Ghost of the Blue Room

An excerpt from Ghost of the Blue Room

He pressed his hand to the wall and felt a powerful pull from the Other Side. It was cold and long past, a century at least since this soul had drawn living breath. It was a yearning, a dark longing, for... for freedom.

The vision flashed in Mark's mind: a girl locked in leg irons, chained to the wall, naked and slender, her ribs showing thru her sides, small breasts of a young teen. She had long, dark hair, very straight, and eyes like saucers. She was pale and badly used, with bruises and scraped knuckles and knees.

Who was she? What had been done to her? He felt another presence, a projection of a man, large and balding, dressed in knee pants and a waistcoat. The man took hold of the girl, slapped her, pulled her by the hair. She cried out pitifully, but it was no use. No one would intervene. She was his. He would force himself upon her, Mark knew. He did it often, cruelly. It was his special pleasure.

The girl reached to him from beyond the grave, stretching out one thin arm, one bruised hand, pleading for his help. What could he do for her? She was dead a hundred years now.

He turned away, clenched his eyes tightly, swatted the visions away from him. Why did they beg him so? What did they want from him?