Haunting Adeline PDF Download H.D. Carlton


Name of Book Haunting Adeline
Author H.D Carlton 
PDF Size 5.1 MB
No of Pages 475
Language English

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Haunting Adeline PDF Download H.D. Carlton 

Haunting Adeline PDF

Chapter 1 The Manipulator

Sometimes I have very dark thoughts about my mother—thoughts no
sane daughter should ever have.
Sometimes, I’m not always sane.
“Addie, you’re being ridiculous,” Mom says through the speaker on my
phone. I glare at it in response, refusing to argue with her. When I have
nothing to say, she sighs loudly. I wrinkle my nose. It blows my mind that
this woman always called Nana dramatic yet can’t see her own flair for the
“Just because your grandparents gave you the house doesn’t mean you
have to actually live in it. It’s old and would be doing everyone in that city a
favor if it were torn down.”

I thump my head against the headrest, rolling my eyes upward and
trying to find patience weaved into the stained roof of my car.
How did I manage to get ketchup up there?
“And just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t live in it,” I retort
My mother is a bitch. Plain and simple. She’s always had a chip on her
shoulder, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

“You’ll be living an hour from us! That will be incredibly inconvenient for
you to come visit us, won’t it?”
Oh, how will I ever survive?
Pretty sure my gynecologist is an hour away, too, but I still make an effort
to see her once a year. And those visits are far more painful.

“Nope,” I reply, popping the P. I’m over this conversation. My patience
only lasts an entire sixty seconds talking to my mother. After that, I’m
running on fumes and have no desire to put in any more effort to keep the
conversation moving along.

If it’s not one thing, it’s the other. She always manages to find something
to complain about. This time, it’s my choice to live in the house my
grandparents gave to me. I grew up in Parsons Manor, running alongside
the ghosts in the halls and baking cookies with Nana. I have fond memories
here—memories I refuse to let go of just because Mom didn’t get along
with Nana.
I never understood the tension between them, but as I got older and
started to comprehend Mom’s snarkiness and underhanded insults for
what they were, it made sense.

Nana always had a positive, sunny outlook on life, viewing the world
through rose-colored glasses. She was always smiling and humming, while
Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like
her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina. I
don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine
—she was never raised to be a prickly bitch.

Growing up, my mom and dad had a house only a mile away from
Parsons Manor. She could barely tolerate me, so I spent most of my
childhood in this house. It wasn’t until I left for college that Mom moved
out of town an hour away. When I quit college, I moved in with her until I
got back on my feet and my writing career took off.

And when it did, I decided to travel around the country, never really
settling in one place.
Nana died about a year ago, gifting me the house in her will, but my grief
hindered me from moving into Parsons Manor. Until now.

Mom sighs again through the phone. “I just wish you had more ambition
in life, instead of staying in the town you grew up in, sweetie. Do
something more with your life than waste away in that house like your
grandmother did. I don’t want you to become worthless like her.”
A snarl overtakes my face, fury tearing throughout my chest. “Hey,
“Fuck off.”

I hang up the phone, angrily smashing my finger into the screen until I
hear the telltale chime that the call has ended.
How dare she speak of her own mother that way when she was nothing
but loved and cherished? Nana certainly didn’t treat her the way she treats me, that’s for damn sure.

I rip a page from Mom’s book and let loose a melodramatic sigh, turning
to look out my side window. Said house stands tall, the tip of the black roof
spearing through the gloomy clouds and looming over the vastly wooded
area as if to say you shall fear me.

Peering over my shoulder, the dense
thicket of trees are no more inviting—their shadows crawling from the
overgrowth with outstretched claws.
I shiver, delighting in the ominous feeling radiating from this small
portion of the cliff. It looks exactly as it did from my childhood, and it gives
me no less of a thrill to peer into the infinite blackness.

Parsons Manor is stationed on a cliffside overlooking the Bay with a mile
long driveway stretching through a heavily wooded area. The congregation
of trees separates this house from the rest of the world, making you feel
like you’re well and truly alone.
Sometimes, it feels like you’re on an entirely different planet, ostracized
from civilization. The whole area has a menacing, sorrowful aura.
And I fucking love it.

The house has begun to decay, but it can be fixed up to look like new
again with a bit of TLC. Hundreds of vines crawl up all sides of the
structure, climbing towards the gargoyles stationed on the roof on either
side of the manor. The black siding is fading to a gray and starting to peel
away, and the black paint around the windows is chipping like cheap nail
polish. I’ll have to hire someone to give the large front porch a facelift since
it’s starting to sag on one side.

