Whispers (Laurel House Book 1), page 1
WHISPERS
Laurel House Series
Book One
By M. L. Bullock
Text copyright © 2023 Monica L. Bullock
All rights reserved.
Whispers Never Die
In the shadowed heart of Laurel's gate,
Whispers rise as day grows late.
Echoes of a time long past,
Haunting tales that ever last.
Midnight Veil with secrets deep,
In the garden, spirits weep.
Grave-soakers tread on hallowed ground,
Where lost souls are forever bound.
Pettie hears, in flowers' bloom,
Whispers calling, sealing doom.
A house of memories, dark and old,
Holds mysteries yet to be told.
Beware the footsteps in the night,
For shadows hide, away from light.
In Bryan Bay, where legends grow,
The secrets of the Whispers flow.
A tale of love, and loss, and fear,
Of things unseen, yet ever near.
In the heart of darkness, truth will rise,
For in the silence, Whispers never die.
M. L. Bullock, 2023
Contents
WHISPERS
Whispers Never Die
Chapter One–Grant
Chapter Two–Pettie
Chapter Three—Virginia
Chapter Four—Grant
Chapter Five--Virginia
Chapter Six—Grant
Chapter Seven—Virginia
Chapter Eight—Alan
Chapter Nine–Virginia
Chapter Ten–Grant
Chapter Eleven—Alan
Chapter Twelve–Virginia
Chapter Thirteen—Grant
Chapter Fourteen—Grant
Chapter Fifteen--Evelyn
Chapter Sixteen--Alan
Chapter Seventeen—Grant
Chapter Eighteen—Evelyn
Chapter Nineteen—Grant
Epilogue—Evelyn
Author’s Note
M. L. Bullock’s Book List
Chapter One–Grant
The gravel crunched under the carriage wheels as we approached the sprawling estate. Rows of ancient oaks lined the driveway, their gnarled branches reaching out like welcoming arms, swaying gently in the breeze. Virginia, my dear wife, leaned forward, her eyes widening with wonder and delight.
"Is this truly where you grew up, Grant?" she whispered, her hand instinctively clutching my arm. I could sense the mix of excitement and apprehension in her voice.
"Yes," I replied, my throat feeling unexpectedly tight. "This is Laurel House."
As we rounded the final bend, the grand mansion came into full view. Time had weathered its once pristine white walls, but it still stood tall and majestic, a testament to the craftsmanship of yesteryears. The large bay windows gleamed in the afternoon sun, and the wrap-around porch, though in need of a fresh coat of paint, beckoned invitingly.
I felt a familiar tug in my chest, a blend of pride and nostalgia. Yet, beneath it all, there was an inexplicable sense of unease. Memories of laughter, of family gatherings, and of sunlit afternoons spent playing in the gardens flashed before me. But there was something else, a shadow lurking just beyond the edges of my recollection.
A whisper of a memory that I couldn't quite grasp.
Virginia's gasp pulled me from my reverie. "It's beautiful, Grant. Truly, it is," she exclaimed, her eyes taking in every detail of the mansion.
I smiled at her, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "It's been years since I last saw it. I had almost forgotten how grand it was, myself."
From the back of the carriage, I could hear Pettie and Alan's excited chatter. They pressed their faces against the window, their eyes sparkling with anticipation. To them, Laurel House was an adventure waiting to be explored, a vast playground filled with secrets.
At least the children were excited about this adventure.
As the carriage came to a halt, I stepped out, taking a deep breath. The scent of blooming roses and fresh-cut grass filled the air, but beneath it, there was another smell, faint but unmistakable—a mustiness that spoke of closed rooms and untold stories.
"We're home," I whispered to myself, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. Had Laurel House ever felt like home to me?
Virginia joined me, her arm looping through mine. It was as if this wife of mine could read my mind. "It's going to be a fresh start for us, Grant," she said, her voice filled with hope. “We’re leaving the old life behind. This is a new and shiny start, darling.”
I nodded, looking up at the grand facade of Laurel House. "Yes," I agreed, "a new and shiny start."
Yet, as we made our way up the steps, that nagging sense of unease lingered, a silent whisper warning me that some chapters from the past are never truly closed.
The doors of Laurel House opened with a soft, mournful creak, revealing a grand foyer bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. The high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and dark wooden stairway hinted at the mansion's former glory. Dust particles danced in the beams of light, and the air felt heavy with years of silence. The place was relatively clean, I’d made sure of that before we arrived, but it still needed the touch of someone more efficient, like our Mrs. Higgins.
Virginia, taking in the vastness of our new home, let out a sigh of contentment. "It's even lovelier on the inside, Grant," she remarked, her fingers trailing over the polished banister. "With a little bit of work, this place will be as grand as any home in Baltimore."
