Chapter One
Welcome paranormal enthusiasts! Going to try something new here - at least new to me. I've written a paranormal mystery, based on a true paranormal occurrence that began in March, 2017. I'm interested in getting your feedback on this novel before I submit it to a professional editor. Besides, where else do you get to read a novel for free???
Here goes:
Seaside,
OR
October
5, 2018, 5:45PM
She stood in the back corner of
the bar, her eyes dancing back and forth as she watched the stream of humanity
walking in, drinking too much alcohol and leaving. She appeared to be waiting, but for
what? Her breathing was unnoticeable. There was no tremble in her demeanor,
standing in the midst of the rough men that clamored in and out. The tall,
auburn-haired beauty, with the green velvet dress cascading to the floor,
appeared to be the anchor that held this tavern in place. She was ageless, with a face that emanated a
reserve of steel that was uncommon in someone of the female gender. She was
silent as others talked and laughed, getting louder with each round of beer. The men stayed away from her, seeming to know
that she was not to be toyed with.
On the other side of the room
was a lone gentlemen sitting at the small table closest to the window. He, too, had the same stolid demeanor as the
woman in green. He appeared to be in his
late 50’s or early 60’s. His hair was streaked
with gray, and his face had the grizzled look of a single man who had no need
to please a woman. The man didn’t mingle
with the rest of the crowd. He nursed
his beer slowly, occasionally glancing at the television on the wall in front
of him.
Large windows, looking out over
the Necanicum River, lined the northeast walls of the tavern. A pool table sat to the left of the
entryway. A jukebox adorned the east
wall of the room. Weathered shiplap
covered the walls. Square oak tables,
with matching captain’s chairs dotted the room.
There was nothing fancy about the place, but the customers were
loyal. The chairs at the bar were full
at all hours of the day and night.
People met here and became friends.
The tavern’s patrons provided family support to those who were otherwise
alone. The woman in the corner knew all
of them, and was abidingly tolerant of the outbursts of questionable behavior that
occasionally emerged from the lonely customers’ inebriation.
She drew an unchanging line,
though, when it came towards any man who attempted to take advantage of one of
the few women that entered the bar. Women,
she believed, were at a distinct disadvantage in the world. They were taught to be weak. Little girls weren’t allowed to defend
themselves physically. They learned to
manipulate the people around them in order to get what they wanted or needed. In some cases, though, there were no words
that could save them from a fate that would have destroyed most men. Girls were sold into slavery around the
world, and the problem was largely ignored.
“Men will be men” was a phrase used to excuse humiliating and cruel actions
foist upon all ages of women and girls.
The woman in green didn’t talk
about her past. It was clear, though,
that she had been badly wounded by someone or something. She had transformed into a beautiful iron
butterfly rather than letting herself join the throng of female victims whose
sorrow and pain destroyed their lives. Men could look, but they could not touch, and
any man who treated a woman disrespectfully within her line of sight or sound
regretted it quickly.
This building that housed the
Bridge Tender Tavern, where the lady in green currently stood watch, was the
lone survivor of the fires that had decimated the small town of Seaside, OR in
the early 1900’s. At the time that
everything around it burned, the building housed a diner on the ground floor
and a brothel on the second floor. It
seemed oddly inexorable that the single surviving building of the fires
provided food, drink, shelter and sex.
The building appeared to be
little more than a square, wooden matchbox perched on the corner of Broadway St.
and the Necanicum River, inviting fire to attempt its ruin again. Fire, though, seemed to know that this
tinderbox building would only laugh at its tongues of flame if ever again it
tried to destroy the tavern. How a
building that housed a brothel could land on the side of good in the battle
between good and evil was a question that mocked evil scornfully.
Suddenly, the lady in green
moved. She glided slowly across the
barroom floor, stopping behind the man seated at the table on the other side of
the room. She said nothing. She silently
placed her hand on his shoulder. The man
seemed to understand her signal. He stood up, placed a twenty dollar bill on the table, and turned to exit the
tavern. The woman moved back to the corner. The rest of the patrons ignored them, seemingly
oblivious to the interaction.
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