Paranormal
Properties
Paranormal Properties Book One
Tracy Lane
Genre: YA Paranormal
Publisher: Pants on Fire
Press
ISBN: 978-0982727171
ASIN: B00BMHF6X6
Number of pages: 192
Word Count: 33,000
Book Description:
Jake Weir, while on the
set of his parents ghost hunting TV show, agrees to help a ghost
investigate a 61 year-old murder.
Jake Weir is not like the
other kids in Dusk, North Carolina. Then again, Dusk, North Carolina
is not like other cities. Known as one of the most haunted cities in
America, behind Salem, Massachusetts and New Orleans, Louisiana, Dusk
is ground zero for Jake's ghost hunting parents.
The Weir family has
arrived in Dusk eager to scope out some of the town's 127 reported
"paranormal properties," which just happens to be the name
of their own ghost hunting show: Paranormal Properties. What Jake
doesn't know, and what his parents could never imagine, is that Jake
can see ghosts! And hear them. And talk back to them! This talent
comes in handy when he runs into Dusk's oldest, most famous ghost:
one Frank Barrone, a one-time lounge singer made famous by his
booze-soaked ballad, "Barroom Eyes."
Frank was gunned down by a
local mobster in 1951 and has been searching for his killer ever
since. When he learns that Jake can see and hear him, Frank makes
young Jake a deal: if Jake will help Frank find his killer, Frank
will help his parents find a ghost to film for their upcoming
Halloween Special on Public Access Channel #319. Jake enlists the
only friend he's made in Dusk, an overweight tomboy nicknamed "Tank,"
to help him track down Frank's killer. As clues emerge and old leads
heat up, Frank and Jake learn they make quite a team. But will Jake
find Frank's killer? And will Frank find a real haunted house in time
for Halloween?
“Paranormal
Properties is a great, family-friendly Young Adult novel about a boy
who can talk to ghosts. Equal parts Scooby-Doo, CSI and the Hardy
Boys, you will enjoy getting to know Jake, Frank and Tank as much as
I did. Now, if only ‘Paranormal Properties’ was a real show I
could watch on TV every week…” ~
Rusty Fischer, author of Zombies Don’t
Cry
Short
Excerpt:
“Silas…”
The
voice was eerie, barely above a whisper. Jake paused, his sneaker
poised above a grave as he stood in the middle of Dusk Cemetery.
It
was nearly midnight and he’d grabbed the wrong flashlight before
sneaking out of his bedroom window. It had run out of juice halfway
through the graveyard, and he’d been blindly stumbling around ever
since.
The
moon was full, but it was frequently obscured by heavy cloud cover
and he had to wait until another patch moved through to see very
well.
He
wasn’t scared, so much. Jake had a special relationship with
graveyards, and this was far from his first time at the rodeo. Still,
it was the first time a headstone had ever talked to him.
The
voice grew louder.
“Silas…”
It
was a female voice, sounding dark in a way a ghost might: dark and
deep and frosty.
He
risked another step, letting the moonlight guide his path. It was a
big cemetery, and well-maintained as cemeteries go. There were
headstones everywhere, some leaning, some taller than Jake.
“Silas…”
Jake
turned to the left to follow the sound. It was coming from a massive
tombstone two feet taller than he was, and three feet wider. He
pointed the flashlight at it, but the beacon was dim, even after he
banged it three times on the palm of his hand.
Then,
suddenly, it lit, falling upon the dead soul’s name: “Rose
Colder.”
It
was there on the grave stone, but the flashlight flickered out just
before he could read the dates.
“Silas…”
came the eerie voice again, so close he could hear the ghost’s lips
smacking.
But,
wait. Did ghosts really have lips to smack?
Jake
parted his own lips and spoke for the first time since walking into
the graveyard. “R-R-Rose?”
He
hadn’t meant to stutter, but he couldn’t help it. He heard a
rasp, or a cough, and then the crunch of dry leaves behind the
headstone.
“Silas?”
was the reply, and then the rustling of cheap plastic against flesh.
The clouds broke, the moon shone down, and a giant, yellow monster
reared from behind the headstone, smiling.
Smiling?
“Gotcha!”
said the beast, in a boastful, girlish voice. It was a girl, a giant
girl, a living girl in a big, yellow raincoat.
“W—
who are you?” Jake stammered, trying to hold his ground. He had to
look up a good four inches to see her face.
