The Unsettled

The exciting debut from upcoming author Christine Alley-Garcia: It wasnt until I had given in to the urge to close my eyes that it began. It took me a few seconds to get my head clear as I saw Gabe practically floating across the floor in front of me. He was struggling with an invisible force, but his eyes were closed. Then I noticed the light coming from Kennys previously darkened doorway. I had to react now, so I jumped to my feet and ran to the doorknob. Gabe was violently thrown to the floor, which jolted him awake. He began walking back to his room and abruptly stopped and swung around to face me. He reached his arms out to me but seemed to be frozen or paralyzed. I turned my attention back to the doorknob, which was ice cold. It wasnt locked but it wasnt opening either. I was so frightened yet so empowered. Some hidden instinct was now telling me that I was going to get into that room.Follow Samantha as she discovers the secrets behind haunted houses, wandering ghosts, and life after death in the compelling story of The Unsettled. Dont ever be afraid of ghosts again; just reach out and take their hand!

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THE UNSETTLEDBy CHRISTINE ALLEY-GARCIAAuthorHouseCopyright © 2013 Christine Alley-GarciaAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4817-5055-4ContentsBirthdays..................................................................1The Funeral Home...........................................................7The Secret.................................................................15Ghost Stories..............................................................19Grandmother's Wisdom.......................................................27Investigating..............................................................32Answers....................................................................37Warning....................................................................43The Aftermath..............................................................50Saving Jane................................................................55A Forbidden Friend.........................................................65Lost and Found.............................................................75Goodbye for Now............................................................85Uninvited Guest............................................................91Forgotten..................................................................96Going Home.................................................................102The Other Jonathan.........................................................105Searching the Heavens......................................................111Decoding the Message.......................................................124Keeping the Secret.........................................................134The Return Trip............................................................141Hiding Places..............................................................152Decisions..................................................................158Home.......................................................................164School.....................................................................170 CHAPTER 1BIRTHDAYSEver since I can remember, I've been shipped off tolive in Halls, Tennessee during my summer vacation.For two whole months, every summer, without fail, Iwas sent to "the farm" like an unwanted pet. At thetime, I thought I was being tortured. I would tell myfriends "good-bye" on the last day of school, withtear-stricken eyes, as if I was being sent to prison toserve a recurring two-month sentence.Being forced to spend every summer in a townwhere people grew their own food, made a pie for everyoccasion, and pickled their own ... everything, isbarely tolerable when you're used to living in a big citylike Scottsdale. I think my parents were hoping that byshipping me to the farm I would gain an appreciationfor what it was like when they were growing up.Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the stories about mygreat-grandmother's refusal to stop using the outhousewhen indoor plumbing was invented. I even appreciatehearing about the time my father built a motorbike outof spare parts he salvaged while exploring abandonedfarmhouses and junk heaps. However, I don't knowhow these events relate to my life or what they weresupposed to `teach' me. Maybe they were hoping Iwould understand the virtues of growing up withoutthe modern conveniences that we take for grantedtoday. All I knew for sure was that when all the kids atschool were looking forward to their summer vacations,I was imaging how many bug bites I would have tosmother with Calamine lotion.My daily events quickly changed from hanging outat the mall with my best friend, searching for my next"true-love"; to cracking green beans on the back porchwith a cousin whose idea of