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Shadow Reflection: The Haunted, #4
Shadow Reflection: The Haunted, #4
Shadow Reflection: The Haunted, #4
Ebook216 pages2 hoursThe Haunted

Shadow Reflection: The Haunted, #4

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Shadow Reflection (Book #4, The Award-Winning Haunted Series) by Bibiana Krall and Veronica Cline Barton 

Welcome to year four of the award-winning Haunted Series! Within the pages of this eclectic anthology lies a cartography of the human heart, where emotions carve intricate paths across the landscape of existence. 

Explore the haunting specters that linger in the far regions of our consciousness, unseen forces that leave us questioning the very fabric of reality. From the ethereal dance between dreams and nightmares, to the enigmatic pull of forbidden secrets and envy, these stories illuminate life in all its wondrous complexity, where the most profound truths often lie in the darkest and most unexpected corners.

Mask by Veronica Cline Barton

Darkness consumes a young woman's heart, its rhythmic beat spewing disdain for her life in the Alaskan coastal village of Coldwater Cove. On a fateful day, she learns her life has been dealt a scandalous blow. Her rage plots a vengeful scheme to bring those around her to a disastrous end. 

The ancients who dwell in a nearby, mystical cave have a different plan in store.

White Raven by Bibiana Krall

A fearless woman conquers Africa's highest peak, but when she reaches the summit, a supernatural encounter unlocks a chain of inexplicable events that profoundly impact the lives of everyone she knows in Tanganika.

Flipside by Veronica Cline Barton

In a world gone mad with rife, conspiracy theories de jour; global, mass delusion; and pontificating umbrage as the scientific community, fueled by AI, plods recklessly into the unknown—hope for mankind's survival is dwindling away, Faith struggles to grasp critical, key insights to save humanity left behind in her deceased aunt's journals. The answers surround her, delivered by an unexpected source. 

It is said time heals all wounds. Let us hope temporal wisdom can sort through the carnage that has been unleashed.

Obelisk by Bibiana Krall

After a brilliant, astronomer travels to Chile, she unearths a bone-chilling connection between an ancient civilization known for its enigmatic rock carvings depicting extraterrestrial beings. 

Do the petroglyphs carry a message that might help Julieta unlock the mysteries of the cosmos?

Hijinks by Veronica Cline Barton

Tempers flare in the picturesque town of Mystique Falls, a land where no longitudes or latitudes exist, only the calendars of holidays yet-to-come. The maven of Christmas and the witch of Halloween are at odds. When a crisis strikes, will they be able to put aside their squabbles? 

Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

Billy by Bibiana Krall

Under the brilliant blaze of autumn leaves, a tormented and sensitive soul, long gone from this world, seeks revenge from beyond the grave. 

Something sinister surfaces in Vermont to torment an enterprising young woman, and survivor of teenage trauma. An unsettling game of cat and mouse unfolds when the realms of the living and the dead intertwine in a haunting story of twisted loyalty, the power of love and spectral vengeance.

Happy Halloween!

LanguageEnglish
PublisherBlack Calyx Books
Release dateSep 4, 2023
ISBN9798223575146
Shadow Reflection: The Haunted, #4
Author

Bibiana Krall

Bibiana Krall is a small-town girl from the Midwest who left home at an early age and traveled the world. Eventually settling in Savannah, Georgia. She made a nest, created a family and built a dynamic career with a passion for culture, travel and private aviation. She earned an MA in Fiction Writing and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Wilkes University CW. She is a published poet, a member of the Society of Midland Writers and a Deep Center Writing Fellow.

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    Book preview

    Shadow Reflection - Bibiana Krall

    Shadow Reflection

    SHADOW REFLECTION

    THE HAUNTED SERIES #4

    BIBIANA KRALL

    VERONICA CLINE BARTON

    BLACK CALYX BOOKS

    SHADOW REFLECTION © 2023. Authors, Bibiana Krall and Veronica Cline Barton. All rights reserved. 1st rights printing permissions granted under Shadow Reflection, The Haunted Series™ Book #4 story collection. #Halloween2023 #ShadowReflection

    Paperback ISBN: 9798854115353

    Copyright, 1st printing permissions © 2023 Mask, Flipside, Hijinks © short stories, all rights reserved by Veronica Cline Barton 2023.

    Copyright, 1st printing permissions © 2023 White Raven, Obelisk, Billy © short stories, all rights reserved by Bibiana Krall 2023.

    Spiderweb Illustration © 2023. www.freepik.com/free-photos-vectors/halloween

    Editing services provided by T. Snyder

    This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

    Proudly printed in the U.S.A. by Black Calyx Books, Savannah, Ga. 31401. First Printing, September 4th, 2023

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional manner.

