Page 1 of The Ghost of Ellwood

Chapter One

“This is fucking garbage,” I said, reading over the chapter I’d just written.

A disconnect lay between the characters and the narrative. Much like trying to force together two puzzle pieces that didn’t belong. Something was off. The flow felt forced and the pacing was all over the place.

I highlighted the text and hit delete. Over three thousand words cut just like that.

Sighing, I sat back in my chair and grabbed the squishy ball I kept on my desk. Squeezing it helped get out my frustrations. I was no stranger to writer’s block, but this block had dragged on for way too long. When Ididwrite, it was trash, not even worthy enough to be in the bargain books section of a bookstore.

Am I burning out?

As a bestselling author, I had traveled all over the country for book tours and had a few of my novels adapted into movies andNetflixoriginal shows. Successful was an understatement.

However, I had hit a wall. My last two books weren’t nearly as well received, and I hadn’t produced a new one in over six months. My publisher was breathing down my neck, and everything was just so…difficult.

One squeeze of the stress ball. Another.

Staring at the screen, I began to type.

The woman knew she’d made a dire mistake. The trip was supposed to be a new start for her and David, and it had turned into a bloody nightmare. David screamed from somewhere in the woods, and she ran toward him. Branches cut her cheeks, and thorn bushes reached out to snag her legs.

A car honked outside the window, and I stopped typing. Damn it all. I lived in a luxurious house with a privacy fence, yet nothing could muffle the sounds of the city. The only way I’d get peace and quiet was to move to the country, but my boyfriend loved being in the city. Thrived off it.

“Ben?”

I stared at my laptop, trying to put myself back in the right headspace. I squeezed the ball in my hand. Once, twice.

“Ben?” the voice came again.

“What?” I snapped, looking at the office door where my boyfriend stood. “I’m working.”

James’ wavy, red hair fell across his brow, and his wide shoulders stretched the material of his T-shirt. His green eyes narrowed. “You’re always working.”

“Yeah? Well, someone has to pay the bills. Have to buy you all of those nice things, right?”

“No reason to be an asshole,” James said. “I came to tell you dinner’s ready. Now I’m thinking I should’ve let you starve.”

“I’m sorry.” I scrubbed my hands over my face and exhaled. “I’m frustrated with this book, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

The hostility in his eyes softened, if only a little. “Food’s getting cold, so don’t be too long.”

James exited the room, leaving the door open. Everything seemed to be falling apart; my inspiration, my relationship. There wasn’t only a disconnect in my book, but in my life as well.

Leaving my office, I turned down the hall and headed toward the dining room. My steps echoed on the hardwood floor, and an unseen heaviness weighed me down. Everything from the pictures on the walls to the furniture had all been chosen by James. Odd that I felt like a stranger in my own house. We had lived here for two years, but it had never really felt like home. Not to me.

James sat at the table, sipping a glass of red wine, as I entered the room. A lasagna casserole steamed in the center of the table with a basket of rolls beside it. I took my seat beside him and poured myself some wine.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” He took another drink.

The meal was quiet aside from our forks scraping plates. The lasagna was cooked to perfection with the right amount of cheese and sauce. I shared this with James, and he nodded. More silence. Since he clearly had no desire to talk, I let my mind wander to my book.

The concept wasn’t bad; a couple struggling in their marriage decide to go on a second honeymoon to rekindle their spark, but instead end up the targets of a twisted murder game between locals. However, the plot had been rehashed a million times in the industry. The idea lacked originality. Itcouldbe great, I believed, which was why I hadn’t given up on it yet.

“Are you even listening to me?”

I looked up. “Hmm?”