The Meadows
Legacy of Darkness
Book One
London Clarke
Genre: Gothic suspense; supernatural thriller
Legacy of Darkness
Book One
London Clarke
Genre: Gothic suspense; supernatural thriller
Publisher: Carfax Abbey Publishing
Date of Publication: October 2018
ISBN: 9781386765233
Cover Artist: Stephen Lee Designs
Tagline: Bed, breakfast, and blood.
Book Description:
A decades-old murder. A strange, blood-thirsty cult. And a house full of spirits.
It was supposed to be a new beginning, a fresh start in the Shenandoah Valley, where Scarlett’s memories weren’t riddled with drug addiction and rehab. But after purchasing an abandoned house with a checkered past in the hopes of transforming it into a luxury bed and breakfast, strange things start to happen. Disturbing voices and noises interrupt her new life. Strangers appear to her, bearing cryptic warnings. A tunnel is discovered underneath the house—one historically used for a local cult’s rituals. After several of Scarlett’s guests are hospitalized after visiting the underground, she finds herself targeted by violent spirits.
Driven to the edge of despair, Scarlett vows to fight back—but she has no idea what she’s really battling. And her nightmare is just beginning…
The Meadows is a gripping supernatural thriller in which the monsters may be vampires, demons, or flesh and blood. It is a nightmare that will make you believe it could easily happen to you.
Excerpt
Chapter One
October 2019
Asphodel House,
The Meadows
I affixed the
camera onto my laptop and held the computer at arm’s length until I could see
myself.
There I was. In
all my post-rehab glory.
I hadn’t colored
my hair since I’d first come out of Orange Star Center six months ago. The
blonde highlights had faded, tipping the ends to about halfway up my brown
tresses. It looked a little trendy. A little.
Mainly, I looked
tired. I hadn’t slept much since the move. Different time zones did all kinds
of weird things to me. It was only an hour’s difference between Nashville and
here, but it was enough to throw me off.
I smeared on
some tinted lip balm and finger-combed my hair, pushing it up into a bun.
Straight, heavy bangs hung to the bridge of my nose and over my eyebrows,
covering the line knitting together my forehead and my eyebrows. I hated that
line. It hadn’t been there seven months ago when I was still feeling no pain
most of the time.
I clicked record
and settled into the chair, making sure I was square in the shot of the camera.
“Hello, world.”
The first words sounded like pennies at the bottom of an empty piggy bank.
Hollow, tinny, awkward. That was a dumb way to begin. But I was live, so
couldn’t stop now. I cleared my throat, forced a smile. “Scarlett, here. I know
it’s been ages since we’ve talked…” I shifted my eyes, trying to remember when
I’d last film a video blog. “A year, maybe? And just for a change, I’m not
coming to you from the Country Music Capital of the World. Nashville and I have
parted ways for a time, and I’m broadcasting from my new home in Virginia.
You’re catching me on my second day here.”
I hadn’t planned
this first live broadcast out very well. How much should I say? Mentally, I
scrambled to come up with the rest of my spiel. Little thumbs-up and heart
signs were already flashing across the screen.
My fans were
watching.
Glancing behind
me, I motioned to the room. “So… this is my new home. Currently under
renovation, but it will soon be open for business. Yes, it’s a huge departure
from songwriting, but don’t worry … I’ll still be doing plenty of that.” I
lifted the laptop and held it so that it flashed onto the grand piano in the
corner of what had once been the front parlor—now, my living room. Then I
repositioned it on the table. “My newest adventure is this wonderful old
antebellum mansion I’m restoring. Within a few weeks, it’ll be open for guests
as a bed and breakfast. I’ll keep you up to date and let you know when you can
book a room. I hope to meet a few you in person right here in Virginia. I
promise there will be all sorts of grand entertainment. Music, food, maybe a
few costumes—it’ll be Halloween, after all—all taking place ri’cheer.” I played
up a Nashville accent as I gestured over my shoulder. “In the meantime, I
thought I’d play a crowd favorite on this magnificent instrument I’ve just
purchased.”