Her
eyes glittered beneath her short, greasy hair. She was heavy, but
with her big smile and that cheerful way about her, she looked more
nice than scary.
“I’m
Tank,” she said proudly, inching closer to him with big black and
white sneakers crunching over dry, dead leaves. “Who are you?”
“Jake
Weir,” he said, relieved he didn’t stammer that time. “And
who…who’s Silas?”
“Don’t
you know?” she asked, sitting down on one of the large marble slabs
that surrounded Rose Colder’s grave. She patted the one next to
him, and he sat, too.
He
didn’t know why, but even in a graveyard, even after pranking him
in her big, yellow raincoat that made her look like a linebacker for
an NFL team, this “Tank” girl didn’t scare him.
Much.
“No,”
he replied.
Tank
frowned. “Rose Colder,” she explained, “snuck out at midnight
to meet her boyfriend, Silas Miner, in this very cemetery over a
hundred years ago. But Silas’s Dad didn’t approve of his son
dating a commoner, so he kept Silas from seeing her and sent a couple
of local thugs to teach Rose a lesson. When the thugs showed up, Rose
fought back…and lost. They buried her here, and legend has it that
every night, at midnight, she rises from her grave to take revenge on
the men who ended her life.”
“So…so
that’s why you were calling me Silas?”
Tank
nodded, and then slugged him on the shoulder. “What are you doing
here, anyway?” Jake shrugged. He didn’t really want to tell her.
She
pulled a flashlight from her raincoat pocket and flicked it on, right
in his eyes. “Hey!” He held up a hand to shield his face.
“Wait,
hold up.” Tank pointed the beam up. “What’s that on your hat?”
Jake
blushed. He’d grabbed the hat at the last minute, not thinking
about it. He had so many of them, and they all looked alike: black
ball cap, neon green writing that spelled “Paranormal Properties.”
“You…you
work for that TV show? The ghost hunting one?”
“You
know about it?” Jake was surprised. They’d just gotten into town,
and his parents hadn’t even filmed an episode here yet. That’s
what he was doing out in the graveyard at midnight, trying to find
something extra special for a new episode.
Of
course, they’d kill him if they found out, but he figured it would
be worth it if they finally got more than a handful of people to
watch.
“Know
about it?” Tank shouted. “I watch it every week! You know, the
live feed on the web page. We don’t have any local channels that
play it.”
Jake
beamed in appreciation. “Cool,” he said.
“So,”
Tank urged, nudging his knee with her own. He noticed she was wearing
plaid pants under her yellow rain coat. “Do you work for it or
what?”
“My
Mom is the host. My Dad is the cameraman.”
Tank
gasped and shoved Jake with each word. “No. Way! Get. Out. Of.
Town!”
She stopped shoving him and
stood up instead, yanking him by the sleeve of his T-shirt. Dragging
him from the cemetery, she said, “I love your Mom. You have to tell
me all about her.”
“Where
are we going?” he asked, finally regaining use of his feet and
catching up to her.
She
saw him at her side, looked down and let him go. “There’s a diner
around the corner, open all night. I’m buying you a hot fudge
sundae and you’re going to tell me all about what it’s like to
have famous parents.”
“Famous?”
he chuckled as he followed her past the cemetery gate. His Mongoose
bike was sitting there, dry and rusty, just where he’d left it.
“Sure
thing.” She reached behind some bushes and lifted out a green ten
speed with just one hand.
They
mounted their bikes and, now that he was looking for it, Jake saw the
neon sign for the Dusk Diner just around the corner. Yet, something
was still bugging him. “Hey,” he said, “what were you doing in
the graveyard at midnight?”
Tank
shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“So
you went to a cemetery?”
She
shrugged again, pedaling off. While struggling to catch up, Jake
heard her say, “Hey, I met you, didn’t I?”
About
the Author:
I was fascinated with the
paranormal when I was very young. I always felt like someone was
around me even when I was alone. It caused me to be inspired to write
a paranormal book where a teenager can see and hear ghosts and
actually makes friends with one.
I use to love to write
short stories in school and always wanted to be a writer. But raising
children and working jobs I just could not find the time to indulge
my passion. Then my children grew up and I ended up having two
teenagers at home who did not need as much attention from me. I
started toying with the idea of writing once again. So setting aside
5 to 10 minutes per day to write at least one page I could end up
with a book a year. Now Paranormal Properties is published and I have
a list of 8 more books to write. I don't think I"ll be slowing
down anytime soon.
http:///www.tracylane.us
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