Beautiful Cornelia Bainesworth cared only about herself and her own life the night the Titanic went down. A curse brought on by a woman who witnessed her selfish behavior that evening destroys her, but it doesn’t stop there.

One hundred years later, the curse rears its ugly head in the life of small-town teenager Callie. As if the tragedy of her boyfriend’s death wasn’t enough, strange occurrences bring her to the brink of insanity. Callie’s search for answers is unsuccessful until a nerdy schoolmate takes up her cause and together they experience frightening apparitions, unexplained phenomena and chilling truths. These truths turn Callie’s life upside down and reveal a shocking ending to a story that began on the deck of a ship doomed the moment it saw light.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Titanic Tale

Copyright © 2012 Lynn Hones

ISBN: 978-1-77111-180-5

Cover art by Angela Waters

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Devine Destinies

An imprint of eXtasy Books

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Smashwords Edition

A Titanic Tale

By

Lynn Hones

Chapter One

April 15, 1987

Sharon settled the McMillan twins into bed and pushed a Smurf video into the VCR. After assuring their interest in the annoying blue creatures was complete, she eased out the door. She’d kept them awake an hour longer than usual and played every board game they owned. Hopefully, they’d be asleep soon. She planned to watch a few of the soft porn videos their parents kept on top of the bookcase.

On her way down the wide, sweeping staircase, movement on the third floor startled her. Not footsteps exactly, but the sound of a slow shuffle radiated in the air. Strands of hair she didn’t know existed sprang up over her body like a nature film of grass growing in time lapsed photography. She gazed at the ornate ceiling, her teased, blonde locks cascading over her thin shoulders, until her glance rested on the plaster carvings from a century earlier. Silent, frozen cherubs riding on chariots stared back, as if they listened to the undignified gait, too.

Shuffle, shuffle, and stop. Shuffle, shuffle, and stop. It passed from one part of the ceiling to the other, and planted invisible rows of sad, old-person wanderings. Mrs. Bainesworth, a bona fide eccentric, according to local lore, lived on the top floor, and every babysitter in town knew to leave her alone.

At one time a woman of great beauty with wealth and power, she now had only Bainesworth Manor left to her name. Theodore McMillan, along with his family, cared for the lonely woman who’d been ostracized by the entire community. Upon her death, since she’d left no living relatives, the deed to the home would be transferred to him. Theodore’s wife, Barbara, couldn’t stand the old dame, as she referred to her. She often made the comment the only reason the woman wouldn’t die was because the devil himself didn’t want her around. Rumors of her evil doings had run rampant throughout their little town for years and grew more insidious as time crept by.

Sharon had heard her mumbling on occasion and the lunacy of the sound gave fright an entirely new meaning. It was a good thing they kept her locked up in that old attic. She wouldn’t exactly fit in with decent society.

The shuffling stilled, indicating the old woman must have settled into a chair or her bed. Sharon shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and strode down the stairs. She’d caught a glimpse of her once, long ago, and the memory of it froze her blood solid. Pale gray hair, so white it was transparent, hung thin and scraggly to her waist. Her face, skeletal and wrinkled, left her eyes sunken. She walked hunched over like a witch.

In the family room, the remains of intense Candy Land competitions and popcorn fights spread before her just as exhaustion took over her body and mind. Before she lay down to watch one of the videos, she’d have to tidy up.

A cold chill whipped through the room and Sharon hugged herself. I just want to go home. I don’t want to stay here another minute. No wonder the McMillan’s have to pay out the ass to get anyone to babysit. This place is sinister. I don’t care how many modern deco’s they put up and expensive pieces they buy, it’s got bad energy, old verve, depraved dynamics. Damn out cold karma.

The lights flickered as the vibrations of far-off thunder sent a jolt of fear straight through her. She headed into the kitchen for a flashlight in case the approaching storm played havoc with the electricity. The lights sputtered again and she dug into a junk drawer like a starving dog in search of a long lost bone. There has to be one in here somewhere. Thunder boomed right outside the house and caused her to jump. Dammit! Perfect. Just perfect. Babysitting in the town’s haunted mansion and the damn lights are going to go out.

At the cupboard, under the sink, she knelt and searched for a flashlight among the cleaning products. She moved a box of dishwashing detergent and jumped when someone or something grabbed her shoulder. After her blood-curdling scream filled the room, she fell onto her behind, dumping the detergent all over.

Behind her, Rory, one of the twins, screamed as loud as Sharon. She clutched her bear in the crook of her small five-year-old arm as tears came to her eyes.

With a hand on her chest, Sharon admonished the child. You scared the crap out of me. She inhaled deeply. Are you okay?

In a shaky voice, Rory whined, I’m ascared of the angels bowling. Can I stay with you?

Another bout of thunder rumbled and Rory jammed a thumb in her mouth, turned and landed in Sharon’s lap.

Mrs. Bainesworth came into my room, she said. I don’t like her. She scares me.

What do you mean? Sharon knew the old lady could barely walk unaided and never came down from the third floor. She hadn’t in years. She couldn’t manage the stairs.

She’s up there with Randy right now. She told him he couldn’t come downstairs acuz you’re a bitch.

What?

She doesn’t like you.

Sharon gently pushed Rory up and stood. She took the child’s hand and asked if she knew where they kept a flashlight.

We have Randy’s Choo Choo Charley flashlight. It’s in the playroom.

Go get it, sweetie. She pushed her gently away.

If I can stay with you.

A lightning bolt flashed next to the window and Sharon rubbed the hair back down on her arms. The crack of thunder a second later caused her eyes to close. Hard.

Sure, no problem. We’ll cuddle on the couch. Just go get it, okay? She opened her eyes.

Excited to fulfill this mission, Rory skipped out, an expression of do or die on her face. Another lightning bolt hit close to the house, sending a course of electricity over the area. The following boom scared Sharon and she longed for the comfort of a teddy bear and a lap to fall into herself. The lights went out for good.

Rory! Did you find that flashlight?

A beam of light turned into the dining room and a sense of relief washed over her until it stopped on the image of a stooped old lady. She wore a once white, but now dull yellow, nightgown reminiscent of another century. Her hair fell limply around her hunched shoulders and the shadows on her face, created by the flashlight, produced a ghastly image. The woman, rotting before death, turned her head slowly, until her sinister gaze fell on Sharon. Lifeless, dead, cold eyes, reminiscent of a shark, bore like steel into hers.

You, the lady screeched. You want to kill me!

What? Sharon backed up. She went from fear to stark terror in zero point five seconds.

Holding her cane with a gnarled hand, the phantom-like figure turned and shuffled toward Sharon. Tattered slippers scraped the floor and she gurgled loudly, You want me dead.

I-I don’t even know you, Sharon stuttered. Why would I want you dead?

Through the dark house, a cold draft wafted in from somewhere. It wasn’t just cold, it was freezing and Sharon saw her own breath inches from her face.

Something wants to kill me, the old lady yelled. I feel it in my bones. After that pronouncement,