The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1

22
I looked straight at Annette. “My sister had died a few
weeks before after having agonizingly suffered from multiple
myeloma.”
The last two words grabbed Annette. She stiffened.
“On St. Croix we wound up in the hotel Clovecrest on the
Frederikstead side of the island. Clovecrest was an enormous
white structure that looked something like an old plantation
house.”
With her hand trembling, Annette managed to lift her coffee
cup.
“We were the only guests, so we discovered later. The
only other people there were an elderly woman, who seemed
to be the hotel’s owner, and a man who wore amber colored
glasses.”
“I don’t see what . . . what you’re telling us has to do with
Bruce’s question,” Annette said, forcing the words out between
her almost closed lips.
“I wanted to set the scene,” I answered.
“Just give us a yes or no,” Bruce said, his tone almost a
command.
Ignoring him, I said, “That night, while I was sitting on the
veranda directly outside of our room watching the play of
heat lightning in the distance, my sister came to me.”
Annette turned very pale.
“You mean you saw her?” Kay asked agitatedly.
“No. At first I felt a presence, an odd sensation, a chill, yet
not a chill. I had seen my share of dead men during the Korean
War and, of course, relatives who died after the war. But
the feeling I had was very different.”
“Then what happened?” Bruce asked, now caught up in
the story.
“She spoke to me,” I answered. “Her voice sounded as if .
. .as if it wasn’t really a sound. More like the rustle of a silk
curtain when stirred by a breeze. Yet there was a mournful
quality to it.”
“And you could actually hear her?” Annette asked, her n