How to Fake a Haunting, page 1
Praise for Christa Carmen
Praise for How to Fake a Haunting
“Christa Carmen delivers the goods in this twisty, clever domestic horror novel that Rachel Harrison fans will love! A twenty-first-century Amityville, haunted by marital strife and the meddling best friend we all need. Now I want the film version of this, immediately!”
—Christopher Golden, New York Times bestselling author of The Night Birds and Road of Bones
“How to Fake a Haunting is a poignant, frightening, and utterly original story about the ghosts that haunt families and the homes they create. By turns darkly funny, emotionally devastating, and memorably chilling, this book twists the horror genre in ways I never saw coming.”
—Tracy Sierra, author of Nightwatching
“Christa Carmen joins the eerie echelon of Catriona Ward and Silvia Moreno-Garcia as one of the reigning queens of modern gothic. How to Fake a Haunting forgoes the fog and centuries-old castles for something far more frightening: the beguiling black mold insinuating itself within contemporary homelife. The gloom and ghouls may be prefab, but the ghosts lingering within this toxically haunted house are real all the same.”
—Clay McLeod Chapman, author of Wake Up and Open Your Eyes
“Carmen is at the top of her game with this bewitching page-turner that pulls you in through its endearing characters, slowly creeps open, and finally rips you apart in a harrowing climax.”
—Kate Maruyama, author of The Collective and Bleak Houses
“A table-turning thrill ride that chases you to the very end. Carmen puts a terrifying new spin on what it means to be haunted.”
—Lindy Ryan, author of Bless Your Heart
“Relentless, heartbreaking, and unexpectedly funny in so many places, a deeply human work that I’ll be thinking about for many months to come.”
—Cassandra Khaw, author of The Salt Grows Heavy and Nothing But Blackened Teeth
Praise for Beneath the Poet’s House
“Bram Stoker Award winner [Christa] Carmen weaves a captivating web of psychological suspense in her latest spine-tingler . . . For gothic mystery fans, this is a treat.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Beneath the Poet’s House is creepy and addictive. Carmen uses a gothic New England setting to explore art and magic and left me thinking that the things men do to women are far more terrifying than any conjuring.”
—Jessa Maxwell, author of The Golden Spoon and I Need You to Read This
“Beneath the Poet’s House is a brilliant, gripping novel filled with secrets and danger. Christa Carmen captures the haunted magic of Providence and introduces one of the most fascinating and singular characters I’ve ever encountered. The novel shimmers with questions of what is real and what is imaginary, helped by the extraordinary setting of a writer’s house with a tragically romantic rose garden, a cemetery, and ghosts in love. Shocking, tender, and wildly compelling, Beneath the Poet’s House will keep you racing through the pages all night long.”
—Luanne Rice, Amazon Charts and New York Times bestselling author of Last Night
“With secrets as deep and dark as catacombs and lyrical writing befitting of its literary inspirations, Beneath the Poet’s House is a truly eerie page-turner.”
—Zoje Stage, USA Today bestselling author of Baby Teeth and Dear Hanna
“In Beneath the Poet’s House, haunting history meets a riveting modern mystery. It’s a spellbinding, beautifully told story about secrets, the supernatural, and ultimately, finding the strength to fight back against impossible odds.”
—Jess Lourey, Edgar-nominated author of The Taken Ones
“With lush, haunting prose to rival any classic, Beneath the Poet’s House twists patriarchal gothic tropes and gives new breath to old stereotypes in a story that is at once a historical reckoning, a desperate love story, and an intriguing mystery. Like a crooked finger beckoning the reader down a castle’s winding staircase, Carmen’s writing is impossible to resist. Mark my words: She will soon find her place among the gothic greats.”
—Katrina Monroe, author of Through the Midnight Door
“Christa Carmen has cleverly resurrected the infamous Providence romance between Edgar Allan Poe and Sarah Helen Whitman in this thrilling novel set in modern times. What unfolds is worthy of a plot concocted by Poe himself. You won’t be able to put this book down!”
—Levi L. Leland, creator of www.edgarallanpoeri.com and A Walking Tour of Poe’s Providence
“Haunting and gorgeously told, Beneath the Poet’s House brings new life to the tumultuous romance and compelling lives of Edgar Allan Poe and Sarah Helen Whitman, all within a modern psychological suspense with a riveting plot that will enthrall readers.”
—Vanessa Lillie, USA Today bestselling author of Blood Sisters
Praise for The Daughters of Block Island
“Great fun for readers . . .”
—Kirkus Reviews
“This compelling and atmospheric thriller pays homage to classic gothic novels while still adding something fresh to the beloved genre. An easy sell to fans of the Brontës but also those who enjoy the creepy, psychological suspense of Simone St. James.”
