, one of her spirit guides. He raised an arm and pointed toward the living room.

Abby went closer to peer around the archway. Another man was there, scrutinizing the painting of an old ship that she'd bought at a yard sale. She could clearly see the white sails through his chest.

"Are you sure it's him?" she whispered to George. "Didn't take you long to find him."

George whispered back, "He was raring to go. Practically dragged us back here."

The Healing Master leaned down close to her ear. "Luck to you," he murmured. "His mind is…untamed."

Abby drew in a steadying breath. Untamed. She'd seen a few of those before. It hardly ever boded well.

The stranger in question turned to watch her for a long moment. Then his lips curled up at the sides and he said, "I am here."

Relieved that he didn't seem too untamed, she returned his smile. "You're Igor, right?"

"I am."

"Please sit and talk with me."

He watched as she sat down in the armchair beside the lamp and then chose a matching chair on the other side of the coffee table.

"Thank you for coming so fast," she said. "Do you remember Matthew?"

"Always."

"He asked me to contact you."

"I know! I am full of surprise!" he cried in a heavy Russian accent. "He will never believe in ghosts before. But," he spread his arms wide, "at last, your assistants come to help me speak to my friend." He raised a brow. "Where are we?"

"Lucedale, Mississippi. About fifty miles from the Gulf of Mexico."

"Ah. I like the ocean. Even though it did kill me, still I hold no grudge for it." Igor relaxed in the chair as he looked around. "You have splendid home. I may live with you, yes?"

The house in question was small and plain. "No," she said kindly but firmly. This subject had come up with many other spirits over the years. "Matthew has some questions for you to answer. Will you do that for him?"

"But of course. He is most wonderful friend. Are you and he lovers?"

"I've never met him. I only know him through an internet discussion group that we belong to."

Igor wagged a finger at her and smiled. "There are many ladies in my friend's life. You must hurry to take his mind from them."

"No."

"But I see him typing, typing, always typing letters for you."

"They're just casual notes. We talk about ghosts."

"A worthy subject, to be sure, but soon you must tell him you are madly in love with him."

"No. But thanks for the advice." She picked up a pen and a notebook from the table beside her chair. "Ready for the questions?"

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "Not yet. I must ask questions from you first."

Surprised, she chuckled and said, "Sure. Go ahead."

Igor stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He tented his fingers together and tapped them against his lips as he studied her. "How can you see me?"

"I'm a medium."

"Ah. That explains. I know much of those types." He glanced around. "Why you sit alone in this beautiful home?"

Abby answered, "I couldn't talk to you with others around. They'd distract me."

"When do you have the glorious party?"

"Never."

"And why? You should have festivity with friends every chance."

"I don't like parties."

"You are shy."

"No, I'm not. I just…don't like crowds."

"That is meaning shy, dear child."

"Whatever," she breathed. "Here's Matthew's first question. What year were you born?"

"Nineteen and fifty-one. He did forget so soon?"

"He wants to make sure that I've contacted the correct person. How long have you and he been friends?"

Igor smiled at the memory. "Since he save my life that day. He was swimming. I was drinking. Then I was also swimming."

"Did he have to save you because you were too drunk to swim?"

"Noooo, he save me because I can not swim." He slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "When I am drinking too much at party, I always believe I can."

Abby grinned. Matthew had told her that Igor was friendly, but he was also flirtatious and funny, and that accent was charming.

"May I go down Matthew's list of questions now and write your answers?"

"Continue." He laid his arms down along the arms of the chair and cocked his head at her with a sweet smile.

"You've already answered two," she said and flipped the page of her notebook. "Were you ever in the military?"

"But of course. Is only life for me! My rank is Major and I am pilot of jets."

"Where was the last time you and Matthew spoke?"

"Boston, America. It was snowing. I was returning to Russia next day. I longed to stay in America." He laid a hand on his chest. "Was very sad, deep in my heart, to leave wonderful country."

"Yeah, it's pretty nice. What's your favorite sport?"

"Chasing beautiful women."

Her eyebrows rose. "Do you want that to be your answer?"

"Matthew will believe."

He raised his own brows at her in the prolonged silence. When he tilted his head at her in question, she looked down at her notes. "He wants me to describe your appearance. Average height. Short black hair, slim, clean shaven, gestures when talking."

"Do I? No." He looked from Abby to his hands, which were in the air, and then laughed.

"Describe Matthew from your point of view."

"Umm, taller than me. Light brown hair. Calm. Intelligent. Honest. A most good friend. Oh and very handsome. But I think you must know this."

"I didn't. If…."

"Now you know! What is your age?"

"I'm fifty-two. Can we…."