    Recipes in the bonus pages may contain allergens, alcohol, nuts, eggs and gluten. Pregnant women, elderly persons, underage people or those with food allergies or a compromised immune system should be careful about eating certain foods and imbibing alcoholic drinks. Neither the authors nor the publisher claim responsibility for adverse effects resulting from the use of homemade recipes, ingesting alcohol and/or dietary information found within this book.

    Please eat and drink responsibly.

    READER PRAISE FOR SHADOW REFLECTION

    Halloween doesn't officially begin, until I read these fantastic stories!-Ginnie M.

    Original plots, world travel and ghosts! Pinch me until I holler Hocus Pocus! So darn good! -Mallory S.

    Haunting, psychological suspense. Page-turning fiction for the modern reader. -Ana J.

    I look forward to these stories every year and hope to see them on the silver screen one day! -Katya G.

    Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term art, I should call it the reproduction of what the senses perceive in nature through the veil of the soul. -Edgar Allan Poe

    CONTENTS

    Alaska

    1. Mask

    Tanzania

    2. White Raven

    Moon Lake

    3. Flipside

    Chile

    4. Obelisk

    Mystique Falls

    5. Hijinks

    Vermont

    6. Billy

    Seasonal Recipes

    Author’s Notes/Acknowledgements

    Also by Veronica Cline Barton

    About the Author

    Author’s Notes/Acknowledgements

    Also by Bibiana Krall

    About the Author

    The Haunted Series

    ALASKA

    Do not let fateful whisperings of the unhinged mind seep into your heart, for revenge lurks in the shadows… -Veronica Cline Barton

    MASK

    BY VERONICA CLINE BARTON

    August, 1850, Pacific Passage, onboard the "Eyes of Neptune"

    The planks of the deck creaked with soulful moans as the incessant waves lapped their serpentine onslaught up the sides of the ship. We had been sailing for weeks to get to the Alaskan village where I would be tethered in societal purgatory for years as my husband fulfilled his obligations as captain of the Eyes of Neptune.

    The anxiety of regret ran rampant as the minutes ticked on, enveloping me in a cocoon of dread. Our brief moments of honeymoon bliss had dissipated as soon as my husband, the captain, set foot on board his newly commissioned ship. I had become a forgotten entity; the sultry sway of the sea had replaced me, capturing my husband’s heart.

    The busty figurehead that adorned the ship’s bow had more freedom than I. Carved black tendrils surrounding a sultry face splayed wildly in the wind. Charles believed it conveyed the native beauty of our soon-to-be homeland. Wild, unabandoned passion and mysterious eyes--she could at least experience the world on the bow of the ship. I would soon be shackled between the walls of a drafty house in a forgotten town fulfilling my sentence as the captain’s wife.

    I had on impulse said yes to the dashing, young man who had come to the glamorous reception held by the shipping company my father owned. Charles shamelessly swept me off my feet, courting me furiously for weeks after. When he whispered his plans of setting sail to new lands my clouded mind dreamt of drifting along the Mediterranean beneath the starry skies of ancient worlds with my beloved.

    Instead, I was heading to the frigid, rustic shores of Coldwater Cove; a village inhabited by the fragmented tribes of battered natives—torn between the beliefs of the ancients and the lure of modernity; amputee pirates, shriveled in body and soul by the rough planks of treasures never found; and adventuring ruffians fueled by the lure of golden nuggets dazzling in their minds.

    I could feel the life spirit flow out of me with the crash of each wave. I would soon be in residence amongst the gathering of misfits whose rotting dreams were the fuel of nightmares to come.

    For just a moment, I imagined my mother and father gloating at my societal demise as they sat on the terrace overlooking the San Francisco Bay sipping tea and basking in their good fortune of having me married off. Daughters of my generation were expendable. I meant nothing to them now that my fortune had been betrothed to Charles. My father finally had the son he always wished for. I was becoming a faded memory…

    I reached across the tear-splashed, walnut, writing desk and lifted the ink blotter from its well. The scrimshaw, whale-bone topper felt cold against my fingertips. Rubbing my fingers against the carvings, ripples of melancholy tinged my mind as I thought of the magnificent mammal who had once encased the slivers of bone. I imagined the beast squirming and flailing in its last moments of life, before its last breath was drawn. I was living that feeling now.

    After blotting the pages of my latest, emotional tirade, I stood and adjusted my balance as I walked over to the portal window. My gait was quite used to the shifting floors these days. Would I ever adjust to the stillness of the earth’s surface again? I cracked open the window and jumped back when the smell of the putrid salt air sprayed on my face. I despised everything about the sea now.

    For a moment, I pondered walking up to the top deck and flinging my body overboard to end this misery. I tensed as I envisioned the feel of the ice-cold waters sucking the life from my limbs. I closed my eyes and shivered, relishing the temporary feelings of terror that assuaged my anger. I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes. I blinked away the tears that had welled, wiping them from my cheeks for a final time. I would not cry again.

    Land Ho!