the "best birthday presentever" was a brown umbrella with scalloped edgessuitable for a woman in her 80's.Though it was always met with some resistance, thetrips to Halls became part of my ordinary, mundanelife. Nothing exciting ever happened to me anyway.This was at least a change of scenery. Since I wasn'tthe type of kid to sit and mope with despair aboutspending my summers abroad, I tried to make thebest of my prison sentence by using my imagination toget me through the long humid days. Of course, therewere only so many pennies you could flatten on thetrain tracks, and stray dogs you could rescue. A lot ofmy time was spent roaming the streets of DowntownHalls. There was no lack of people and places to feedmy curiosities. Watching the old men playing checkersin front of Arnold's Drug Store, shooing away thekids that were trading comic books, was always a funway to pass the time. I would often walk around andadmire the old cars that cruised around the TownSquare showing off a new paint job or hood ornament.However, my favorite pastime, and what I lookedforward to more than anything, was sifting throughmy grandparents' attic. They had boxes and boxes ofantiquities that sparked my curiosity. It always felt likeI was looking through forbidden treasure when I wentup there. My heart would race a little bit whenever Iclimbed the stairs to the attic. The musty smell anddust particles in the air drew me in like a magnet. Itwas spooky and creepy and gave me goose bumps.Every time I pulled down the rickety staircase andbegan my ascent, the hairs on my neck would standstraight up. I'm not sure why I loved the thrill of theunknown dark secrets of the past so much, I guessthey just made my trips more exciting.My grandparents were well aware of myapprehension, especially since my birthday happenedto be smack in the middle of summer. This meantthat every birthday I ever had, since about the ageof 7, I had the pleasure of spending my special daywith my aged grandparents. I quickly realized thatI had to come up with some ways to celebrate, otherthan with a special treat of peanut butter and bananasandwiches and a trip to the penny candy store. Theywere always happy to help me come up with somemini-adventures or at least attempt to throw me aparty.The first birthday I ever spent there was when Iturned 9 years old. This was the year that we drovefor an hour "into town" to find a store where mydowdy grandmother fought through crowds to procurethe sacred Cabbage Patch Kid doll I wanted for mybirthday present. I watched with amusement as mygrandmother shuffled around and wrestled this big boxaway from another crazed woman. She maneuveredher way through the crowd to the store window andheld up a doll just like the one I described to herand yelled to me, "Samantha, is this here the one yawant?"My grandmother was a genuine southern woman.Her arms were the size of ham hocks, her dresses werehomemade, and her heart was as big as the moon. Shehad no idea what this odd looking doll was, or why wehad to get to the store before it opened to get one, butshe did it, probably hoping it would keep me happyand out of trouble. She treated a trip into town likea Sunday dinner invitation. She would dress in hernicest outfit and wear her high-heels and lipstick. Shealways said, "Ya never go into town without some coloron your lips." My grandfather liked to wash and waxhis car before we went into town. As for myself, well,I just wore clothes that weren't cutoff jeans and shoesthat had no holes. I felt like if I didn't dress up I wouldlook like a farmhand that they picked up off the streeton their way into town.The next birthday my grandfather tried to make mea "slip-n-slide" out of his old tractor tarp, and invitedall three of the neighbor kids over, none of whichowned a bathing suit. He was very excited about hisrendition of the slide and smiled with delight as weall tried to slip around on this thing. He realized thekids were having some trouble slipping around in theircut-off jeans and said, "why don't I fetch you some ofgrandmother's lard to grease it up a bit. That wouldmake ya'll slip and slide straight into the train tracks!"We kindly declined his offer and made do with somedish soap lubricant.My grandfather, whom all of my cousins and Ilovingly called `Granddaddy', was always messingaround. My favorite thing about him was the noiseshe would make at the dinner table. He would quacklike a duck with the corner of his mouth and then lookaround like, "Who did that?" He was pretty fun, for aGranddaddy. He smelled like an old cigar and alwayshad one in his front pocket. He would chew on it,unlit, in the house all day. Then the minute he wentoutside, he lit up his cigar and smiled as he yankedon his suspenders. He always saved the cigar boxes forme. Every summer I would get to pick one out and useit for knick-knacks. I would put all of my drug storetreasures in it, along with some squished pennies andanything I