—Booklist
“Christa Carmen celebrates the gothic in this twisty, spooky tour de force that ticks all the boxes with panache and style! This love child of Barbara Michaels and John Harwood has written a chilling page-turner guaranteed to keep you up all night. The Daughters of Block Island is a top-notch read!”
—Nancy Holder, Lifetime Achievement Award Winner, Horror Writers Association
“The mystery leaves the reader feeling like they are trying to escape a twisted haunted dollhouse without knowing what is real or imagined. Lovers of gothic fiction should pick up this book that contains a wealth of nods to the genre, but also discusses personal horrors like addiction, abuse, and mental health.”
—V. Castro, Bram Stoker Award–nominated author of Goddess of Filth and The Queen of the Cicadas
“A tantalizing love letter to gothic fiction, imbued with rain-soaked atmosphere and scandal-ridden mysteries that unravel to reveal the dark beating heart at the center of a mysterious island mansion. Readers of gothic novels will delight in nods to classic works and the way the past continues to haunt the present in White Hall. Filled with intrigue, this book is the perfect addition to your bookshelf, tucked in beside Radcliffe and du Maurier!”
—Jo Kaplan, author of It Will Just Be Us
“With its lush and exquisite language, Christa Carmen’s The Daughters of Block Island honors and explores the great gothic novels of the past, but here the rules are rewritten. Be prepared to find yourself in White Hall’s spider’s web.”
—Cynthia Pelayo, Bram Stoker Award–nominated author of Children of Chicago
“Offers an atmospheric, harrowing plight of ghosts and murder. Christa Carmen paints an island of vivid and unsettling imagery, where every claustrophobic twist leads deeper into an underworld of dread. A compelling mystery, with arresting characters ready to engulf you.”
—Hailey Piper, Bram Stoker Award–winning author of The Worm and His Kings
“Christa Carmen has long been one of my favorite horror authors, and The Daughters of Block Island is further proof that she’s among the most important voices in the genre today. A clever inversion and exploration of gothic tropes, this is a debut novel unlike any other. A true macabre masterpiece, this book is a must-read.”
—Gwendolyn Kiste, Bram Stoker Award–winning author of The Rust Maidens and Reluctant Immortals
“Christa Carmen cleverly combines classic elements of the Victorian literary canon in a fast-paced island intrigue that is atmospheric and enigmatic. A tale to rival Ann Radcliffe’s own The Mysteries of Udolpho, told in exquisite prose and embracing contemporary themes, Carmen’s debut novel is a triumph of the modern gothic genre.”
—Lee Murray, five-time Bram Stoker Award–winning author of Grotesque: Monster Stories
“Immerses the reader in the inexorable, chilling, uneasy atmosphere one hopes for in a Gothic novel. Classically genre-aware while still being inventive, Carmen has a compelling voice no matter which of the sisters is taking the lead. Generational trauma, true villainy, tragedy, loss and resilience collide in a rushing tide of a powerfully wrought story.”
—Leanna Renee Hieber, award-winning author of Strangely Beautiful and A Haunted History of Invisible Women
“The gothic horror novel just received a massive shot of adrenaline to its bleak-but-beautiful-heart . . . In this debut novel, Carmen doesn’t attempt to top the classics; instead, she subverts them in a unique manner. She embraces the tropes that made the subgenre what it is and forges an enthralling tale of two sisters, a strange town, and a cast of characters that would make the masters proud . . . If this is any indication of what Christa Carmen can bring into the world, readers will be smiling under candlelight for years to come. An exceptional new talent has arrived.”
—Cemetery Dance
Also by Christa Carmen
Beneath the Poet’s House
The Daughters of Block Island
Something Borrowed, Something Blood-Soaked
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2025 by Christa Carmen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval syst
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
EU product safety contact:
Amazon Media EU S. à r.l.
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amazonpublishing-gpsr@amazon.com
ISBN-13: 9781662530746 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781662530753 (digital)
Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson
Cover image: © kevron2001 / Shutterstock
For my parents, Jeanne and Rick,
for giving me a childhood so rich in excitement and imagination
that coming up with stories of spirits and specters is a piece of cake.
And to my grandmother,
the first one you get to read in heaven . . .
Oh, and for Nell, of course,
because they all are.
Contents
Then
Now
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
After
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Then
The satiny garnet petals of mid-spring irises are said to pacify even the staunchest detractors of red-hued blooms. The new house, white with black trim—and, aside from the irises, a complete absence of red—stood in the shadows, its roof, while suitably peaked, refusing to ascend to those heights reached by every other roof on the street. It looked upward at the adjacent house’s third-floor wraparound deck, and at the intricate weather vane one house beyond that. Farther still, it gazed to where a hooded-eye-shaped window skewed the lines of the shingles around it, so elevated that it was occasionally obscured by the clouds.
