Curse of Tempest Gate Read online

  The Curse of Tempest Gate

  by

  Karen Michelle Nutt

  Smashwords Edition

  The Curse of Tempest Gate

  Presented by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery

  Copyright © 2011 Karen Michelle Nutt

  Cover Art Copyright © 2011 Karen Michelle Nutt

  Produced by Rebecca J. Vickery

  Design Consultation by Laura Shinn

  (Previously appeared in A Halloween Collection: Stimulating 2010)

  Smashwords Licensing Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only,

  then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The Curse of Tempest Gate is a work of fiction. Though some actual

  towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.

  Accolades

  Ramsey's Book Reviews:

  "In all my years of reading I have never come across a story written quite like this one. The Curse of Tempest Gate is like finding a needle in a haystack. As I came to the end this fantastic tale, I was left with a tear in my eye and a sense of satisfaction and pleasure. Karen Michelle Nutt is truly gifted in her craft of weaving a tale." – Amy

  Coffee Time Romance:

  "A well-wrought ghost story, this tale of angels and demons trapped in a cemetery to battle for all time will have the reader flipping the pages to see if the curse is broken. ...the passion between these two characters is believable and wrapped up nicely. I would love to read more of these characters as the author left it open in a way that suggests other stories about the writers of Unbelievable Finds." – Virginia, Reviewer at Coffee Time Romance

  "The storyline was good, and I enjoyed the curse aspect of this, especially when Nutt added in a conversation with a ghost. Gotta love that." ~Ghost Writer Literary Reviews

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my family and to my good friend, Cathy, who gives me cherished advice.

  This tale is for those who aren’t afraid of what lurks in the dark. Enjoy!

  Clarity Shaw, a reporter for Unbelievable Finds, seeks answers concerning the curse of Tempest Gate Cemetery. Warnings from the Bed and Breakfast’s receptionist and an old man only make her more curious. Determined to get her story, Clarity ventures into the old cemetery.

  Even though she is tied to the legends surrounding Tempest Gate through her ancestry, Clarity does not believe in the paranormal. She intends to collect the local versions of the stories, take some photos, and be on her way.

  A beautiful sculpture in the cemetery, a stone angel warrior, draws her attention and her admiration. Could this be the Archangel Michael? Then she finds out more than she bargains for when she sits in the devil’s chair on the eve of Halloween. Two entities need her for their own personal reasons, but only one will demand her heart.

  Chapter One

  The Tempest Gate Hotel wasn’t a five star establishment, but a quaint Bed and Breakfast. Best of all, it stood within walking distance to the most haunted cemetery in Salem, New Hampshire.

  Clarity Shaw signed the register and handed over her credit card to the receptionist, Hester Higgins. The woman had dark hair streaked with gray and stood eye level with Clarity, making her about five-foot four. Slender built and spindly, she looked like she would fly away with the next wind, but her voice was strong and sure when she spoke. “You look familiar.” Hester’s gaze swept over her. “Have you stayed with us before?”

  “No, first time,” Clarity assured her. She glanced at the oak furnishings in the lobby sitting area, which consisted of two high-back chairs by the window. Their plush cushions were a dark hunter’s green with gold thread used to embroider the Celtic design on the headrest. A long, wood table stood against the wall with a coffee pot situated at one end of it with all the necessities to turn a cup of java into a coffee lover’s delight. The fireplace stood as the focal point of the room. The mantle was carved with leaves and nuts, an intricate addition, giving the added flair to make the room homey.

  “Hmm.” Hester’s brows furrowed, seemingly not satisfied with her answer of never visiting the fine establishment. “You remind me of someone—minus the eyebrow piercing of course.”

  “Of course.” Californians didn’t blink an eye, but in rural surroundings, piercings other than in the earlobe were probably an oddity.

  Hester waved her hand. “I didn’t mean it as a slight. Piercings don’t bother me one way or the other. It’s none of my business what you young people do to your bodies. Though, some of it looks mighty painful to me.” She continued to stare as she thought out loud. “It’s the eyes. Yes, your eyes are an unusual shade of blue, so light for dark hair. Is your hair color natural or do you dye it?”

  “It’s natural.” At least this month, she thought.

  Hester nodded as if she approved. The piercings she didn’t care about, but dyeing her hair she’d take offence. She should have seen her when she had blue hair. That would have raised her brows clear to the hairline.

  “Oh, well.” Hester’s slim shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’ll come to me. I’ll remember whom you remind me of. If you’re interested, we’re not far from the American Stonehenge.” She met her gaze. “It’s a maze of man-made chambers, walls, and ceremonial meeting places. It’s kind of like England’s Stonehenge. You know with it being an astronomical calendar that can determine specific solar and lunar events.”

  “Sounds intriguing. If I have time, I’ll check it out.”

  “No time to sightsee, huh? You here on business then?” She asked as she ran the credit card and waited for authorization.

  “A little of both. I’m writing a piece about the Tempest Gate Cemetery.”