The lawn is long overdue for a haircut, the blades of grass nearly as tall
as me, and the three acres of clearing bursting with weeds. I bet plenty of
snakes have settled in nicely since it’s last been mowed.
Nana used to offset the manor’s dark shade with blooms of colorful
flowers during the spring season. Hyacinths, primroses, violas, and

And in autumn, sunflowers would be crawling up the sides of the house,
the bright yellows and oranges in the petals a beautiful contrast against the
black siding.
I can plant a garden around the front of the house again when the
season calls for it. This time, I’ll plant strawberries, lettuce, and herbs as

I’m deep in my musings when my eyes snag on movement from above.
Curtains flutter in the lone window at the very top of the house.
The attic.
Last time I checked, there’s no central air up there. Nothing should be
able to move those curtains, but yet I don’t doubt what I saw.
Coupled with the looming storm in the background, Parsons Manor
looks like a scene out of a horror film. I suck my bottom lip between my
teeth, unable to stop the smile from forming on my face.
I love that.
I can’t explain why, but I do.

Fuck what my mother says. I’m living here. I’m a successful writer and
have the freedom to live anywhere. So, what if I decide to live in a place
that means a lot to me? That doesn’t make me a lowlife for staying in my
hometown. I travel enough with book tours and conferences; settling down
in a house won’t change that. I know what the fuck I want, and I don’t give
a shit what anyone else thinks about it.
Especially mommy dearest.

The clouds yawn, and rain spills from their mouths. I grab my purse and
step out of my car, inhaling the scent of fresh rain. It turns from a light
sprinkle to a torrential downpour in a matter of seconds. I bolt up the front
porch steps, flinging drops of water off my arms and shaking my body out
like a wet dog.

I love storms—I just don’t like to be in them. I’d prefer to cuddle up
under the blankets with a mug of tea and a book while listening to the rain

I slide the key into the lock and turn it. But it’s stuck, refusing to give me
even a millimeter. I jimmy the key, wrestling with it until the mechanism
finally turns and I’m able to unlock the door.
Guess I’m gonna have to fix that soon, too.

A chilling draft welcomes me as I open the door. I shiver from the
mixture of freezing rain still wet on my skin and the cold, stale air. The
interior of the house is cast in shadows.

Dim light shines through the
windows, gradually fading as the sun disappears behind gray storm clouds.
I feel as if I should start my story with “it was a dark stormy night…”

I look up and smile when I see the black ribbed ceiling, made up of
hundreds of thin, long pieces of wood. A grand chandelier is hanging over my head, golden steel warped in an intricate design with crystals dangling
from the tips. It’s always been Nana’s most prized possession.

The black and white checkered floors lead directly to the black grand
staircase—large enough to fit a piano through sideways—and flow off into
the living room. My boots squeak against the tiles as I venture further

This floor is primarily an open concept, making it feel like the
monstrosity of the home could swallow you whole.

The living area is to the left of the staircase. I purse my lips and look
around, nostalgia hitting me straight in the gut. Dust coats every surface,
and the smell of mothballs is overpowering, but it looks exactly how I last
saw it, right before Nana died last year.

A large black stone fireplace is in the center of the living room on the far
left wall, with red velvet couches squared around it. An ornate wooden
coffee table sits in the middle, an empty vase atop the dark wood. Nana
used to fill it with lilies, but now it only collects dust and bug carcasses.
The walls are covered in black paisley wallpaper, offset by heavy golden

One of my favorite parts is the large bay window at the front of the
house, providing a beautiful view of the forest beyond Parsons Manor.
Placed right in front of it is a red velvet rocking chair with a matching stool.
Nana used to sit there and watch the rain, and she said her mother would
always do the same.

The checkered tiling extends into the kitchen with beautiful black stained
cabinets and marble countertops. A massive island sits in the middle with
black barstools lining one side. Grandpa and I used to sit there and watch
Nana cook, enjoying her humming to herself as she whipped up delicious

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About The Author Of Haunting Adeline PDF

Author H.D. Carlton

H. D. Carlton, a maestro of the written word, reigns supreme as an International Bestselling Author, her literary domain nestled within the heart of Ohio. Accompanied by her partner and a menagerie of two loyal canines and a feline sovereign, she orchestrates her craft with the finesse of a seasoned virtuoso. Amidst the tapestry of her existence, she finds solace in the ethereal allure of paranormal tales, yearning to transcend the mundane confines of human existence and embrace the mystique of mermaid lore. Her literary tapestry is woven with characters of enigmatic morality, beckoning readers to relinquish their grasp on sanity as they journey through the labyrinth of her imagination.


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