    My heart skipped a beat when I heard the words I so longed to hear. I pulled my jacket from the armoire and slowly fastened the hooks. The trim cut would not do in a few months. I patted the small swell of my abdomen. I had one secret that for now, was all mine. One that would give me leverage against those who minimized me.

    My lips drew up to a crooked smile as I turned the door handle. Crew members were bustling down the corridor in excitement. They bowed their heads as I walked between them to climb up to the deck. As I reached the top of the stairs, I drew my hand up to my forehead. The dim sunlight caught my eyes, blinding me for a moment.

    Charles was exuberant as he gazed upon the coastline inching up in the distance. I had never seen such joy etched on his face, until he looked over and saw me. His exuberance came to an abrupt halt as we stared at one another, ignoring the boisterous chatter surrounding us.

    He had sold his soul to attain his dream. I was now going to collect my fair dues, with any means I could. My tears of despair hardened like iron rails surrounding my heart. No one would have entry there again.

    Six years later … Blue Pearl Cottage, Coldwater Cove

    T he Vicar has arrived for tea, Madame. He’s waiting for you in the parlor.

    I looked up from the letter on my desk and glared at my housekeeper, Alasie, setting my pen down across the paper in deliberate fashion.

    She was a woman of mixed heritage—the product of a one-night liaison between a banned, Inuit woman of ill-repute and a bilious, Caucasian drunkard whose type were plentiful in Coldwater Cove. Despite her dire parentage, she had been taken in and raised in an unlikely orphanage, miles from here, run by renegade monks, displaced nuns, and an assortment of Christian do-gooders.

    By local standards, she was cream of the crop. She was educated, poised, and ran an acceptable house. She had begged for a position when Charles and I arrived years before. Her dress had been tattered at the hem and the soles of her boots were threadbare. She looked to be barely out of her teens. Straight, black hair hung down from her waist. Her deep brown eyes and trembling lips tugged at one’s heart, if one allowed such infringement. I was uncertain and ready to speak with other natives for the position, but Charles insisted we take her in. I think she reminded him of the soulful maiden figurehead on his precious ship.

    I acquiesced, my now vengeful mind keeping her as fodder for a future opportunity to inflict hurt and pain upon my husband. Alasie learned the keeping-of-a-house skills to my standards, quickly, working her way to head housekeeper. She was quiet and obedient, and soon knew my thoughts before I spoke them.

    Our daughter took to her, which was a huge relief. Charlotte reminded me too much of Charles. At times, her touch was repugnant against my skin. Alasie gave her a mother’s love and warmth. My daughter often looked at me with longing in her eyes, but I had limited love to give her. I would position her as a lady accepted in polite society as my mother had done for me.

    Alasie, what is the time, please? The housekeeper timidly glanced over at the mantel clock.

    Five minutes ‘til three, Madame.

    And what time was tea scheduled with the Vicar and his missus?

    Three o’clock, Madame, but… She stopped when she sensed the rage creep up my cheeks.

    But what, Alasie? You know how valuable my time is, I huffed, standing to pull down my vest.

    It’s the Vicar only, Madame. His wife is not with him. Alasie looked down at the floor, smoothing the pleats of her skirt. She seemed reluctant to look at me.

    She refused my invitation? After all I’ve done to provide this god-forsaken community with a presentable place of worship? I shook my head, straining to control my anger. Tell him I will be with him shortly.

    Alasie backed out of the room, her eyes focused on the carpet. I waited until she reached the doorway and turned to walk away. My hands clenched into iron fists, longing to strike out. I walked over to the mirror and stepped back when I saw my reflection.

    My face was haunted with dark circles beneath my eyes, framed by gray strands of hair. My once pleasing figure had withered to skin and bones. Closing off one’s heart to emotion and being driven by the pride of vengeance took every ounce of strength. Inner and outer beauty was no longer a priority. I turned away from my image and went down to confront my guest.

    As I walked down the hallway past the nursery, I heard Charlotte’s soft voice whispering behind the door. I stopped and quietly turned the knob, cracking the door open to watch my daughter. She was sitting on the floor having a pretend tea with a primitive, carved doll. I was shocked to see the doll’s face—it reminded me of Alasie with its long, dark hair.

    Had I not had a guest waiting, I would have disciplined Charlotte for playing with the wooden doll. She had expensive dollies made from the finest porcelain lining her playroom. Her grandparents were quite indulgent, although furious they had not been invited to see their granddaughter after all these years. My lip curled as I closed the door and sipped in the breath of revenge against my parents, savoring it.

    I reached the parlor and stiffened my posture as I walked in. Alasie was standing on one side of the room by the tea table, her head hung down. I would speak to her later to discuss the wooden doll infringement and arrange a suitable punishment.

    The Vicar stood with his back to me, glancing up at the navigational books that lined the mahogany shelves. He turned when he heard my footsteps. He did not step forward to greet me, a response I found unsettling. My guard went up. I

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