I nodded, appreciating her effort to remain upbeat.
The journey from Baltimore had been long and tiresome. The city, with its bustling streets and towering buildings, felt like a world away. We had left behind friends, memories, and the life we had known. My dismissal from the law firm, following a case that had gone horribly wrong, had been the final push.
Laurel House was our chance at a fresh start, a place to rebuild and find our footing once more. It had been sitting empty for years since my father’s passing. I’d never dreamed of returning, but we truly had no choice. Baltimore society had turned against us in a horrible fashion. One that I could never have imagined.
New and shiny start, Grant.
Alan and Pettie, bursting with youthful energy, were already eager to explore their new home. "Father," Alan began, his eyes wide with curiosity, "may we explore? I want to see everything!" My son’s normally serious expression had vanished and for a moment, he was a child again. Alan had always been an old soul. I was happy to see his childish zeal return. Intelligent and perceptive, Alan, although only nine, understood what was being said about his father. What was being said about his family.
Pettie nodded in agreement, her tiny chubby hand clutching her brother's. "Please, Father? I promise we'll be careful. Even on the stairs." My daughter’s round face and vivid blue eyes always charmed me. Virginia attributed those eyes and cheeks to me, but I saw my mother’s face looking back at me.
She would have loved Pettie. Too bad she never met her.
I hesitated for a moment, the unfamiliar shadows of the mansion looming large. But seeing their eager faces, I relented. "Alright, children," I said with a smile, "but stay together, and don't venture too far."
The children cheered, their laughter echoing through the hallways as they began their adventure. Virginia, watching them with a fond smile, remarked, "They're going to make so many wonderful memories here."
I hoped she was right. But as we ventured deeper into the house, the weight of the past pressed down on me.
Every creaking floorboard, every whispering curtain, seemed to be trying to tell me something. Something I had unfortunately forgotten. It was as if the walls held secrets, waiting for the right moment to be revealed.
My back felt icy cold as if an invisible hand rubbed it. I shivered slightly as Virginia patted my shoulder to comfort me. “Catching a cold, dear?” I assured her I was not, but said nothing else.
We explored room after room, each space a testament to the grandeur of a bygone era. Built by my grandfather in 1830, there were many vintage pieces. All of which felt as if they belonged. How could we ever replace them? Even my stylish wife was enchanted by the antiques.
The drawing room drew her attention, with its grand fireplace and plush armchairs. Thankfully, the cleaning company had done a good job of dusting the cushions and polishing the wooden tables.
The dining hall with its long table set was for a feast that had not yet come, but we were here now. Home. Laurel House was home again. But it was the portrait hanging in the main hallway that stopped me in my tracks. It was an image of a young man, his features eerily similar to mine. The plaque beneath read, "Grant Sullivan Sr., Founder of Laurel House."
Surely, I had seen this before. I’d grown up here. Why couldn’t I remember? Why didn’t I recall seeing this?
Virginia, noticing my fixation, gently squeezed my hand. "Your grandfather?" she inquired.
I nodded slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yes. I never met him, but Father used to speak of him often. He said I had his eyes."
We stood there for a moment, lost in thought, the weight of history pressing down on us. Virginia, ever the beacon of hope, broke the silence. "We're going to make this house a home again, Grant. For us and for future generations. And look, your grandfather approves. I swear, I do see a smile on his face."
I smiled
, drawing her close. I saw no such smile, but I would not fault her for seeing what she wanted to see. "I know we will," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. But deep down, the unease remained, a silent reminder that every new beginning comes with its own set of challenges.
Outside, the clouds had gathered, casting a gray pallor over the grounds.
The first droplets of rain began to fall, pattering gently against the window panes. As the rain intensified, Virginia and I turned our attention to the small contingent of servants who had accompanied us from Baltimore. Their carriages had finally arrived. The staff awaited instructions, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Mrs. Higgins," Virginia addressed our housekeeper, "please see to the bedrooms first. We're all quite tired from the journey and will need our rooms prepared. Yours as well. Supper should be light. Don’t exert yourselves too much today. I can see that you’re all tired."
The stout woman nodded, her efficient demeanor instantly putting me at ease. "Of course, ma'am. I'll ensure everything is in order."
"For those you can spare," I added, "please begin with unpacking the essentials. And Mr. Doyle," I said, addressing our butler, "ensure the kitchen is stocked and prepared as we requested. If there’s anything missing, you’ll have to make a trip to town in the morning.”
The servants dispersed, each attending to their duties. The house, which had been silent for so long, was now filled with the sounds of life – footsteps echoing, doors opening and closing, and the distant hum of conversation.
