Logline

A woman down on her luck has her world turned up-side down when she inherits a bookstore with a mysterious employee.

Blurb

After getting kicked out of college for an offense she didn't commit, free-spirited Aspen Rouge returns home to Williamsburg, Virginia, seeking refuge and a clean slate. She dreams of getting back on her feet and finding love. Her prayers get answered, or so she thinks, when a mysterious letter arrives on her doorstep giving her ownership of the rundown bookstore in town, that's been kept running by the reclusive and handsome Xavier Tale.

Desperate to keep his floundering family business from going under, Xavier strikes a deal with the devil, a dishonorable businessman. The price to save his cherished bookstore costs Xavier more than he expects, and he pays the debt with his life, cursed to live within the wall of the shop forever.

Xavier is instantly drawn to Aspen's light, and she to his chivalry and quiet confidence. He tries to protect her and warns her to stay away. Especially when the strange and unusual starts happening around the shop. Xavier knows it's because of her presence, but Aspen doesn't scare easily. She knows he's hiding something and she plans to find out what it is.

The question is will their budding romance survive the evil that lurks within the basement of the bookstore?

Chapter One: The Letter

Aspen

I white-knuckle the steering wheel of my Chevrolet Impala, wiping angrily at the tears that never seem to end. The drive had been relentless with multiple instances of pulling off to the side of the road drowning in the waters of a mental breakdowns. They would soon be followed by me pulling back onto the road after giving myself a good old-fashioned pep talk. I pass the sign for Williamsburg, Virginia and roll down the windows. The sign normally filled me with a sense of nostalgia, a joy that floods my veins. It's a sign that says, "Welcome Home, Rouge". It's a sign that sings "Mama, I'm Coming Home" and you better be belting the lyrics out at the top of your lungs because it's a ballad that demands all hands-on deck.

Today, it fills me with shame. Today, as I pass by, it reminds me of the future that slipped through my fingers like sand. I turn up the dial on my radio, The Beatles "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" floods the speakers of my car. I take a moment to inhale the familiar scents, to take myself back to happier times, instead of the sorrow that creeps its way into my heart like an unwanted visitor.

My drive takes me past the bakery where my parents would stop every Sunday morning on their way home from church with Nana Rouge. The pizza place where we'd eat every Friday night to wrap up the week. I arrive at one of the few stop lights in town looking over at the Rouge Vet Clinic seeing that it's closed for the day. I'd told my parents they didn't have to close the clinic today. Being a fully functioning adult, I knew where the key to the guest house was and could easily unpack my belongings by myself.

I make my turn The Tell-Tale Bookstore comes into view with its boarded-up windows and doors. It's ominous feeling settles into my bones the familiar chill up my spine follows upon passing by the wooden sign in the shape of a raven in flight. I always wondered what it would be like to own a bookstore. To be surrounded by paperbacks and hardcovers with an adventure slumbering in the depths of their pages.

It certainly had nothing to do with the stories that surrounded the building. Nothing to do with my curiosity into the strange and unusual. A curiosity that would always get me into trouble as a kid. It was why my parents had given me the nickname Penny Dreadful, the name of the miniature horror stories that were sold on the streets of London.

It was said The Tell-Tale bookstore was haunted. The story goes the spirit of its owner had made a deal with the devil to save his business. Soon after, there were multiple disappearances during the early nineteen hundreds. Late at night, you could hear screams coming from the basement. To sweeten the plot, we find out the owner refused to do the devil's work. Because he did so, his spirit was doomed to reside within the walls of the bookstore forevermore. It was a cheesy story, one to draw in the tourists. There was a couple standing in front of it right now smiling at their phone screens. They were taking pictures, frowning when they didn't come out just right.

I sigh heavily, tucking my hair behind my ear. The Beatles "Hey Jude" comes onto the speakers. I can't fight the smile that spreads across my face. There would always be significance behind this song. No matter how bleak things got for me. No matter how shit my life got, this song was always guaranteed to bring a much-needed smile to my face.

This was my second-chance, the first-step to moving on from what happened on campus. I'd start looking for jobs, complete the profile I started on the dating app that I joined, and apply for colleges down here like my parents had wanted me to. It wasn't going to be easy, but it'd be a welcome distraction from the memories that played on repeat in my head.

I wipe away more tears, singing along to the lyrics, taking the final turn that would lead to the town's edge where the Rouge home resided in all of its Southern Gothic Glory. Its wraparound porch comes into view. Papa Rouge must have done more work on the place. Its white siding glows in the afternoon sun. It's black shingles a welcoming change to its blue predecessors.

I pull into the driveway the gravel driveway whistling my arrival. Papa Rouge finally got around to planting the willow trees along the driveway. Their leaves swaying rhythmically in the southern afternoon breeze. The dogs barking from the kennels behind the house announcing a visitor to the land of Rouge. Papa Rouge, or Dakota Rouge as the locals know him breeds German Shepherds for the police departments in the state of Virginia. Mama Rouge, also known as Celeste Rouge owns the vet clinic in town. She occasionally helps my father with raising the dogs, but most of the time it was me helping him out. In the window, my sister squeals pointing excitedly out the window. She waves enthusiastically running out the front door.

"SISSY!" Iris Rouge exclaims, running out to my car.

"Iris, let her park!" Mom scolds her, laughing as she tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

"It's okay, mama." I get out of the car scooping my sister up into a hug.

