The Soul Auction

  Copyright 2017 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: July 2017

  “I saw a woman on the beach. I watched her face a demon.”

  Thirty years after her mother's death, Alice Ashcroft is drawn back to the coastal English town of Curridge. Somebody in Curridge has been reviewing Alice's novels online, and in those reviews there have been tantalizing hints at a hidden truth. A truth that seems to be linked to her dead mother.

  “Thirty years ago, there was a soul auction.”

  Once she reaches Curridge, Alice finds strange things happening all around her. Something attacks her car. A figure watches her on the beach at night. And when she tries to find the person who has been reviewing her books, she makes a horrific discovery.

  What really happened to Alice's mother thirty years ago? Who was she talking to, just moments before dropping dead on the beach? What caused a huge rockfall that nearly tore a nearby cliff-face in half? And what sinister presence is lurking in the grounds of the local church?

  THE SOUL AUCTION is the story of a woman's search to discover the truth about her mother's death, and of an evil force that once came to visit a sleepy English town.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The Soul Auction

  Chapter One

  Alice

  Today

  “Is this the worst book ever written? It's certainly a contender. I forced myself to read all the way to the end of this nonsense, but only because I have a rule about always finishing books I start. A second-grader could do better. I loved The Ghost of Anderley Mansion, but maybe Ms. Ashcroft only had one good book in her. I suspect so. She should give up and go back to -”

  “Alice...”

  “No, you've got to hear the rest,” I continue, still staring at the computer screen. “She should give up and go back to whatever she was doing before she decided to try being a writer. Because on that count, she has most clearly failed.”

  “Alice, you don't need to read all these bad reviews.”

  “Of course I do,” I reply, scrolling down the page to yet another of the one-star reviews for my recently-released second novel. “I read all the glowing five-star reviews for The Ghost of Anderley Mansion, didn't I? So it's only fair that I read all the one-stars for The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum. I shouldn't pick and choose.”

  Taking a moment to quickly look at the next review, I find that it's yet another person who says they couldn't relate to any of the book's characters. In fact, this particular reviewer claims that the book's protagonist was completely unlikable, and that -

  “Enough,” Brad says, suddenly closing the lid of my laptop.

  I try to open it again, but he keeps his hand in place and finally I sit back with a sigh.

  “You've been sitting here for hours,” he continues, “reading all these bad reviews. It's not good for you.”

  “The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum has been out for four days,” I point out. “That's all! Four days! And in that period of time, it's already received twelve reviews.”

  “I know, Alice, but -”

  “And nine of those reviews have given it one star,” I add, “with the remaining three giving it just two stars. That gives the book an average of one and a quarter stars!”

  “Reviewers aren't always right.”

  “They hate my new book!” I continue. “No, hate isn't a strong enough word. They detest it!”

  Sighing again, I put my head in my hands.

  “Why did my publisher even let it get released? Surely someone should have told me that my second book sucks.”

  “It doesn't suck,” he replies. “I've read it, remember? It's different to your first book, but it's still good.”

  “Maybe that reviewer was right,” I continue. “Maybe it's a case of one and done. I had one decent book in me, and I should just quit while I'm ahead. Not that I am ahead, of course. I'm sure the bad reviews for The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum are going to keep coming.”

  Leaning back, I watch as Brad pours himself another glass of wine. There's a part of me that just wants to get drunk and forget my troubles for the rest of the evening, but deep down I know that won't solve anything.

  “How's the next book going?” he asks, silhouetted against the apartment's window, with the lights of the city rendering him nothing more than a dark shape. “That's what you need to be focusing on.”

  “I should delete it all,” I mutter.

  “You won't feel that way in the morning.”

  “I might. The worst part is, I think all those reviewers might be right. I knew, deep down, that Belvedere Asylum wasn't as good as I wanted it to be, but I let the publisher rush me. They wanted a new book to capitalize on the success of Anderley Mansion, so I powered through the thing and didn't really stop to go back and fix things that weren't right. Not that I'm blaming them, of course. It's my book, and my name's on the front cover, so the buck stops with me.”

  “Sometimes it takes a while for books to be reconsidered,” he replies, clearly trying desperately to find positives. “I'm sure eventually there'll be some good reviews. And even if there aren't, you didn't write the book solely for reviews, did you? You wrote it because it was a story you wanted to tell.”