found that looked interesting. One year Ifound a bullet casing while digging up some potatoesfrom the garden, which Granddaddy said was likelyfrom the Civil War.My favorite treasure that was kept in my cigar boxwas an old photo of a grandfather clock with a ghostlyface in it; I found it in their attic. When I asked whatthey thought it could be, their answers were vague. Imust have showed that picture to anyone who wouldlook at it. I was determined to have someone tell meit was a ghost. The face was distorted like when youlook in a mirror at a funhouse; it was gray and almosttransparent. The mouth was wide open, as if it wasscreaming. It was the spookiest thing I had ever seen,and it was my first piece of solid proof that ghostsmust exist.By the time my next summer trip rolled around,I discovered that my cousin Gabe, the one with theumbrella, lived on the rich side of town in a gorgeous,old fashioned, plantation-style house with an aboveground pool. How it took me so long to find out thislittle gem is beyond me. Nevertheless, that big creepy,exciting house became the site of the last birthdayparty I ever celebrated in Tennessee, my 14th, and themysterious subject of my overactive imagination.CHAPTER 2THE FUNERAL HOMEGabe's house was big and white and screamed forattention. It was at the end of a long driveway and hada grand entrance. The windows were adorned withbrown shutters and the door was a huge, wood-carvedmasterpiece. It sat on a large piece of land that hadthick trees in the back and several barns or garagesspread about. It fit my Uncle Lee, who fancied himselfas the unofficial Town Mayor, perfectly.Gabe's family was very likeable, almostcookie-cutter from the outside. His mom, my aunt, wastall and thin and always dressed up like she was aboutto go to lunch with someone important. That's why Icould never understand why people seemed to whisperand change their expressions when they turned theirbacks. That is, until I found out that Gabe's beautifulwhite house, with mahogany banisters, three stories,and multiple rooms was actually a converted funeralhome. This was apparently the big secret that everyonewhispered about. I started to look at the house verydifferently.Once the secret was revealed, Gabe took no timefilling me in on the former inter-workings of the home.One night when my grandparents and I went therefor dinner, Gabe and I decided to go see the roomwhere the bodies would be laid out and embalmingoccurred. It was deep within the basement, a place Inever wanted to go. The farthest I had ever been washalf way down the stairway. Gabe said he used to godown all the time when he was younger, but it hadbeen years since he went in very far. This time we wereboth determined to go all the way in. As we starteddown the stairs, I held on to the back of Gabe's t-shirtwith a tight grip. With every step we took, the creakingof the stairs became louder and louder, like they werefashioned to be an alarm system, alerting anythingthat needed to hide that intruders were on their waydown. The light for the basement was at the end ofthe staircase and when Gabe went to flip the switch,a flash of light burst on and with a "pop", they turnedout again, leaving nothing but a faint amber glowwhere a light should be."Oh great, the bulbs burnt out." Gabe whispered."Should I go get my flashlight from my bedroom?""You're not leaving me here!" I said as I grasped hisshirt tighter."There's another light switch at the other end of thebasement. Should we make our way over there and tryit?" Gabe said as he stood as frozen as I was.We agreed and started shuffling over. The basementwas huge and filled with large sheet covered masses.I had no idea what lie beneath the sheets, but myimagination was sure going on overdrive trying tofigure it out. When we reached the other light switch,we had to move a large object out of the way to get toit. Thinking it would be heavy we prepared to use all ofour might to push this contraption. As soon as Gabegave it a shove, it started to roll. It looked like it wasfloating and again we were both frozen stiff watchingwhere it was going. I must have been standing on thecorner of the sheet that covered it because as it rolledthe sheet stayed in place, slowly sliding off the object.It was darker in this part of the basement, but theobject being revealed looked a lot like a casket. Gabejerked quickly toward the light switch making me losemy grip on his shirt. I never took my eyes off of thisrolling object.Just as Gabe flipped the switch, the casket, whichwas fully uncovered now, slammed into somethingpropped against the wall and the lid popped open.We both screamed and started running. I trippedover something and fell face first, but got right backup and kept running. When we reached the top of thestairs Gabe slammed the door shut and we continuedrunning until we were safe outside of the house. Wewere panting, our eyes were bulging, and we looked ateach other and just