Again, I shifted
the laptop so that the baby grand was in view, and then I padded across the
newly polished marble floor and settled in front of the keyboard. My fingers
found the keys—like old friends—and the sounds of a perfectly tuned piano
reverberated against the ceiling.
I turned back to
the camera. “This room has great acoustics.” Then I launched into one of my biggest
hits, “People Like You.”
Songwriting was
my comfort zone. Well-known stars made my songs into hits; occasionally I
performed in a club. But this was the easiest place for me to play and sing to
an audience—from the safety of my living room, on camera.
I’d just started
to sing the opening to the song when something flashed in my peripheral vision.
I stopped,
stared at the entryway to the living room. Had someone just walked by? I
listened. Nothing. Glancing up at the screen again, the little thumbs and
hearts still floated over the screen. Then a laughing emoji. Several laughing
emojis.
Clearing my
throat, I started to play the introduction to the song again. “Sorry, folks. I
thought someone was … at the door.” I smiled at the camera. “Guess I’m not used
to my new home yet.”
I closed my eyes
and launched into the melancholy melody of the song. This time I sang it all
the way through.
Allowing the
ending chord to linger, ripple through me, the bass note vibrating my fingers
on the keys, I opened my eyes again.
“Thanks for
joining me tonight, guys. I’ll be back in a few days with another update on my
newest venture. In the meantime, love the one you’re with, remember that you’ve
got a friend, and peace, love, and understanding to all.” It was a corny
catch-phrase built on three classic songs, and I still cringed sometimes when I
said it, but it had worked for me. Some of the fans told me they really liked it.
I shut off the
recording and then hit the arrow in the window to play back the live recording.
This was a good
way to see what I needed to change for next time—namely, the lighting. Geez,
the house looked so dark. I swiveled my head left and then right. Was it
actually that dark in here? Three lamps spilled light into the corners, and
from where I was sitting the room looked pretty well illuminated. But on the video,
it seemed like dark clouds muddied their spotlight effect. Weird.
And I didn’t
look too bad on camera. A little tired, maybe, with some dark pits under my
eyes, but I’d just have to put on a more makeup next time.
I reached the
part of the video where I’d stopped playing. My expression changed
dramatically. My whole face drooped, suspended, as my gaze was drawn to
something in the foyer.
My recovery had
been pretty good. Playing through the song a second time with my eyes closed
had kept me focused on the moment and the emotion in the music.
But there was
something in the background—something materializing behind me as I crooned
away. It began as a darkening of the screen—as though the lights faded out and
the darkness of the scene swelled to fill the space.
I leaned closer
to the screen and squinted. Were those eyes? A face?
It looked like a
woman, leaning over my shoulder as I played and sang. Her features obscured by
a great shadow, the whites of her eyes drawing closer to the screen, she peered
into the camera.
Gasping, I shot
up from the piano stool so quickly it toppled. Then I turned in a 360-degree
circle, scanning the walls and corners of the room for the figure in the video.
A joke. It had to be. My mind rushed with the possibilities. It was close to
Halloween, so maybe the social media site had placed some kind of special
effect on videos. Maybe I just didn’t know about it.
My heart
drummed, pounding against the inside of my chest until my sternum hurt. I cut
my eyes back and forth. No one was in the room with me. I was alone.
About the Author:
Obsessed with vampires and haunted houses from a young age, London grew up reading gothic tales featuring romantic and tragic heroes. Wuthering Heights and Dracula are her favorite novels, and although now happily married, she readily confesses that she is a recovering runaway, who once moved to England in search of a man who was the perfect amalgamation of Dracula, Hamlet, Heathcliff, and Mr. Rochester. London holds a B.A. in Music and M.F.A in Creative Writing. She’s had an eclectic array of jobs including receptionist, legal secretary, literary assistant, high school English teacher, and freelance editor.
London lives in a Washington, DC suburb with her husband and three greyhounds. She’s happiest when she’s writing novels, reading books, or binge watching her favorite programs like The Vampire Diaries or Being Human.
Thanks for hosting me!
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