  “That's not enough,” I say with another deflated sigh. “Maybe I should take a break before I finish the third b
ook. Maybe I should go back to teaching for a while.”

  “Just don't make a decision right now,” he replies, setting his glass down as he heads through to the hallway. “When I get back from the bathroom, we're going to watch a movie. And while I'm gone, I'm ordering you not to look at any more reviews on that laptop. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I mutter.

  I wait until he's in the bathroom, and then I open the laptop again. Bringing up the book's page, I see to my horror that there are now fifteen reviews, and that the three new ones are all one stars. With a heavy weight in my heart, I scroll down to read them, and I quickly find that they're more of the same.

  It's not that I want to wallow in my own failure, of course. I just remember two years ago, when my first book came out and I read all those glowing reviews. I really let myself get hyped up, and I can't help thinking that now the universe has decided to bring me down a peg or two. If I read all those reviews that called me 'a sparkling new talent' and 'the voice of her generation', then I'm going to force myself to read the reviews that say I'm 'a one-trick pony' and 'about as talented as a five-year-old'.

  Yeah.

  Karma.

  “I hope you're not reading more reviews!” Brad calls out from the bathroom.

  “Nope,” I mutter, as I read through the latest criticisms of my new book. They sting, I have to admit that, but I guess maybe some of them have a point.

  Finally, once I'm up to date, I start to close the laptop.

  And then I hear a dinging sound, indicating that another review has just arrived.

  I hesitate for a moment, telling myself that I don't need to read this latest review right now, but then I open the lid again and take a look.

  And then I feel my heart skip a beat, as I see that finally – finally! - my new book has a five-star review.

  My hands are trembling as I scroll down the page to take a look, and the first thing I see is the name of the reviewer.

  “Thank you Dora Ohme from Curridge,” I whisper, finding that she's left quite a lengthy wall of text.

  As I start reading the review, however, I can't help furrowing my brow:

  Another great book from Alice Ashcroft. One of the things I liked most about The Ghost of Anderley Mansion was that it described death very well. Now, with The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum, she's done it again. When she talks about the confusion suffered by the newly-dead, she's spot on. It really does take a while for a spirit to come to terms with being dead. The only thing she's missing is a description of the creatures that inhabit the void between the world of the living and the world of the dead. These are the same creatures that frequent the soul auctions, the creatures that snatch souls that are traveling across the void. This is why so many spirits prefer to stay close to their loved ones. They fear the journey. There are even some of these creatures that come to our world and take fresher, living souls. But maybe Alice Ashcroft will go into that in another book. I read a lot, and she's currently the only author who accurately describes the after-life. Well done!

  Once I've finished reading the review, I go through it again, trying to make sense of what this Dora Ohme woman has written. Even after three tries, I'm not entirely sure that I understand.

  Then again, I can't be picky.

  Finally someone actually likes the book, even if their reasons for doing so seem... unusual.

  Suddenly the laptop lid swings shut, and I look up to find that Brad is standing on the other side of the table.

  “No more reviews tonight,” he says firmly.

  “But I just -”

  “And that's not up for discussion,” he adds. “Come on, Alice. I'm taking you out so that you can put all your worries aside. At least for one evening. You can't let this stuff drag you down.”

  Chapter Two

  Lizzie

  Thirty years ago

  “Mummy, why are you crying?”

  “Huh?”

  Startled, I turn and see that somehow Kate has managed to sneak up on me. How she managed that, without making a sound as she traipsed across the pebbles on her way to the car, I have no idea.

  I immediately turn away and dry my eyes, before turning back to her with a smile.

  “I wasn't crying, honey,” I tell her. “I was just thinking, that's all.”

  “I saw tears,” she replies, clutching her toy bear Mr. Puddles. “You were crying.”

  “Sometimes people cry because they're happy,” I reply, clambering out of the car and patting her on the head, before making my way to the other side and opening one of the other doors.

  Leaning inside, I'm relieved to find that Alice is still fast asleep in her baby-seat.

  “Were you crying because you're happy?” Kate asks.

  I peer over to the driver's seat and see that Kate is watching me through the open door.

  “Let me just get Alice out of here,” I say, unbuckling the belt from around my younger daughter and gently lifting her out of the seat.