She burrows her face into my chest. I squeeze her to my chest, wishing once again for the stupid tears to stop falling. Iris squeezes me back tightly wiping the tears from my eyes with her tiny hands.

"It's going to okay, sissy." She whispers. "Mommy and Daddy are going to fix this."

I squeeze her once more, her reassuring words an immense comfort to me. Like the song "Hey Jude" I would take a sad song and make it better. I'd pick myself up. I was a Rouge and we refused to go down without a fight.

"How was the drive?" Mom asks, while dad pops the trunk, and starts to unpack.

"I honestly don't remember it." I admit, setting Iris down. "Guess I just got lost in the power of rock and roll."

"Uh-huh, I see." She puts her hands on her hips, giving me a look that says she doesn't buy my touch girl act. She walks down the steps, bringing me into one of her signature bear hugs. I burrow my face into the crook of her neck breathing in the familiar scent of freshly baked cooks and good old-fashioned Southern cooking. "Freshen up, and I'll make you something to eat."

"Mama, you don't have—"

"Can sissy make dinner?" Iris grips my hand tightly, for a five-year-old she's got one hell of a grip.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Ris." I look down at her. I didn't have the best track record when it came to home-cooked meals. My expertise was barbeque and even that could be a toss-up.

"Please, sissy?" she looks up at me with her signature puppy dog eyes. I pick her up hoisting her onto my shoulders. She knows I am powerless to resist such a cute face. I walk up the steps into the main house setting her down on the counter. It looks like Mama Rouge has been baking all day, no surprise there.

"Can you tell me a story?" Iris asks, swinging her legs.

"What one do you want to hear?" I look over my shoulder. Mama grabs me hamburger from the fridge. I smile in thanks, cooking together as a family is our thing.

"I wanna hear the one where you found Lennon!" She rests her hands in her lap. At the sound of his name our German Shepherd pads into the kitchen, his nose working overtime as he sniffs the cookies cooling on the counter.

"You could tell me that story with how many times you've heard it." Mama teases her.

"I like how sissy tells it." She pouts.

"I was on my way home from my last day of school when it started to—"

"Rain!" Iris exclaims. "The droplets were so big they looked like water balloons!"

Mama and I laugh grabbing the ingredients to add to the barbeque. I watch Papa Rouge out the window. He's cleared out the trunk of my car and is now reaching into the backseat to grab my mini-backpack. He takes out an envelope testing the weight in his hands. He holds it up for me and I gesture for him to bring it. I have never seen it before, but it looks important.

"It started to downpour, so I started running. I turned the corner by The Tell-Tale Bookstore and found this cardboard box and inside—"

"Was the cutest puppy in the world." Iris squeals as Lennon starts to lick her hands. "You picked him up and wrapped him up in your jacket and ran all the way home!"

"Penny begged your mama and I to adopt him." Papa Rouge walks in, setting the envelope and the bag on the corner. "Wouldn't come into the house until we agreed."

"What can I say? I'm stubborn, just like my mama." I say proudly.

"Damn straight." He laughs. "How you holding up Penny?"

"I didn't do it, daddy." I say to him taking my anger out on the browning hamburger. "You know damn well I'd never do something like that."

"Language, Aspen Harper." Mama scolds.

"I know, baby girl." He places his hand on my shoulder squeezing it. "Did you raise Hell?"

"Dakota!" Mama swats him with her dish towel.

"Like a necromancer raises the dead." I place my hand on his.

"Then you've already made your mark." He squeezes my shoulder once more. "Rest assured, I've asked a few of my buddies on the force who owe me a favor. We're going to fix this, I promise."

"Thank you, daddy." I smile weakly.

"Now what do you say to adding some biscuits to this meal, my Goo Goo Doll?" Papa picks up Iris. She squeals and Lennon barks.

"Yay Rouge family dinner!" Iris cheers from Papa's shoulders.

We move like a finely oiled machine. Soon, we're sitting around the kitchen table laughing and eating just like before. My sadness takes a backseat as I hear all about my plans for the summer courtesy of my sister. I am to take her out for ice cream every day, no exceptions she says. Mama and Papa Rouge try to talk her out of it, but she's got the Rouge stubborn streak in her bones. I put my sister to bed, help Mama with the dishes, and head to the guest house with my bag and the mystery letter in tow.

I pick up the letter opener from the desk and make my way over to the couch, plopping down and open the letter. Inside rests a single piece of parchment. The penmanship is in gorgeous calligraphy. I take a moment to admire it, to run my fingers over the letters on the page. I read it over a few times just to be sure I'm not seeing things.

Dearest Recipient,

I hope this message finds you well. I write these words with a heavy heart. I cannot in good conscience continue to run The Tell-Tale Bookstore. I have made a grave mistake and can no longer pay the price. I relinquish ownership to you, dear recipient, in the hopes that perhaps you can restore my family legacy to its former glory. Upon receiving this letter, the executor of my estate will meet you in front of The Tell-Tale Bookstore the following day at 8:00am sharp. Do not be late.

If you choose to decline my offer, I will understand. This undertaking will not be an easy feat. However, I believe you are like me, someone who is down on their luck, and wishing for fortune to turn your fate around. Should you accept, I must ask that you heed this single warning:
DO NOT GO INTO THE BASEMENT!

Unspeakable Horrors. Unspeakable Evils lay slumbering behind its door.

Sincerely Yours

Mr. Tale