 This June and July I have invited authors to share ghost stories on my blog. The stories could be excerpts from their novels, stories of ghosts they've encountered in real life, ghost legends from the region where they live, or whatever other paranormal activity they'd like to share. My hope is that you'll read their books while you wait and get pumped up for the release of my newest novel Lost on the Water, A Ghost Story. Today's guest author is Leslie E. Heath. She is an author of fantasy novels. Her day job is working as a nurse in an old haunted hospital. But I'll let her share more about that. I know this post is a little longer than usual, but if you like real ghost stories and sightings and things that go bump in the night, it's worth it. **All names have been changed to protect the privacy of the nurses involved. I work as a night-shift ER nurse in one of the oldest hospitals in the United States. The original building was constructed in 1832 over a Revolutionary War Battleground. Unsubstantiated rumors say the old building was used to hold prisoners of war during the American Civil War, and the hospital hosts tours of the dungeon beneath it during the Halloween season. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people have reported unnerving experiences on these grounds. I’ve worked in this facility for nine years, mostly on nights. These are a few of my own personal encounters. *** During hurricane season, it’s not uncommon for the staff to stay on hospital grounds when a large storm threatens the area. One such night, I stayed in the hospital, even though I wasn’t scheduled to work until the next day. The hospital at that time had three units that weren’t open due to staffing concerns and low patient census, so the staff were assigned to sleep in the rooms lining those abandoned halls. Exhausted by the stress of preparing my family to weather the storm and packing my belongings to head to the hospital, I fell asleep quickly in my private room. At some point during the night, I got hot and kicked off the blankets, as I often do at home. I awakened again with a shock as someone pulled the covers up to my chin and tucked them around my shoulders. I hadn’t heard the door open or close. Shaking, I pressed the light button on the bedside controls. I was alone in the room. I convinced myself it had been a dream, something my over-tired mind had made up, and I turned the light back off and tried to will myself back to sleep. The room was still uncomfortably warm, so I kicked off the blanket and rolled up in the sheet. I lay there for what seemed like hours, though I have no idea how much time actually passed. Before I could fall back to sleep, someone whispered in my ear, “There now. You’ll be all right. Now, get some rest,” and tucked the blanket back around my shoulders. This time, I knew I wasn’t dreaming. I sat up in bed and pressed the light back on. The room was empty. Goosebumps erupted over my arms and neck, and I threw my belongings back into my bag. I figured I’d sleep in one of the empty ER beds where my friends would be nearby. I pulled the door open, ready to flee down the hall, and ran straight into one of my co-workers. “Someone’s in my room,” she said. Her face had none of it’s normal color. Speechless, I nodded and grabbed her arm. “Mine, too.” We proceeded down to the ER together, and neither of us slept in the abandoned wards again, even though whatever spirit was in that room clearly had no wish to do me any harm.   Though we rarely interact with the spirits within the hospital, we see them much more often. Most of the time, they’re passing through the hallways in the dead of night and I see them when I’m heading in the same direction. One such night, the pneumatic tube system we use to send lab specimens and paperwork throughout the hospital was broken, so I had to walk my patient’s blood to the lab. This is a fairly common occurrence, because the maintenance crew likes to take systems down late at night to minimize interruptions to service during the peak business hours. This particular night, housekeeping was also stripping and waxing the floors in the main hallway, so I had to take a series of side passages to get to the lab. I turned yet another corner in the winding maze of the old building and stopped in my tracks. There, in the middle of the hall, a semi-transparent figure in a white antique nurse’s uniform floated down the hall toward me. I could clearly make out the details of her pristine blouse, skirt, and hat, but her face was blurred and I couldn’t see anything below the skirt. No legs. No feet. She moved toward me without acknowledging my presence, so I ducked back around the corner and pressed myself against the wall. I stood there, frozen, until I saw her pass by. I stepped out of my hall and watched until she turned another corner. When she was gone, I sprinted to the lab to deliver the blood I still held clenched in my hand, and I had a member of maintenance walk me back to the ER even though I knew he couldn’t do anything about the floating nurse.  