  She lets out a faint gurgle, but otherwise she's being very well-behaved. To be honest, I was half-expecting her to cry during the drive down from London, and I'm immensely relieved that she seems to have slept the whole way. Perhaps finally I'm having some luck.

  “You look sad,” Kate says, coming around the car and stopping to look up at me. “Why are you sad, Mummy?”

  “I'm not sad,” I tell her, forcing another smile. “I promise. I'm just excited. After all, it's not every day we drive all the way out of London and come to the seaside, is it?”

  Turning, I look out at the sea. I was worried there might be rain when we arrived, but fortunately the bad weather seems to have held off. It's only late afternoon still, and the sea looks so calm. When I turn back to Kate, however, I find that she's still staring up at me, and I'm starting to think that she's getting too smart for her own good.

  “Why don't we go for a swim?” I ask.

  “We haven't put our bags in our room yet,” she points out.

  “We can do it later.”

  She looks toward the shore, and then she scrunches her nose as she looks over at the nearby pub.

  “Are we staying there?” she asks.

  “It's the only place with rooms right now,” I explain, watching as her fingers squeeze Mr. Puddles a little tighter. “I'll make a deal with you, Kate. If you can find five really pretty pebbles for me in the next ten minutes, we can get ice-cream from the pub. Does that sound good?”

  She stares at me for a moment, before furrowing her brow.

  “What flavor?” she asks.

  “Any flavor you want.”

  “Chocolate?”

  “It's up to you.”

  “Normal?”

  “Whatever your heart desires.”

  She hesitates, before slowly nodding and then stepping out across the beach. After a moment she stops and looks down at the pebbles, seemingly lost in thought, and then she bends down and picks one up. Turning to me, she holds out a large, smooth gray pebble with a patch of orange on one side.

  “That's really nice,” I tell her. “One down, four to go. Why don't you look closer to the shore. Just make sure you don't get wet, okay? Mummy will be right here watching you.”

  Kate is usually a very cautious girl, and it's not surprising that she seems a little reluctant to stray too far. Still, she starts making her way across the beach, and I keep an eye on her for a moment before looking down at Alice. My younger girl is already starting to stir, and a few seconds later she opens her eyes and looks straight up at me. I smile, hoping to put her at ease, but she doesn't smile in return. Instead, she simply looks at me, and finally I reach down and stroke the side of her face. This, at least, elicits a brief, gurgled laugh.

  “It's going to be okay, you know,” I whisper, as I feel fresh tears already starting to fill my eyes. “The bad times are behind us now and everything's going to be perfect from now on.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I promise, Alice. You, me and Kate and going to be so happy.”r />
  Sitting in the car's passenger seat, I look down at Alice.

  “It's all good from this point on,” I continue, as much for my own benefit as for hers. “There's not going to be any more sadness.”

  Looking out at the little town, I realize dark clouds are gathering in the sky. A moment later, I spot the spire of a church poking out from behind a line of trees. It's almost -

  Suddenly the car's windshield cracks.

  Startled, I turn to see that there's a small hole in the glass. With Alice in my arms, I step out of the car and see that a tiny pebble is embedded in the center of the crack. A moment later the pebble falls away, and I'm left staring at the broken windscreen. Great, that's going to cost a lot to repair, but I can probably wait to get it fixed until I get back to London. Even though, right now, it looks as if somebody took a shot at me. At least the windshield didn't shatter and shower us with glass.

  “Welcome to Curridge,” I mutter with a sigh.

  In my arms, Alice lets out another contented gurgle.

  Chapter Three

  Alice

  Today

  “No, it was a really weird review,” I tell my sister Kate as we sit in a corner booth at the bar. “It was very specific, and it was all about how I'd accurately described the after-life. I mean, it was like...”

  My voice trails off for a moment.

  “It was like it was written by someone who knows about that kind of thing,” I add finally. “Like, she seemed to have this sense of authority. Do you want to read it?”

  “Not right now,” Kate replies, wrinkling her nose. “Brad was right. You are obsessed.”

  “I'm not obsessed! I just want to know what people like and don't like about my book!”

  “And since Brad went to the bar five minutes ago,” she continues, “you've talked about nothing else.”

  Sighing, I realize that she's right. The reviews are gnawing away at my soul, and Brad's attempt to distract me hasn't helped at all. In fact, I just keep going through all those reviews over and over again, trying to pick up points that might help me improve my third book.