A young adult ghost story, written with my granddaughter, by Diane Scott Lewis

                                           

NEW RELEASE To purchase this young adult novel, click here

 I wrote this story, released this month, with my granddaughter, Jorja, who is fifteen now; I'm so proud of it. I hope you enjoy the spooky tale. 

Here is the blurb:

Sage, at fourteen, grows up in turmoil in Nahant, Massachusetts. Her changing body, her parents’ rocky marriage. When her cousin Patrick visits for the summer, his parents’ divorce has given him a reckless anger. He insists they explore the creepy mansion in the woods. Nate, Sage’s younger brother, is reluctant to approach the manor where a beloved teacher was found hanged months earlier. The children’s great-great grandmother worked at Lakeluster House in a previous century and was under suspicion of shooting another servant.

Now an old lady and her butler have moved in and the kids bring a welcome cake. Invited inside, Sage encounters a strange little girl who shows her the manor’s dark secrets—sparking Sage’s curiosity. Will the butler—a man with his own mysteries—throw them out for snooping? Who is real and who is a ghost? Was her relative guilty? And what danger lingers in the attic? Sage must gather her courage, risking her life to find out.

My late husband chose the setting for the story: Nahant, Massachusetts, an almost island dangling off the coast.

The gazebo mentioned in the novel

Writing from a younger POV gave me new insights. I'd use words my granddaughter would puzzle over, so I had to change them. Or she'd say "I'd never say that!" I also had to figure out the current teenage slang. Like bougie for fancy. My critique partners said it was their new favorite word.

She is a recipient of literary awards, a girl after my own heart!

An excerpt:

Sage, the fourteen-year-old protagonist, is exploring the manor library, when a child comes up behind her.

“Do you live here?” Sage felt the room go colder, as if someone had opened a window. She rubbed her arms. “Is Miss Dora your aunt or…?”

“My room is upstairs, on the third floor.” Bella cocked her head. “I don’t come down often.”

She had a stilted cadence to her speech, as if she only recited lines written by somebody else. Or she’d repeated them many times before.

“Are you all right?” Sage wondered why she’d ask that. Was this child a prisoner, or a guest? Or just an odd family member? Then Sage remembered the dream she had of a child. A child who resembled this one. How could that be? Her heart twitched. “Do you… like it here?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bella frowned. “It’s my home now. But the others never liked visitors.”

“The others?” Sage felt for a moment she was being pranked. She shook her head. “Um, okay. There’s a photo album here. Would you like to look at the pictures with me?” Sage turned to the desk and opened the album, at first filled with sepia pictures with posing, glum people: fusty and dusty. Maybe she could get the child to tell her more. A chill crept up the back of her neck and she looked behind her.

Bella was gone.

Sage scanned the room, and it was empty. A lion carving in the fireplace mantel had its eye on her, a live eye that blinked! Sage gasped. The eye returned to plain wood. Big yikes? She stepped over and tentatively touched it, cool and wooden as could be. Then she looked down and cringed.

Bella’s ribbon, still in a bow, lay on the fireplace grate.

To purchase my books, visit my publisher's author page:

https://bwlpublishing.ca/lewis-diane-scott/

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with one naughty dachshund.