It wasn't long before Alan and Pettie returned, their faces flushed with excitement. "Father, this house is enormous!" Alan exclaimed, his eyes shining. "And there are so many rooms to explore! It’s like a castle with nooks and crannies. We could hide and you would never find us! "
“Never find us!” My daughter repeated, her face damp with sweat. Pettie, clinging to a small porcelain doll she'd discovered, added, "And there's a lovely garden outside with the prettiest flowers! Can we go see it?"
I glanced outside, where the rain was now coming down in earnest. "It's raining quite heavily now, my dear," I replied gently. "But I promise, we'll explore the garden first thing tomorrow."
The promise of tomorrow's adventure seemed to placate the children. As evening approached, we gathered in the dining hall. A simple but hearty meal had been prepared – a stew, freshly baked bread, and a pitcher of cold milk for the children, wine for Virginia and me. The warm glow of the candles illuminated our faces, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
As we ate, the conversation turned to the future. "I've heard there's a lovely church in Bryan Bay," Virginia mused. "Perhaps we could attend the Sunday service?"
Alan, ever the adventurer, chimed in, "And maybe we could get a horse? I've always wanted to learn to ride, Father."
Pettie, her voice soft, added, "I'd like to plant more flowers in the garden. Pink ones and purple ones.
I smiled, listening to their hopes and dreams. "We'll do all of that and more," I assured them. "This is our new beginning, and we'll make the most of it."
The evening drew to a close, and one by one, we retired to our rooms. The comforting chatter of the dining hall faded as we ascended the grand staircase to our respective rooms. The house, which had felt lively just moments ago, seemed to shift as night settled in. The hallways, bathed in the muted glow of the wall sconces, took on an eerie quality. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the curtains, seemed amplified in the stillness.
As I made my way to the master bedroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. More than once, I thought I saw shadows darting just beyond my line of sight.
The sounds of the house, which should have been familiar, felt foreign and unsettling. It was as if the very walls were whispering secrets, tales of times long gone.
Why can’t I remember? What have I forgotten? I tugged at my tie in frustration and willed myself to push my apprehension to the side.
Once inside the sanctuary of my bedroom, I tried to shake off the unease. Virginia, sensing my disquiet, took my hand. "I can see it in your handsome face—you’re unhappy, Grant. By why?”
I shook my head, unable to think how to answer her question.
“It's just the weight of the world," she whispered, trying to reassure me. "It is not yours to carry. Not anymore. The jury made their decision, not you. You did your best, as you always do.”
“I know, I know,” I said woodenly.
“Soon, this place will feel like home and you will forget all about rotten old Baltimore. We’ll make our home in Bryan Bay a showplace. A world of our own. Laurel House, what a lovely name. It must be a lovely place, Grant."
I nodded, appreciating her effort to comfort me. "You're right," I murmured, pulling her close. "It is a lovely place. Pay no attention to me, dear. It's just been a long week."
As I lay down, sleep proved elusive. The patter of the rain against the windows and the distant rumble of thunder only heightened the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. My wife snored lightly beside me. I didn’t mind. She was such a lovely, sweet woman. A woman I didn’t deserve. Not really.
My mind, instead of resting, began to drift back to my childhood days at Laurel House. Broken memories flickered through my mind. Yes, fragmented memories played out like vignettes.
At least I remembered laughter, the scent of my mother's perfume, the sound of my father's deep voice reading bedtime stories. But interspersed with these comforting memories were flashes of something darker. Hushed conversations I'd overheard, the anxious looks exchanged between my parents, and the nights when I was certain I'd heard whispers just beyond my door.
A particularly vivid dream took hold. Oh yes! I did remember that at least.
I had been a young boy, chasing after a lizard in the garden. He’d been a wily one, changing his color as easily as I blinked my eyes. I ventured further into the garden; my surroundings became unfamiliar.
The bright day turned to twilight, and the once cheerful garden transformed into a maze of towering hedges and thorny bushes. Lost and disoriented, I called for my parents, but my voice was swallowed by the dense fog that now enveloped me. Where had this come from?
Emerging from the mist, soft whispers grew in intensity, beckoning me towards an unseen force. The whispers! How could I forget the whispers?
I awoke with a start and I was drenched in sweat.
The first light of dawn was beginning to creep through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The dream, though faded, left a lingering sense of dread. Virginia stirred beside me, her face etched with concern.
"Another nightmare?" she asked softly. “Would you like a cup of water?”
“No water.” I ran my hand through my damp, sweaty hair. "Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep, Virginia.”
She smiled up at me sweetly, it was a smile that stirred me but I did not seek her comforts. Instead I held her and I too managed to slip back to sleep.
My nap was all too short. My eyes were sticky and tired, but I couldn't delay my duties. I had a new life to build.
And it started today.
Chapter Two–Pettie