After those experiences, you’d think I would have known that the hospital is haunted and would have stayed to the “safe” areas where I work regularly. Or not. One summer night, we had no patients in the ER. We’d been empty for hours. I finished all my annual trainings, and so did my friends and co-workers. A small group of us got bored and decided to go explore the old building, the original hospital that’s now only used as offices during the day. Even maintenance won’t go in there at night. The old building is attached to the new one by a walkway on the second floor, so we didn’t have to go outside in the rain to get to it. Four friends and I took the elevator up one level and walked side-by-side down the empty halls to the connecting bridge, our medical clogs clacking against the linoleum floor and echoing down the corridor. Had I been alone, I would have turned back at a dozen different points down that walk, but even the pressure of my friends couldn’t stop me from trying to back out when we reached that walkway. The lights in the bridge were dimmed for the night, and the lightning outside flashed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a deathly glow on the white stone of the old building. Two of my friends grabbed my arms. I could feel their hands shaking through the fabric of my scrub jacket. “I changed my mind,” I said. “I don’t want to go over there. Not tonight. We can check it out in the morning.” I didn’t care anymore if they thought I was a coward. “It’ll be boring in the morning,” Cheryl said. “We’ve all been in there a thousand times in the daylight. Let’s see what it’s like at night.” I let them pull me forward across the bridge, though every fiber of my being wanted to flee. The old building is a hollow square, with stone halls and offices encircling an inner, open courtyard. At some point in the building’s history, someone renovated and added elevators at the corners. We linked arms at the end of the bridge and continued to the right, toward the elevator. We had decided to go down to the first floor to see the grand entrance hall, which I had never seen before because it was on the opposite side of the building from the nursing offices. As soon as we passed from the bridge to the stone floor of the old building, the mood changed. The air in that space was icy cold—colder than air conditioning could explain on a stormy southern summer night. This time Cathy decided she wanted to back out. Again, the others grabbed her arms and convinced her to go on. We continued toward the elevator that would take us down to the main entrance of the hospital, where generals and administrators had given speeches, held ceremonies, and addressed the media for nearly two hundred years. We piled into the tiny elevator, and Elizabeth pressed the button for the first floor. Nothing happened. The doors stayed open. The button didn’t light up. Elizabeth pressed the button again, harder this time. All the buttons lit up. “Going up,” the cheerful automatic voice announced. “No!” We all yelled. Elizabeth pressed the first floor button again, several times in quick succession. The doors closed, and we went up. And up. All the way to the fifth floor. The top of the hospital. The old operating suite. During the day, the glass dome focused the light onto the center of the room, where the operating table had been in days passed. The room had been turned into a museum, or so I’d heard, though I had never seen it. The lights in the elevator flickered. The doors opened. Beyond the open door, a velvet blackness filled the room. A cold, rotten stench filled the elevator. It stank of blood, infection, and death. I gagged. So did Cheryl. “Down, dammit,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth, pounding on the first floor button again. In the blackness, something moved. Papers shuffled. Boots scraped across the floor. “Down!” Elizabeth yelled. Part of me wanted to run, out of the elevator, down the stairwell that ran beside it. The rest of me was frozen in abject terror. “Why?” A raspy voice whispered from the darkness. “Why did you do this to me?” I closed my eyes, sure I was about to die. The elevator door slid closed with a creak. It dropped with alarming speed to the first floor, where it jolted to a stop so hard that it knocked us all to our knees. As soon as the doors opened, we ran from the elevator and out the front door. I can’t say I saw anything of that grand room we had hoped to explore. We sprinted together through the pouring rain, around to the back of the new building, where the bright red sign announced the entrance to the emergency department. I’ve never set foot in that building again. Whenever there’s some business that would normally lead me to one of those offices, I find another way to handle it. I email, call, and even snail mail.  