A jealous ghost – seriously?

They say a ghost is the same as the person was in life.  So, a playful person would be a playful, mischievous ghost, and a secretive person would make a secretive ghost, hiding stuff and so on. Is it then true that a jealous person would be jealous and possessive of his/her loved ones even after they die? 

 Lawrence had many secrets he kept from Rachel. After he died, he still didn't want her to know certain things about himself. And he hung around to make sure she didn't find out.  

He was also a possessive husband, to the extent that he preselected a man to take his place should he come to an untimely end - one who would marry Rachel without being a husband to her.  Lawrence treated her a bit like a child, and not a very bright one. So, clearly his ghost was not going to be happy when Rachel is given a night with a male escort for her birthday! 

They also say a person who died unexpectedly, like a murder victim or a casualty in a car crash is likely to linger as a ghost. As Lawrence was murdered, he couldn't find eternal rest in death. He wasn't ready to die, and as a ghost, he is jealous of the time Rachel has at her disposal. He still tries to control her from the grave.


 I have never done this before - I have never put a full chapter of one of my books in Ghoulies & Ghosties, but I suppose there is a first time for everything!

Here is the first chapter of Trapped In Yesterday, just for you.

A Taste Of A Ghost (excerpt)

Chapter 1

“Happy birthday, darling,” Jane said, planting a smacking kiss on her cheek.

“Argh, don’t remind me.” Rachel turned out of her friend’s arms and sank into the chair facing the huge desk. With her elbow on the armrest, she swiped her hair off her forehead. “Can you believe it? The big three-oh.”

“You know what they say. Thirty is the new, um, well, the new thirty. It’s just a number.” Jane sat down in the enormous executive chair behind the desk, her wrists crossed on the high-gloss wood. She managed to look tiny and formidable at the same time.

“Precisely. I feel a hundred years old.”

“You don’t look it, doll.” Jane cleared her throat, a sly glint in her eyes. “You’re either going to love me or hate me for this year’s birthday gift.” Her head tilted to the side. “You see, it requires an open mind. You’re meant to enjoy it. Can you do that for me?”

“That sounds well creepy.” Rachel glanced about the spacious office. Two glass walls offered an unobstructed view of Cape Town, Table Mountain, and the harbor. Because today was blustery, visibility was perfect, the air crisp and clear, but here in Jane’s fifteenth-story corner office at Savuka Publishing, there weren’t many hiding places. “Where is it then?”

Jane grinned. “It’s not in my office, ducky. I’m not in the mood for being fired today.” Her smile faltered as she leaned back in her chair. Today, she looked much older than her thirty-five years. What Jane needed was a vacation.

“My birthday present is going to get you fired?”

Jane made big eyes at Rachel before she opened the desk drawer and, with long, red nails, pulled out a card. It sported one of those shop-bought bows in bright red stuck to one side, and a matching ribbon twisted around the corners, framing whatever was written on it.

That’s the gift that’s going to get Jane fired—a card?

Tapping it against her chin, Jane turned wistful. Rachel was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable about this gift.

“If that’s my birthday present, you seem to have second thoughts about it.”

“On the contrary. This is exactly the thing for you--something you’d never think of getting for yourself.” Jane pushed the card across the desk. “Call this number. There is a web address, too. You’ll understand.”

Rachel picked up the card and turned it over in her fingers. It had faint blue lines on both sides, two holes punched into the long side—the kind used in catalog systems in days before they were digitized. On the front, a cell phone number and a web address were scribbled in Jane’s neat, precise handwriting.

A shiver tiptoed down Rachel’s spine when she met Jane’s gaze. “A Thai massage? A deluxe mani-pedi?” she asked hopefully.

Jane only grinned.

Something was about to happen, and she was sure she wasn’t ready for one of Jane’s schemes because she smelled a rat.

She looked at the card again. There was no business name.

Studying Jane, she tried to gauge what was going on in her friend’s head. They had known each other for years, and she knew her friend/editor would have given this gift deep consideration, but as usual, Jane was unreadable.

