Darvie Harrison has found the house of her dreams—one right out of the Amityville Horror. No one has been able to spend more than a few nights in the old Yarborough Mansion, which is reportedly haunted by the beheaded wives of Daemon Yarborough. After her less-than-desirable marriage ended, she’s determined to make her own decisions for the rest of her life. That is if she can convince Devilan Yarborough that she truly belongs in the house. No ghosts are going to run her off, either. She’s more afraid of the mysterious gardener whose only explanation as to why he’s there is he came with the house.
Devilan Yarborough has spent his life as an outcast, because of his great-grandfather’s murderous past. When Darvie came determined to own the mansion, he was glad to get rid of it…at first. Then he found himself trying to talk her out of buying the house and wanting to protect her. But from whom or what? The ghosts of Daemon Yarborough? The gardener? Or a copycat killer who murders innocent women on dark, foggy nights, beheading them the way his great-grandfather was accused of over a century ago?
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The Ghosts of Daemon Yarborough by Margaret Marr
Darvie Harrison stomped her foot on the brake pedal of her red Dakota Sport truck, throwing her younger brother, Troy against his seat belt
“Ow!” he said, frowning, as he rubbed his shoulder where the seat belt had over-tightened against his collarbone. “Why’d you stop so sudden?”
“That’s it!” She turned a bright smile on her brother and pointed at the three-story house rising dark against the brilliant blue sky. “I want that house,” she said and stared at the rambling monolith surrounded by dead, out of control, brown bushes and saplings. Darvie sighed. “Looks like something right out of a Casper movie.”
Troy leaned forward and peered across her and out the driver’s side window. “Or The Amtyville Horror.”
Darvie spied the little red and white for-sale-by-owner sign posted at the edge of the driveway and squealed in delight. “It’s for sale!” She didn’t know how she knew it, but this place would turn her life around. She’d failed at everything—marriage, work and having children. But she wouldn’t fail at this. Maybe she’d turn it into one of those quaint little bed and breakfast places—show her ex-husband she wasn’t useless. Just taking back her maiden name had given her a sense of accomplishment.
Her brother’s voice brought her back from her wild plans. “Are you out of your freaking mind?”
She flashed him another smile, opened the truck door and headed toward the black, spiked gates with a wolf’s howling-head carved into the center. Darvie stopped and stared at the wolf and, for a second, thought she heard its howl—a low mournful sound sending icy fingers up and down her spine. Why would anyone put such a thing on a gate to greet people? A shiver washed over her in waves, but she shook it off and pushed it open.
Troy leaned against the hood of the truck, hands shoved into his pockets with eyes full of dread. “Sis, we aren’t supposed to go traipsing onto someone else’s property like this.”
“Stay where you are. I won’t be but a minute.” Darvie jogged toward the front entrance and up the steps. When she jiggled the doorknob, she found it locked. Disappointed, she walked down the cracked steps that groaned under her slight weight and squirmed behind boxwoods, as jagged branches stabbed and scratched her skin. She stood on tiptoe to peer through a grimy windowpane. The front entrance held a century’s worth of dust and a grand staircase that disappeared in the shadows above, but empty otherwise.