The portico of the Portsmouth Naval Asylum (Naval Hospital), designed by John Haviland (1827). By unidentified HABS photographer - Historic American Buildings Survey, Library of Congress, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5730413 Wasn't that the best? I love a good ghost sighting, and now I feel a trip to visit this hospital is necessary and added to my bucket list. Added to my TBR list is Leslies newest novel. If the story telling she shared here is any indication of her writing, I'm going to love her books. Also, she needs to get these ghost stories together and write a horror novel asap. Right? Here's a blurb about her latest book:  Sometimes the only way to prevent a war is to meet it head on. Alija's village has known peace for twenty years, but only under the tyrannical rule of Tavan and his guards. Stripped of all weapons, the villagers know to keep their heads down. But when one of Alija's group suffers merciless punishment after they are caught with weapons, he and the others decide Tavan and his men must go. It's the only way to prevent a repeat of the village's violent history. How far will they go to gain their freedom––and are four untrained men enough to bring down an army? Available at Amazon Kindle  Leslie E. Heath is a wife, mother, runner, animal lover, nurse and writer. She resides with her family and a number of rescued pets in a quaint North Carolina town, near the Outer Banks. When Leslie isn't cozied up at home writing, she finds inspiration for her work by spending time basking or running at the nearby beach or trails. Her love of writing began when she was ten years old, fueled by her love of reading. Her affinity with fantasy allows creativity when it comes to character development, settings, and a little magic. *Note: She lives in North Carolina and works in Virginia, because she lives close to the state line. It’s not a terribly long commute, even though it’s a different state. Website Facebook page I hope you enjoyed Leslie's guest post. I have more guests with ghost stories on the way, so keep coming back. My novel Lost on the Water, A Ghost Story releases on July 17th. Only a couple more weeks! I'm also running my other ghost story, Passing Notes, for free until then. Please leave a comment for Leslie or myself. It's always great to see who's visiting the blog.
 This June and July I have invited authors to share ghost stories on my blog. The stories could be excerpts from their novels, stories of ghosts they've encountered in real life, ghost legends from the region where they live, or whatever other paranormal activity they'd like to share. My hope is that you'll read their books while you wait and get pumped up for the release of my newest novel Lost on the Water, A Ghost Story. Today's guest is author Teri Polen. I originally met Teri through her book blog Books and Such, where she has reviewed most of my books. I got to meet her in person at the Southern Kentucky Festival of Books last year, which was so awesome. In 2016 she approached me about reading her YA horror novel Sarah before publication and letting her know what I thought of it. I thought it was awesome! It's really spooky, and has a sense of humor as well. It's a great ghost story. She put a quote from me on the book's cover, and that made me feel really important. I'm so glad people are discovering her book. Sarah also was a horror finalist in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Here is a blurb about the novel:  Seventeen-year-old horror fan Cain Shannon thought helping a ghost find her killers would be the supernatural adventure of a lifetime. Now, he just hopes to survive long enough to protect his family and friends from her. A bet between friends goes horribly wrong, resulting in Sarah's death. When she returns to seek justice against those responsible, Cain agrees to help her. But when he discovers Sarah has been hijacking his body, he realizes she wants retribution instead of justice. Terrified of what could have happened when he wasn't in control, Cain commands Sarah to leave his house - but exorcising her isn't that easy. She retaliates against her murderers in bloody, horrific ways, each death making her stronger, then sets her sights on Cain. With the help of friends, Cain fights to save himself and his loved ones and searches for a way to stop Sarah before she kills again.  