Rachel blew Jane a kiss as she shoved the card into her purse. The strap slung over her shoulder, she got to her feet. Wriggling her fingers at Jane, she made for the door.

Her hand was already on the doorknob when Jane stopped her. “Rachel, promise me you’ll call. Today, as soon as you get home. It has to be today because today is your birthday. You know my motto—sooner rather than later. Promise me. If you don’t do it today, it won’t be the same. I want to hear you say it.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll call as soon as I get home. Jeez.”

“And you will…browse?”

“Yes, if it will make you happy. I thought this was my birthday.” She grinned, but as soon as the door closed behind her, the smile evaporated. Jane and her secrets. But Rachel was intrigued.

A call requiring an open mind that could get Jane fired? Hmm…

* * *

The hall stretched from the front door to the kitchen arch, a beautiful, welcoming entrance to a beautiful home. The lounge and den opened from it, as well as a short passage leading to three en-suite bedrooms. The kitchen and utility rooms were at the end of the hall, the garages leading off it.

The hall was empty, nothing moved except the imperceptible progression of the sun, millimeter by millimeter, across the shining floorboards. Beams fell through the narrow windows on either side of the imposing front door. The barely-there smell of cinnamon hanging about the place wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

The only sound came from the copper ship’s clock against the wall opposite two half-closed doors. Tick, tock, tick, tock, waiting, waiting.

A ripple broke the first sunbeam, then the other, and was gone. Dust motes, disturbed by the invisible movement, danced into the air. The ripple disappeared through one of the doors. The sunbeams continued across the hall as if they hadn’t been interrupted, shifting fractionally and almost unnoticeable. A moment later, the gentle creaking of the lazyboy broke the silence, and all was still.

A click marked the beginning. The whirring of the motor operating the electronic garage doors was barely heard in the hall. They rolled up, one a few seconds ahead of the other, and paused for a moment at the top before starting the descent. The twin bangs when they met the concrete floor echoed in the silence. A click marked the ending.

When the fridge magnet in the shape of miniature bagpipes started playing Scotland the Brave, the cat, a tabby with white whiskers, belted from the kitchen through the hall and skidded into the other half-closed door.

Barely a moment later, a silver Audi Q3 pulled into the driveway, and at the push of a button on a fob, the garage door closest to the house rolled up and closed again when the engine was turned off. The cat peeked tentatively around the door, and when a key rattled in the door linking the garage to the house, he trotted back to the kitchen, his tail straight up in the air.

By the time Rachel closed and locked the door behind herself, the cat was waiting for her on the corner of the island, its tail neatly tucked around its feet, its coat glossy in the reflected sun. The distinctive M on his forehead gave him a perpetually worried expression.

Rachel dropped her keys on the counter. “Hello, Nibby,” she said, stroking the animal’s head and along his back as he stood. His whiskers vibrated with his purring. “Did you have a good day?” She turned to unlock and open the back door. The cat flew past her into the backyard. “Silly moggy, you can use the cat-flap. You don’t have to wait for me to open the door.”

Heels tapping across the shiny hall floor, all thought of the cat was gone by the time she reached the den. She pushed the drapes aside and opened the window to allow fresh air into the room to dilute the smell of cinnamon. Flicking the TV on, she turned the sound down low before she sat behind her desk and pulled Jane’s card from her purse.

“No time like the present.” Never would she admit to Jane how intrigued she was.

She punched in the link and waited for the website to upload. Intrigued or not, she still couldn’t shake the feeling she was about to get bitten by whatever Jane had planned for her. Jane should learn to leave other people out of her schemes.

While she waited, Rachel retraced her steps to the kitchen and came back minutes later without her high heels and a glass of wine in her hand.

Lawrence sat on the arm of her chair when she pushed her knees under the desk. She cast him a look. He looked yummy today, dressed in his favorite sweatpants and a floppy sweater. She grinned up at him. His dark hair was tousled as if he’d just fallen out of bed. Something clenched deep inside her when he returned her grin.