"Matthew is fifty-three. Is perfect! You look very robust. He is always liking well rounded ladies."

"No, thanks. He said you lost an important item the first time he ever saw you. What was it?"

Igor was quiet while he thought and then said, "Ah! Does he mean my lucky hat? Is at bottom of lake. I tried to…um, how you say in your language…reclaim it. That was moment we met."

Abby smiled as she wrote his answer. "What pet do you have?"

"A spider who lives on my windowsill. She comes in, she goes out, my everlasting friend, Sophia the Brave."

Abby shivered at the thought. "Spider. Okay. You and Matthew discussed the contents of a certain briefcase at your last meeting. Where's that briefcase now?"

His lips opened and he glanced around the room before he said, "I do not recall. I try to think of it."

"All right. Look, I'm going to get another pen. This one's empty. Be right back. Will you wait for me?"

He rose and bowed to her. "For you, I wait eternity."

She went to the kitchen to rummage through a drawer full of junk.

After a moment, Igor called out in a singsong voice, "My dear lady, I am waiting." He greeted her with a happy grin when she appeared at the archway.

Her eyes widened when she saw the other people sitting around him, on the furniture and on the floor. Eight new visitors; all spirits, of course. "Igor, did you invite these people here?"

Not at all contrite, he said, "Yes, my love."

"Why?"

"They are my friends. I could not be leaving them out in the cold to wait for me."

Abby sat down in her chair. "Of course not…even though they wouldn't feel it."

Igor waved away the issue and said, "Am ready for more questioning. Your Matthew is ever one for curiosity."

"Not my Matthew. Your Matthew."

"He could be yours if only you try harder."

"I am not! Now, please, listen to the next question. You gave Matthew a key. What lock does it fit?"

"My apartment in Russia. I want him to feed Sophia the Brave. He merely has to lift her to his jugular." Igor began to slap out a rhythm on the arms of the chair with his hands. Within seconds, he had his friends chanting, "Feed the spider! Feed the spider! Give her all your blood!"

Abby wrote down everything they were saying and doing for her report. If Matthew had any sense of humor at all, she hadn't been able to detect it yet, and this was bound to prove if he even had one because it was simply funny.

"Igor."

"No, no," he said. "The key. Real answer is this. Was not key. Is gold key ring in shape of key. Was inside briefcase that is empty now when I give him this gift. Our Matthew knows this." He winked and shook a finger at Abby. "I perceive he will test you."

"Most people do, but that's all right as long as you give me the correct answer." She hesitated. "Look, this question might upset you. He wants to know how you died."

He shook his head in dismissal. "Does not bother me. I die when my jet fell to the deep, cold waters of the ocean. Did not hurt. I expect it someday for a long time. The day did come and I did die. Now," he smiled at his friends, "I have more fun than ever before."

Hurdle passed without lamentations. The moment of a spirit's death was always a delicate subject that she avoided unless they brought it up, or if it was necessary. With some relief, she said, "Matthew would like to know why your plane crashed."

"Is jet. Ladies always call my jet a plane. Why is that? Oh, was bad weather I run into and lightning was too close on my tail. Instruments flick and soon die. My control was not so good…was too far from my base. Nobody's fault. Tell Matthew. Nobody's fault."

"I'll tell him," Abby said as she wrote. "He wants to know where your body was buried."

"Not buried. Sunk into ocean were it stays forever. Hey!" He snapped his fingers. "Maybe I learn to swim now!"

His guffaw made his friends laugh and then begin to swim around the room, literally, diving and stretching in languid movements as if the living room had suddenly filled with water. Igor joined in with carefree abandon and seemed to be exhilarated to find that he could finally swim.


Nov. 5 --- 8:12 pm-9:43 pm

Client-Matthew

Subject-Igor




An hour later, Abby added a personal note at the end of her emailed report of the séance to Matthew…


Matthew,

As you can see, Igor can swim now and enjoys it immensely. My spirit sessions don't always end on a happy note, but this is one of those times when it did. Igor is a happy spirit surrounded by others who love him and whom he loves in return. He doesn't mourn the loss of his physical life and seems to be well adjusted to the new life and future that he has now.

I've enjoyed your participation in our paranormal discussion group, and I hope you'll continue to post there. If you have any questions about the session I had with Igor, feel free to email me. In fact, email me any time you like.




"Will the man never stop?" Abby said as she deleted another email from Matthew. In the three days since her session with Igor, he'd already sent her more than a dozen requests for a private meeting to discuss a ghost-hunting job. His offer of three hundred dollars a day was excessive, and she had no intention of falling for something that smacked of nothing more than a scam. And he already knew from his time reading her posts in the group that she didn't charge for her spirit work.