Excerpt: I knew she was here because of the drop in room temperature, but I felt Eby tensed up at my side, surprised he hadn’t dashed out of here. I let out a huff, rolled over and sat up, figuring she was going to do what she wanted anyway, and sleep would have to wait. She was standing at the foot of my bed, light from the street lamp creating an aura around her. But something was different. Watching various nature shows over the years, I knew some animals sensed when a predator was near, their self-preservation instincts the strongest they possessed. That’s exactly how I felt right now. I was the prey. Sarah looked nothing like the innocent, victimized, shy high school girl she liked to portray. She was the embodiment of evil, her black eyes reflective pools of malevolence, hands stretching towards me as if reaching for my throat. As she cocked her head very slightly to her left, a confident, victorious leer stretched across her face. Everything inside me said to run, but I couldn’t get to the door without going by her and knew I’d never make it. With my hand on Eby’s back, I felt a rumble go through him as he growled at Sarah. Crouched on all fours, his body was rigid and I figured he was as nervous about running by her as I was. Sarah slowly rose off the floor, and I felt the muscles in Eby’s haunches grow even tauter in anticipation. What happened next was over in the blink of an eye, but I saw everything as if in slow motion. Sarah shot toward me like a bullet out of a gun. Simultaneously, Eby leaped in front of me, attempting to block Sarah from reaching me. Although a valiant effort, Eby had no effect on Sarah and sailed right through her semi-transparent shape, but I loved my brave furry friend for trying. When she hit my chest, I felt it at my core, like a wrecking ball had plowed into me. But she didn’t just hit me, Sarah was inside me again and I could feel her moving, as I felt myself fading, my life energy being drained. When Sarah had been a passenger within me before, I’d never felt her presence. This feeling was completely foreign to me. She was something palpable, not like an internal organ, but more of an extension of myself, an extra arm or leg. Just before my world went black, I had a brief connection with Sarah’s corrupted mind and the atrocities I saw made me welcome the darkness as it enveloped me.   This is a good horror story for readers 13 and older. So, if you're looking for a scare this summer, go pick it up. Available through Amazon Nook or her publisher Black Rose Writing. She also has a brand new YA science fiction novel The Gemini Connection out. It is definitely on my TBR list.  Click on this image to get to her website. I hope you enjoyed this visit with Teri Polen and will go download one of her books to enjoy over the next month. And remember, Lost on the Water, A Ghost Story publishes one month from today! (7/17). If you enjoyed this post, please consider leaving a comment for Teri or myself or share the link with your friends. You can always sign up for my mailing list here.
 This June and July I have invited authors to share ghost stories on my blog. The stories could be excerpts from their novels, stories of ghosts they've encountered in real life, ghost legends from the region where they live, or whatever other paranormal activity they'd like to share. My hope is that you'll read their books while you wait and get pumped up for the release of my newest novel Lost on the Water, A Ghost Story. First up on the Write and Rewrite guest list is author Laura Wolfe. Laura has an amazing two-book YA mystery series about a teen girl and champion horse rider who has an ability to see ghosts. I absolutely loved book one, Trail of Secrets, and I have book two, Barn Shadows waiting in line on my Kindle. I can't wait to read it.  The ghost story Laura Wolfe is sharing today is from Barn Shadows. Here's a blurb about the novel. A year after her tumultuous exit from the prestigious Foxwoode Riding Academy, seventeen year-old Brynlei returns determined to confront her demons and win Foxwoode's elite Top Rider Award. When she stumbles over an antique doll at the construction site of a new barn, a series of inexplicable occurrences force her to question whether her condition as a "highly-sensitive person" is to blame or if something more sinister is at play. As Brynlei becomes consumed with discovering the history of the unearthed doll, the bizarre happenings escalate to dangerous levels. She soon realizes that someone close to her is lying. But who? Could a decades-old tragedy and the threatening events at Foxwoode be more closely entwined than she ever imagined?  