It was an effort to turn back to the monitor. Disappointment pulled the corners of her mouth down when she did because the web page she’d been led to looked suspiciously like a dating site.

Seriously, Jane? A dating site? Where are you going with this?

Ignoring the questions tumbling through her mind, she studied the screen. She’d promised Jane to ‘browse’, and a promise was a promise. There had to be a point to this, and it was safe to assume the answers to what her birthday gift entailed were on this page.

The guy smiling back at her from the screen was rather attractive, with dark-blond hair and green, possibly gray, eyes. His smile was open and friendly, and he seemed relaxed as he leaned against a red brick wall, one foot propped up against it behind him. The checked shirt emphasized broad shoulders; thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans drew attention to narrow hips.

A nice-looking guy, Jane. And?

But she knew. Tossing a glance at Lawrence, she met his eyes fixed on her face before returning her attention to the laptop monitor.

Never having been one for blind dates or one-night-stands, why would Jane direct her here, to this website, and specifically, to this guy? She so hoped Jane hadn’t set her up with him, but knowing her friend, it was more than likely exactly what Jane had gone and done. What other reason could there be for her insistence on an open mind? It seemed logical that this was whom she was meant to call.

Clicking on the image to enlarge it, she gasped before she could stop herself and caught her lips between her teeth. Lawrence leaned forward from his perch for a closer look. Rachel barely noticed when he got off the armrest.

Oh my word, isn’t he striking-looking? And she had to be honest; she was hooked.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the cup holding her pens and pencils scooted across the desk and fell over, spilling writing implements all over the place. But it broke the spell and jerked her back to the moment.

“Lawrence! You startled me.”

He gave her a hard look from the door.

“What did you do that for?” She grinned, feeling silly as she picked up the pens and returned the cup to its place. “This is something Jane asked me to do—research, that sort of thing.”

Of course, my love, if you say so. He shrugged, lifted his hands, and disappeared. A moment later, she heard the lazyboy creak in the lounge.

She stared at the empty doorway for a full minute before turning back to the laptop. She might as well get this over and done with, so she could say in all honesty that she’d ‘browsed’. Scrolling down, a bio section appeared.

He stated his name as Trip Murgatroyd, call sign ‘Eros’—how quaint. Wasn’t Eros the Greek god of passionate physical desire? A quick Google inquiry confirmed it. A bit arrogant, but each one to his own. He listed his age as thirty-five. Clicking back to the enlarged picture of him, she nodded—he looked about thirty-five. That he had graduated from the University of Cape Town twelve years earlier had to be true, too, but graduated in what, that was the question.

He claimed his mission in life was to make women happy in any way they needed to be happy. Also that he could provide any lady with a good time she would never forget.

Definitely arrogant, and not only a bit.

There had to be more pictures of him. She clicked on ‘Gallery’ and studied each photo closely. He’d been captured waterskiing, body surfing, and on the back of a stunning black horse. So, he was the outdoorsy type—one up for him.

There was only one picture of him in a bed. Naked, he posed half-turned to the camera, leaning up on an elbow. One leg drawn up, a white sheet loosely draped his raised knee and left the other leg that was straight on the mattress, bare. It also hinted at a bulge it tried to conceal. His muscular chest was lightly furred and shoulders well-developed, his tan in stark contrast to the bedding. There was something about those smoky eyes looking directly into hers from the screen—they captured and held her attention, daring her.

Her mouth went dry. She didn’t do dare.

This is the man Jane thinks I need?

Clearing her throat, she scrolled on. Thank goodness there were no pictures of him with his, um, parts, exposed. That would have spoiled the effect and turned her right off him. The photos were all good quality, well-balanced compositions. The guy looked friendly, playful even, and he was well dressed and well-groomed.

She clicked back to the one in the bed. Even that one was in good taste and kind of cute, if one was into that sort of thing. Not that she was, but good grief, she wasn’t made of stone, either, and he was an unfairly good-looking male specimen.