  Hester’s gaze riveted to hers with a look of unease. “Are you a reporter?”

  She nodded. “I work for Unbelievable Finds, a paranormal magazine.”

  “Mmm-hmm. You’re looking for ghosts then.”

  Yeah, that would be nice, but not necessary to write my piece. “Actually, I’m interested in the legend about the cemetery. I called a few weeks back and spoke with,” she withdrew a piece of paper from her jean pocket, “a Mr. Donner.” She looked at Hester expectantly.

  Hester’s dark brown eyes widened as one eyebrow arched in surprise. “Mr. Donner, spoke to you—directly?” She seemed ill at ease with the idea. Her gaze scanned the room as if she expected someone, or something, to jump out at her.

  Clarity volunteered to cover the Tempest Gate Cemetery story since somewhere down the family tree, she was related to one of the families involved in the tragedy that started the urban legend. How much more fitting could it be to write the piece for the magazine? “Mr. Donner is the one who told me about the hotel,” she explained. “Is there a problem?”

  “Uh, no. It’s just…no.”

  A beep indicated her credit card had been approved for the amount entered and a slip of paper printed out from the machine. Hester handed her the receipt to sign before placing the key card to her room on the counter.

  “Do you have any stories about the cemetery?” Clarity prompted. Stories she picked up on the Internet stated a fog-like mist appeared in a blink of an eye. It was so thick that a perso
n couldn’t find their way out of the cemetery until dawn. Ghosts, strange unearthly whispers, and statues that came alive were some of the other accounts from witnesses. There was even the legendary devil’s chair. People were dared to sit in the chair on the evening of Halloween. Stories ranged from the outrageous to the mundane. One tale stated a hand emerged from the grave and dragged the person down to the underworld, while other stories stated the person couldn’t recall what happened. They would wake up beside the devil’s chair in the morning, damp from the morning dew and with no knowledge of what happened. Her guess: they had too much to drink and woke from their drunken stupor to find they never left the cemetery.

  A devil’s chair was nothing more than a marble or sandstone carved chair, probably placed for the grieving family to be able sit comfortably at the gravesite. The chairs weren’t common and provided a topic for conversations. Small-town communities tended to have legends attached to the chairs, adding to the mystery of why the effigies had been carved. Tempest Gate Cemetery’s legend proved the most curious since it was a focal point of an old legend dating back centuries. It regarded spurned lovers and a duel to the death.

  “I know plenty of stories.” Hester’s voice wavered from high pitched to a low whisper, making it painfully obvious that she did, but was uncomfortable talking about them. “The ghosts need to be put to rest, but—”

  Clarity waited for her to continue. “But what?” she coaxed.

  “The curse,” she whispered. “It’s binding and it consumes. It’s like it’s needy and wants to add souls to its coffer.”

  It was Clarity’s turn to lift a brow at the idea of something evil lurking in the graveyard ready to devour souls, but she refrained from commenting on it. Superstitions had a way of making people uneasy and adding a creepy story to enhance their fears and your urban legend was born. “Would you mind telling me about the curse?” All she knew was the conflicting accounts from the Internet and the ones her grandmother told her. It would be nice to know what the locals had to say.

  Again Hester’s eyes darted to the front door of the lobby, then to the back office that stood off to the left of them. She chewed on her lower lip before making the decision to tell her. With a sigh of resolve, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the countertop. She lowered her voice to a low whisper so no one could overhear what she had to say, which seemed ridiculous since they were the only two present, but Clarity thought it wise not to point that fact out if she wanted to hear the story. “The curse involves two men who were in love with the same woman.”

  “Never a good combo.”

  Hester’s gaze swept over her features before meeting her eyes directly. “No, it is not. Michael Davenport and Samael Fenton were in love with a young woman by the name of Mary Peabody.”

  This she had read herself on the Internet. She found it curious that the name Samael wasn’t spelled in the traditional manner with -uel at the end but with –ael, the same spelling of the archangel in post-Talmudic lore. The angel was known as an accuser, seducer and destroyer and was regarded as both good and evil. The other man in Mary’s life was Michael, a name that so happens to be an archangel’s name. This angel was known as a warrior and protector. She had to wonder if the names were changed to enhance the story. Archangels Duke It Out At The Stroke of Midnight. The tagline did have a good ring to it. “Are you sure the names of her suitors are correct?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s all documented. Michael Davenport’s home once stood where this hotel is now. Technically, if Michael Davenport were still alive, he’d own this place. He had no surviving relatives and the property is in the care of a trustee or something like that. I’m not up on all the legal jargon.”

  She wasn’t either, but she would definitely look into it. “Please go on with the story. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No worries. Hmm…where was I?” Her brows drew together in concentration. “Ah yes. Mary didn’t intentionally lead the men on, but she found herself in a pickle all the same. She, being a kind woman, didn’t want to hurt either suitor and decided not to choose either man, hoping to keep both men’s friendship. You can imagine how that would fly.”

