Black Balmoral or The Truth About Ghosts
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Paul nodded once, trying to take the man in all at once. All he could see clearly was head and shoulders, the rest of the extensive body was draped in shadow. His mind also reached out, wanting to explain to his eyes where this man had come from. He had room for irritation at himself for not feeling his approach, and that thought quickly followed by a weary wondering what he would have to deal with now. "Good morning." "You're not afraid of me. Good," the man said, his smile growing. He spoke with an accent Paul couldn't place. "Why should I be afraid unless I find there is something to be afraid of?" Paul felt no malice from the spectre, found no reason not to treat this as any other entity he had encountered. "If you knew what I've been dealing with lately, you would realise why I'm not afraid of you." The man chuckled. It was a deep, sandpapery sound, almost a growl. "I assume you're referring to Edward Kelley." "You know him?" Paul thought he shouldn't be surprised. "Yes, but let us not discuss him just now." He took another step toward Paul, seeming to grow taller yet again. "You are not afraid of me," he repeated. "No, I'm not," Paul said, still searching with is mind for any kind of explanation for what he was seeing, but all he got was blank space. "I am impressed with your logic, your presence of mind. You see something you don't understand, and instead of running from it, you only wish to know." He said the last two words slowly, almost a hiss, conveying intensity. "If only there were more people like you, your world would be a very different place indeed." With the phrase 'your world', Paul's apprehension was quickly eclipsed by curiosity. He continued to search with every bit of him, hoping to find clarity somewhere. "Cease your exploration, Paul. Do you mind if I address you by your . . . what is it, your Christian name?" Paul indicated he didn't mind. "As you desire, I will explain, but I will not allow you to explore me. It would only hurt you." Paul watched the man closely, now more determined than ever to find out who or what he was dealing with. He tried to push deeper, but felt nothing new. Again the sound of tiny feet came to him, finally distracting him enough to break his concentration. He looked around, irritated. "What the hell is that?" The sound seemed to disappear behind the man. Paul looked up to him again. "And who are you?" The man's accent became stronger as he spoke his name. It became familiar, but still indistinguishable. Slow, plodding, heavy, Eastern European. "I am Satori DeVille." "Where are you from?" "That is not important now." Now the accent shifted to British. "You said that if more people were like me, my world would be very different. My world. I think it's very important." DeVille regarded Paul with what seemed to be genuine pleasure. "I am impressed with you, Paul. You are a purist. Your life is in chaos at the moment, and still you find the inclination to go by the book, so to speak." German. "I don't like loose ends." "I am aware of that." "Can we get to the point, please?" "Quite right. It's true that I am not of your world, yet I spend a great deal of time in it. I am not prepared to tell you now where I am from, as it really has no bearing on the matter." Paul drew himself up, steeling himself to ask his next question. "Were you helping Kelley?" "No." "Did you know him when he was alive?" "Yes." Paul wondered how long it would be before someone came up looking for him. "Did you tell him to kill all those people?" DeVille laughed softly. "No, I did not. But, I did take his actions as an indication of serious intent, and it could have warranted my giving him what he wished." "You were in a position to do this?" "Yes." Paul felt a flush come over him, eradicating the chill, making him forget his friends downstairs and trying to see inside this inscrutable man. "Who are you?" he whispered, now feeling a peculiar sense of awe, and completely at a loss to know why.
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About the Book
Far from misty figures, clanking chains, and mournful wails the spirits of Black Balmoral have attitude, aptitude, and no desire to be banished to the afterlife. Even death fails to dilute the desires of the truly driven. After decades of silent abandonment, the aura of tragedy and unspeakable crime is disturbed by four young men who arrive on holiday and bring the house back to life. An eternity of pain, fury, and denial gives way to a last chance for deliverance, a chance that puts the living and the dead at odds with each other and themselves, culminating in a fight for it all, a fight to the death. Drawn from documented hauntings and heavily from the author’s experience, Black Balmoral shows what happens when the natural world comes face-to-face with the supernatural with neither willing to budge.
About the Author
Ever since I was young, tales of the occult, the supernatural, and well-written horror have intensely fascinated me. It started at the age of five when a wayward adult took me to the theatre to see House of Dark Shadows. Little did I then know that the mysteries of the occult were destined to become a personal, lifelong study. Indoctrination into clairvoyance occurred at 10 years of age when a misguided, ill-intentioned apparition intruded into my mind’s eye and attempted to steer me towards a path of destruction. Fortunately, a year later a well-intentioned spirit guide pointed me towards the precariously dangerous path of spiritual education and self-enlightenment. My guide opened my mind and turned on the dormant psychic genes of my rapidly disintegrating humanity. From that point on, I read every paranormal book I could get my hands on. The floodgates of spiritual wisdom and understanding burst open and I’ve never been the same since. I’ve amassed a vast collective library of writings and videos from those in my life that I personally admire. I most enjoy the wonderful tales spun by Elaine Bergstrom. Today, I am fully clairvoyant and clairaudient. I’ve been a medium for over 20 years. Because of my abilities, I’ve had the distinct pleasure of becoming tremendous friends with great people of various cultures and spiritual orientations. My journey has been enlightening, fascinating, and at times terrifying. I love to write and I write about the things that I know the best, preferring to communicate in the genre of historical fiction. I hope to make you think and show you that life is not always what it appears to be, while at the same time, keeping you entertained with an engaging story. These are my gifts to you as a remembrance of the gifts that others have bestowed upon me.