Back to the main photo. It had been taken outside, with nothing suggestive or tacky about it. He was just a gorgeous guy leaning against a wall in the sun.

“So, why do you think I need him, Jane?” she asked out loud. “I know you, and my bet is you have a very good reason for wanting me to call this particular person.”

A breeze billowed the curtains into the room, blew her hair across her face, and slammed the door. His Nibs, having curled up on the corner of the sofa for a nap, jumped about a meter into the air.

“Lawrence?” He stood in the middle of the room under the light. “Stop scaring my cat.”

He didn’t answer but merely stood there looking dazzling. If not for one little fact, she wouldn’t have been looking at the website currently open on her monitor, and Jane would never have suggested it. Grimacing, she tucked her hair behind her ears as she turned back to the computer.

I’d say the reason she wants me to call him is obvious.

Trip Murgatroyd seemed to agree, communicating from the monitor directly with her hormones. Those eyes were nice. His hair curled around his ears. She stared at the image for so long, the monitor went to sleep. The blank screen put an end to her ogling. Just as well.

The smell of cinnamon was very strong with the door closed—Lawrence wasn’t comfortable with what she was doing. She got up to close the window and opened the door instead, stroking His Nibs as she passed the end of the couch. He was looking about the room with big eyes, his ears flat against his head.

“I’m working, Lawrence,” she said softly. There was no answer.

Resettling herself at the desk, she touched the mouse and returned to her research.

What is a man like this doing on this kind of site?

Maybe because he liked multiple sexual partners? Why couldn’t Jane go with a traditional birthday gift? A bottle of perfume, a new handbag, a voucher for a spa day. And if she absolutely had to set her up for a blind date, couldn’t she at least have chosen a datable guy?

This had the potential of being an excruciatingly embarrassing one-night stand, but she wanted to be able to tell Jane in all honesty the next time she saw her that she’d kept an open mind and browsed for her trouble. It was the calling part she had a problem with.

There were both a cell number and an email address on his contact page. A promise was a promise, and she had to admit, she was charmed. She didn’t have to do anything as long as she made contact with the guy. That was all Jane had asked of her, and that was all she’d promised to do.

Email was impersonal; it wouldn’t be like she was putting herself out there.

“Let’s drop him a line and see what the full extent of Jane’s plan for my birthday is,” she muttered. Part of her refused to believe Jane would suggest what this looked like, and the other part knew it was exactly the kind of thing Jane would do, to throw her to the wolves. Specifically to this sexy wolf.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she gnawed her bottom lip. What could she say? How did she introduce herself without making any sort of commitment? Was he expecting her call?

Most importantly, had Jane paid him anything upfront? If she had, more fool her! Rachel was under no obligation to blindly go where Jane sent her, although it would be a shame to miss the opportunity to at least talk to the guy.

She chuckled to herself. Very brave she was from the safety of her office in her own very secure home. This was so not her thing.

Reaching for her mobile, she pressed a speed-dial number. Jane picked up on the second ring.

“I can’t do this, Jane! I’m a married woman.”

“I know you still hurt, love, but sooner or later, you have to let go. It’s been three years.”

“I know, I know, but it’s hard.”

“Rachel, your husband is dead. No one expects you to forget him, but even you have to admit this is getting weird. It’s like you somehow got stuck in yesterday. You’re only thirty years old, by far too young to give up on life.”

“So, you set me up with a man of the night? How can you even call it a birthday gift?” For Jane’s benefit, she loudly released her breath.

“He’s not a man of the night,” Jane mimicked. “He doesn’t hang around on street corners.” She was silent for a moment. “Would a voucher for a treatment have been odd?”

“Of course not. But this is s.e.x. It doesn’t compare.”

“I know! Isn’t it wonderful? Live a little, doll.”

“Jane, I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m grateful, I truly am. But it’s too soon for me. I still feel married. Sometimes, it’s as if he’s still here.”

The silence stretched until Jane said, “Now I’m really worried about you. Don’t you think it might be an idea to see someone?”

