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

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This ebook may not be re-sold or given away
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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 person 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.”