The Haunting of Maddie Clare—An Award-Winning Ghost Story Simone St. James ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

I’m listening to the rain outside and reading this 1940s ghost story by the gold-rose light of a 1940s Tiffany lamp. I’ll say no more, except I hope her other books are this good.🍷⛈📚

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From Chapter 2:

“Of course not. As you see here, I’ve documented many of them. There are a lot of ghosts in England, but there are a few of us writing books like mine, and we tend to cover the same ground. It’s inevitable. The challenge is to find something new—an entirely unseen haunting that has never been written about before. And just this week, I’ve finally found one.” He gulped his tea, swallowing nearly half the cup’s hot contents, and I realized he was truly excited. “Just a few days ago a vicar contacted me. He had been living in a tiny town called Waringstoke, where a local family asked him to attempt an exorcism. This was several months ago. The exorcism failed spectacularly—not only did the ghost not leave, but according to this vicar, she physically attacked him. A physical attack, Miss Piper! It is entirely extraordinary.”

***

“This deliciously eerie, traditionally gothic ghost story grabbed me with its first sentence and didn’t let go until the very last…. Simone St. James gets everything right in this ghostly tale, and I’ll be standing in line to buy whatever she writes next.” —Wendy Webb, Author of The Tale of Halcyon Crane

Author’s Site: http://www.simonestjames.com/

From Chapter 3:

He had turned back to the road now. “I had been there a few days, knocking around the big drafty old house with Freddy and his parents. There wasn’t much to do, but we managed to entertain ourselves. Skating on the pond, climbing the roof of the old folly, eating everything in sight—those kinds of things, you know. Well, one night something woke me—I was never sure what, but I had been dreaming about footsteps, stealthy shuffling ones, and I thought, as I was lying there, maybe I had really heard them. I thought perhaps Freddy was awake. So I got up and went down the hall, to Freddy’s room….Freddy’s door was ajar,” he continued, turning back to the road again. “I peeked in, thinking maybe he was asleep after all. And he was. He was asleep in his bed, and there was something standing at his bedside, staring down at him….It was a figure—a person, I thought, but indistinct. It was standing there, motionless, and the head was tilted down. It was certainly facing him, and staring down at him….I stood there for a long time, frozen in my tracks. I couldn’t breathe, I tell you—I was so startled. The thing wasn’t moving; it didn’t seem like it had seen me, or perhaps it didn’t care. All it cared about was Freddy. It just stared at him, its hands at its sides. I could see its legs, so I thought it was male, unless it was a female wearing trousers. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run more than anything, but what if the thing meant Freddy harm? Should I wake Freddy, tell him to run? Chase it away myself somehow? I was paralyzed with sheer cowardice. As I stood there—it must have been only seconds, though it didn’t feel like it—the thing turned away and disappeared. It never looked at me, and I never saw its face. It just turned and was gone. I made my legs move and nearly stumbled back to my room.”

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