“No, I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed.”

“No, you’re right, you don’t need a therapist. What you need is to get laid. That will lay your ghosts. Please, my friend, don’t dismiss the idea out of hand. This guy looks nice. Let him sort you out. Women are his business. Plus, he’s neutral and discrete. And this way, there are no strings attached to complicate your life.”

“I’m not paying a man to have sex with me, Jane!”

“Why not? That’s what makes it impersonal. I’m not asking you to pledge your undying love to the guy. Think about it like this—he’s an expert in his field; he could give you the orgasm of your life. You have to break the bond with the past. It’s unhealthy and unnatural to mope around as you have been doing. It’s getting far too protracted. Lawrence should have been no more than a fond memory by now. You must turn forward instead of looking back all the time. Give it a go, Rachel. You have nothing to lose.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Jane.” She took a deep, calming breath. “I know you mean well.” Jane had no idea about Lawrence, and Rachel wasn’t about to enlighten her. “Have you told this guy anything about me?”

“Your name only, I swear.”

“If it’s your opinion that sex will snap me out of my rut, it should be Damien I invite to my bed. He was Lawrence’s friend. Lawrence trusted him. At least I know him.”

“And that’s precisely why you should avoid a bed situation with him at all cost. You have to break out of Lawrence’s mold. As Lawrence’s friend, Damien only hangs around you to guard you, now that you’re on your own. You’re not meant to get close to him in that way.”

Rachel tapped her thumbnail against her front teeth. Jane had a point. There’s been no progression to a higher level in her ‘relationship’ with Damien. “Have you paid Trip Murgatroyd any money?”

Jane ignored the question as she continued her tirade. “I mean, has Damien ever kissed you? Properly, I mean.”

“Jane, answer the question. Have you paid him upfront?” Jane kept quiet. “Jane Melissa Knowles, tell me how much you paid him, and for what, exactly?”

“I paid for a full night’s service, and it was my pleasure.” Jane promptly disconnected the call.

Well, hell’s bells!

Not only have sex with the stranger but spend a whole night with him.

A restless layer of smoke hovered close to the floor when Rachel crossed the hall to the kitchen. It churned as she passed through it but didn’t disperse. She didn’t notice a thing. But, she’d set the white in motion, and it swirled around the base of the central table, groaning as it went. Rachel didn’t hear anything. After that spat with Jane, she needed another glass of wine.

As she passed the clock, its hands stopped ticking off the seconds, paused for a moment before slowly restarting in the opposite direction, picking up speed, going faster and faster, the grating sound it made getting louder and louder. Rachel didn’t hear any of it over her own muttered verbiage of Jane’s sins. When she reached the kitchen and opened the fridge, the clock stopped.

Not one for confrontations, her hands shook when she took the open bottle of Spier Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge door. The wine gurgled into her glass. With the bottle back in its place, Rachel picked up her glass and retraced her steps across the hall, sipping as she went, totally oblivious of the atmosphere in the hall.

She knew she shouldn’t let Jane get to her, but she was her closest friend, and her opinion mattered. All the same, it boggled the mind that Jane had the temerity to concoct a plan like this and then to camouflage it as her birthday gift. Jane should have known better.

The study door remained partly open behind her, as usual, the smell of cinnamon much more subtle now. Rachel sat behind her desk and, after another swig, put the glass down on a coaster.

The coils inside the clock, wound to snapping point, clicked when it gave under the strain. The hands whirred loudly as they unwound, spinning so fast, they blurred. When they stopped, the silence in the hall was absolute.

A moment later, the clock resumed its normal timekeeping, and the smoke disappeared.

Rachel was aware of nothing. 

Want to see more? Go here.

Everybody loves a good ghost story, and Trapped In Yesterday is one with a complicated, busy ghost. It is also rather steamy without being erotic. Perfect for your weekend reading. Trapped In Yesterday is only 99c for a limited time. Get it here! Trapped In Yesterday is still available in Kindle Unlimited for a while longer.

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