Excerpt Brynlei lay awake in her bunk, once again staring at the wooden slats above her. Anna slept, her steady breathing interrupted only by an occasional chirp or hoot from animals outside. The fan rattled in the window, but its shallow hum didn’t block out the myriad nighttime noises that could infiltrate a cabin in the woods of northern Michigan. The other girls seemed to be asleep, too, except for Grace who tossed and turned on the other side of the room. Brynlei closed her eyes and envisioned the doll in her suitcase. She pictured the black-and-white image hanging in the dining hall. The photo from 1965 had yellowed at the corners, its subjects stiff and discolored. The girl pictured with the doll would be somewhere around sixty years old today, if she was even alive. How had she been at Foxwoode the other night? It didn’t make logical sense, yet Brynlei was certain it was the same girl. Her dress, her hair, and her stature were all identical. Plus, when Brynlei had told Caroline about someone separating from the group during the scavenger hunt, Caroline had insisted that they’d all been together. The faint glimpse of understanding Brynlei had been trying to ignore now gleamed before her, refusing to dim. No one else had seen the girl because she was a ghost. The flashlight’s drained battery, her bathroom items repeatedly being knocked off the shelf, the mysterious fleeting figure in her mirror, the clocks blinking 4:29, and the brushes positioned in a semicircle all percolated in Brynlei’s mind. Each incident taken alone had seemed odd but meaningless. She had explained away each peculiar occurrence, not wanting to become embroiled in another ghost hunt. Taken together, however, the evidence of paranormal activity seemed overwhelming. Maybe the girl needed to tell her something. Perhaps the girl’s life had met with an abrupt ending. She could be stuck in the physical world because she was clinging to unfinished business. Brynlei had researched the subject of paranormal occurrences at length after she’d seen her dead grandma sitting in the living room armchair. Her sightings hadn’t occurred frequently, but they did happen. Even before her diagnosis as an HSP, Brynlei had known that ghosts were real. She’d seen them. There was her grandma, of course, but there’d been others, too. Like Mr. Brentwood, the man her parents called her imaginary friend. She’d played with him for hours in the backyard when she’d lived in the house on Hill Street. Even though he always wore a charcoal suit and a burgundy tie, he didn’t mind digging in the sandbox or rolling on the grass with her. He pushed her on the tire swing and ate picnics with her under the oak tree. He preferred tea with his cake and always thanked her for the extra effort. Mr. Brentwood’s eyes crinkled in the corners and glistened whenever he told Brynlei how she reminded him of his daughter. Brynlei had been young then—only three or four. She’d concluded that her parents couldn’t see Mr. Brentwood because he played hide-and-seek whenever they came around. She’d cried when they’d moved from Hill Street to their current house. Mr. Brentwood had explained that he couldn’t travel with her. The day they moved was the last time she ever saw him. Back then, she didn’t understand why Mr. Brentwood stayed in the house on Hill Street, but she had since learned that spirits who remained in the physical world were usually trapped there because of unfinished business, tethered to the place where they’d died. Their spirits lingered in the spot where their lives had ended and, sometimes, tried to send a message—or a warning—to others.  This series is perfect for readers 13 and older, especially if you LOVE horses. But add in mystery, a ghost, and a spooky doll? Sign. Me. Up. You can get these books at Amazon or wherever books are sold online. They are published with Fire and Ice YA Books.  Laura Wolfe is a lover of animals and nature. When she is not writing, she can be found playing games with her highly-energetic kids, riding horses, growing vegetables in her garden, or spoiling her rescue dog. Laura's YA mystery, Trail of Secrets (Dark Horse, Book One), was named as a Finalist in the 2016 Next Generation Indie Book Awards—First Novel category. Barn Shadows (Dark Horse, Book Two) was shortlisted in the 2018 Chanticleer Paranormal Book Awards. Laura holds a BA in English from the University of Michigan and is an active member of multiple writing groups, including Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, and the SCBWI. For more information on her upcoming books, please visit: www.AuthorLauraWolfe.com So, go download Laura's wonderful books and enjoy them over the next month or so until Lost on the Water comes out. Please leave a comment for Laura or myself. We'd love to here from you. Share this blog post if you enjoyed it. And you can always sign up for my mailing list here.
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D. G. DriverAward-winning author of books for teen and tween readers. Learn more about her and her writing at www.dgdriver.com Archives
March 2023
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Author D. G. Driver's
Write and Rewrite Blog
“There are no bad stories, just ones that haven’t found their right words yet.”
A blog mostly about the process of revision with occasional guest posts, book reviews, and posts related to my books.
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