started laughing like crazy. Thatwas the scariest moment I had ever experienced, yet itwas exhilarating at the same time.After that day, we explored every inch of that house.It was somewhat surprising to me that he hadn'talready explored some of the nooks and crannies thatwe would find together. As scared as I was, and ashard as my heart would pound whenever I would be inthis creepy house of death, I somehow could push mythoughts away long enough to satisfy my curiosities.Although we spent days upon days playingdetectives in his house, he never let me in to the roomthat was always locked. The room that was just atthe top of the long winding stairs. I used to think itwas some enormous linen closet and was just toounimportant to bother with. Once the rest of the housebecame a little less of a mystery, I really began to getcurious about that locked room. My imagination wouldrun wild every time I went over there. The fact that itwas the room right next to Gabe's and he seemed toalmost purposefully walk as far away from the door ashe could when he passed by made it even harder toresist. I began conjuring up possible scenarios for whatcould lie within that locked room. Was it a storagelocker with frozen bodies hidden in the walls? Was itcovered with pictures of the deceased that had gracedthe presence of this once fine funeral home?I was definitely one of those kids that feareddeath in a way that was almost blasphemous. See,my parents were religious in the sense that we wentto church and went to bible school, but we were only"church folks" for a few hours on Sunday mornings. Wedidn't read passages or try to convert our neighbors.We simply believed that good people follow the goldenrules, and went to heaven when they were old anddied.Death was a subject that haunted me since I wasfive and I had a nightmare that I was being eaten bya giant ice cream cone. Even at such a young age, Iwinced at the thought of death. Almost every night Iwould have a nightmare in which I was at the brink ofdeath. Then I would wake up scared and sweaty.Questions like, "What happens when you die?"and, "What is eternity going to feel like?" werealways rattling around in my mind. Death to me isunimaginable. Forever seemed too long. How do weknow what comes next after death? Don't we studyGreek mythology and laugh at their ideas of Gods andGoddesses? I am just so confused about death. I triedto explain my fear of death and confusion about whathappens in the after-life to anyone who would listen,but often received the typical response from adults:"Death is a part of life, sweetie."I guess that's why I always had an odd fixationwith ghosts. I feared them like cats feared water,but I desperately wanted to know if they were real. Ihad absolutely no experience with death so I had touse my imagination. I would hear ghost stories andthe hair on my neck would stand straight up, but Iwould keep listening. My curiosity was overwhelmingwhen it came to the thought of entities running loosein people's houses. I would eavesdrop on my parents'friends as they spoke about the Native Americanspirits that haunted their house. Could all of this betrue? And if this were true, then, how would you knowif you were going to be allowed to stay back and pullpeople's pictures off the wall, and make things shakeand rattle when you died, or if you were going to gofloat on a cloud somewhere in a magical land? I reallywas hoping to find the answers to those questions atGabe's house.The mystery of that locked room at the top of thestairs was really consuming my thoughts. Sometimesmy imagination would run wild as I walked the nearlytwo miles to Gabe's house. As I imagined what mightbe hiding behind the locked door, my heart wouldpound so hard in my chest with the thoughts of deathand spirits filling my head that I would turn aroundand run back to my grandparents' house. There wereeven a couple of days where I would become paralyzedwith the fear that the ghost of some previous client waswandering their hallways, and I would freeze at thetop of the porch stairs with my eyes closed. My auntthought I was very peculiar and wasn't sure I shouldbe coming to the house so much.I decided that I really needed to know everythingGabe knew, and believed, about death and ghosts. Hemust have some answers, seeing as he lives in a houseof death. I needed to know if there were any ghosts inhis house. If ghosts really did exist, then this wouldbe the place to find them. Unfortunately, he was notat all interested in my curiosities. Especially whenI relentlessly pleaded with him to show me what wasbehind the locked door. That was when he finallytold me to leave. Once again, I was forced to leave myquestions unanswered and let my imaginations go towork. (Continues...)Excerpted from THE UNSETTLED by CHRISTINE ALLEY-GARCIA. Copyright © 2013 Christine Alley-Garcia. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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