I looked upward too, more for a reprieve from the chaos than from a desire to admire the architectural feats of nearby houses. When I looked back at the party, I saw that my friends and family members had been joined by caterers in navy polos, as well as a local bluegrass band preparing for their opening number.
“How great is this housewarming?” my brother-in-law, Cody, crowed, and I flinched. He held a plate of salad in one hand and an Aperol spritz in the other. “You and Cal must be so excited!”
I forced a smile. “It’s great. And we’re glad to be settled.”
“How’s Cal doing?” Cody asked. “I’ll never forget the first two weeks after Sean and I moved. Constant trips to Home Depot. My nightmares will forever be steeped in orange.”
My smile curdled. Cody would complain about having to run out for light bulbs after being gifted a 1700s waterfront farmhouse in Avondale Circle. Though I supposed I couldn’t judge; Callum had taken his parents up on their long-standing offer of land, real estate, or cash in the same way Cody and their older sister, Corrine, had. Callum and I had used our own money to build the house, but the lot had been given to us by Rosalie and Dustin Taylor. That it was down the street from the historic Gilded Age mansions where I worked was an added bonus.
“Callum’s doing well,” I said carefully. “Excited to join the Newport Country Club.”
“Best course in Rhode Island!” Cody sipped his drink. “Though I’d venture to say Sean does more drinking there than golfing.” He laughed in a way that made me think of a cartoon hyena. No wonder the hospital where he worked constantly fielded complaints about his gossipy nature, at least according to Callum.
I looked to where Cal had been taking shots with Monty but no longer saw them. I didn’t bother telling Cody that lately, Callum hardly needed an excuse to drink or that the liquor cabinet was the first one he’d filled after moving into the new house.
“You don’t drink, do you?” Cody asked.
I pulled myself back to the conversation, flustered by his directness. “What? No. I mean, I do, just not often.”
Cody smirked. “Not big on losing control, huh?”
Before I could respond, a hand gripped my arm.
“Lainey, there you are! You’re needed for an urgent hostess question in the kitchen.” Adelaide Benson fixed Cody with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “So sorry,” she said. “I need to steal Lainey for a minute.” Her gaze shifted to Cody’s hands. “Isn’t that salad delish? The prosciutto complements the dressing perfectly.” Her smile widened as she pulled me away, leaving Cody staring after us, open-mouthed. “See you!” Adelaide called over her shoulder.
Her grip on my arm tightened as she led me toward the house. When we reached the porch, I gave up on stifling my laughter. “My mom made that salad!” I exclaimed. “There’s no prosciutto in it.”
“I know,” Adelaide replied. “But I also know Cody’s a performance vegan, and I wanted to see that faux-horrified look on his face.” She grinned and opened the door on the empty foyer. The house was silent.
“What’s this ‘urgent hostess question’ that needs answering?” I asked, confused.
“Oh, I don’t need to ask you anything. I wanted to tell you”—she pushed a lock of lilac-colored hair behind one ear, relishing the growing suspense—“you’re looking at the new assistant to the director of development!”
“Oh my gosh, Adelaide, you got it! That’s amazing.” I wasn’t surprised; she’d impressed everyone with her talk of bringing the mansions—those eleven properties the Preservation Society of Newport County held under our stewardship as historic house museums—into the present by connecting them further with the past.
“All thanks to you, Director of Visitor Experience.”
“Not all thanks.”
“Oh, please. I never would’ve gotten in without your recommendation.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “When do you start?”
“Monday. This party’s my last hurrah before I have to be a responsible adult.”
I laughed. “I’m not sure how much of a banger it’ll be. But should we head back out?”
“I was kind of hoping you’d give me the grand tour.”
“Of course! I should have offered.” I gestured for her to come farther inside.
“I love the deck and pool,” Adelaide said, wiping her shoes. “Were the trees here, or did you plant them? It’s like a forest out there!”
“Funny story,” I said dryly. “Cal’s parents tried to help with what they called some ‘amenities.’ I said no to the backyard pond and pergola, but I accepted an increase in the landscaping allocation for the fast-growing arborvitae. Even our highest-elevated neighbors don’t have a view into the yard.”
We were about to turn into the living room when a noise came from above us, a grating shriek like metal on glass. Adelaide’s eyes traveled to the ceiling. I cocked my head, listening. “Probably came from outside,” I said.
As if in response, the shriek came again. Louder. Shriller. Followed by a low, disturbing thump. For a moment, there was silence except for the muffled sounds of the party. Then five pounding footsteps, loud enough to rattle light fixtures in their brackets. I stared at the freshly painted ceiling.