  “I can imagine. These men didn’t seek Mary out for friendship. They wanted a wife.”

  Her head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Samael kept pushing her to make a choice. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t like seeing her upset. He wanted Mary for his own, but he loved her enough that he respected her decision and didn’t push the issue.”

  “Michael sounds like a good guy.”

  “So the stories say, but the relationship between the three became strained. Samael couldn’t accept Mary’s friendship with Michael and called the man out, intending to duel with him to the death.”

  Clarity leaned on the counter, too, thoroughly engrossed in the story. “Was that legal?”

  Hester shook her head. “No, but out here, away from the authorities, who would stop them? Samael set up a meeting inside the Tempest Gate Cemetery on the evening of Halloween. It was his macabre sense of humor to think once he killed Michael, he could roll him into the grave.”

  “Nice man.” Her sarcasm wasn’t missed and Hester nodded her head in agreement.

  “The two men hadn’t intended for Mary to find out what they were doing, but of course tongues do wag.”

  “Of course.”

  “Mary raced to the cemetery to stop her two friends from making this horrible mistake. Seeing the two facing each other with swords and—”

  “Excuse me, did you say swords?” She’d always assumed it was guns.

  “Why yes. This was 1767. Didn’t I say as much?”

  “Uh…no, but go on. They were dueling with swords.”

  “Mary didn’t think of her safety. She ran right into the foray, putting herself in danger. Samael didn’t see her until it was too late. He swung the sword, intending to end Michael’s life, but Mary jumped in the way and the sword pierced her heart.”

  Clarity knew Mary died tragically, but hadn’t realized it had been by sword. “How terrible.”

  “Oh, it was and rightly so. Now, Mary lived with her elderly aunt, Sophie Peabody. She was a woman known to practice the arts.”

  “Do you mean witchcraft?” Now this part of the story she knew from the tales her grandmother had told her. We’re related to a witch. Her grandmother would say and tell the story of how the witch avenged her niece’s murder. As Clarity researched the story, she began to question the validity of the story, wondering what was truth, and what had been fabricated through the years to make the story more interesting.

  “Yes, witchcraft. As soon as Sophie learned where Mary had gone, she went after her, hoping to stop her from putting herself in harms way, but she’d arrived too late. Mary already lay dead at the feet of her suitors. Sophie was so furious at the two men and their foolish pride she cursed them both. Samael in her mind was the devil and with his blind love, he murdered the woman he had adored. She cursed him with a wave of her hand, turning him into a stone effigy, a devil’s chair, so he may sit there through eternity and mourn the woman he lost.”

  “And Michael?”

  “She cast her spell and turned him to stone as the Archangel Michael. He was Mary’s avenging angel, but he failed to save her and for that he would pay with his life. For, if he had stepped away from the relationship completely, Mary would still be alive.”

  “But didn’t you say he respected Mary’s wishes?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t stop seeing her. If he truly loved her, he would have allowed Samael to cool down after his rejection, but Michael didn’t do that. Michael kept rubbing it in Samael’s nose, how his affections were still welcome at the Peabody’s home.”

  Clarity couldn’t help but feel sorry for Michael. Clearly, Samael was the one responsible for Mary’s death. In her opinion, Michael also suffered at Samael’s hand by witnessing the woman he loved slain in front of him. “Are the stone chair effigy and the angel statue still th
ere in the cemetery?” She hoped they would be, but vandals had a way of destroying history and she didn’t know what condition the cemetery may be in.

  Hester nervously licked her lips. “They both still stand. If anyone sits upon the chair, Samael tries to keep them there.”

  “I read about this. There were a few people who claimed the devil’s chair held them hostage.”

  “Hmm, yes. Stupid kids, thinking it’s good fun on Halloween to sit in the chair. Samael’s spirit or whatever he is now, tries to seep into their heads, wanting to know their dark secrets, feeding off the ominous deeds as if those thoughts made him stronger.”

  Clarity humored the receptionist. She was intrigued with the paranormal, but it didn’t mean she believed every tale told to her. The story made for good entertainment and that was what she needed for the ultimate spin to the article. “What made them think the spirit fed off their thoughts?”

  “They could feel the invasion like hot pokers in their brains.”

  She cringed at the mental image this brought forth.

  Hester picked up a paper and pen and scribbled on it, making a list of some sort. Then she handed the slip of paper to her.

  “These are names. Who are they?” Clarity met her gaze confused why she’d given them to her.

  “Those are the people who sat in the chair in the last few decades and didn’t walk away unscathed. You can confirm what I say is true. Since their experience in the cemetery, their lives have not been the same. Two were institutionalized. One had nightmares for the rest of his life and the other refused to talk about it—ever. She just clammed up and never spoke again.”

  Clarity’s brows drew together in a frown. This was news to her, but the locals tended to have the best information. “Thanks.” She slipped the paper into her pants pocket. “So Samael tries to suck the life out of people and the angel statue…or Michael, what does he do?”