Rhayven House Read Free Page B

could there be nothing? Not possible. He just wasn’t looking in the right places.
         A map of Coventon didn’t even have the road listed. Even if it was a private road, it should have been listed for emergency safety purposes like police and fire department. But the map showed only the valley between the two mountains. The old Gold Church and its cemetery were listed, more than likely because they were a tourist sight for the paranormal crowd and people from the film industry.
         He reached over and popped a CD into the stereo. “Voodoo” by Godsmack filled the air around him. Seductive and sinister at the same time, Ian loved the song. Sitting back, he stared at the computer monitor, fingers thumping on the desk in time with the drum beats in the song. He acknowledged the strange attachment he felt for the house, but refused to give any credence to the fleeting thought he was utterly insane for wanting the house for himself. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he admitted to himself it would be a task to rehabilitate the house. But in his defense, it would be like building a house—except he would be working to beautify an old building someone had left to rot.
         Of course, Ian wasn’t completely enthralled to the point where stupidity would get the better of him and he’d stumble blindly into bankrupting himself over a decaying corpse of a former beauty. No, he’d get reliable contractors and electricians and plumbers to come in and give their opinions before he made any major decisions. Getting himself in a hole he couldn’t dig out of wasn’t in the plan.
         Something in his gut told him this wasn’t a wrong decision; something he had no explanation for kept telling him this was definitely doable and he was to be the one who did it. So much to do before he could even begin to plot a course of action. Nevertheless, a plan had to be formulated.
         Nothing could be accomplished until he figured out his next step; that step was finding out more info on the house, but he kept running into a whole lot of nothing at all. Ian cracked his knuckles and reached for his drink. What next? He was exhausting his less than computer genius researching skills.
         Somebody somewhere had to know something. A paragraph in an obscure book he could use as a springboard for more research. If he had the time.
         In that infinite space known as the Internet, there existed a website or an article some devoted—or demented, depending on how you chose to view it—disciple to history or old houses or whatever posted. There always was, just took patience and time to find.
         At least that was Ian’s experience whenever he’d researched anything for one of his books—never stop until you uncover the treasure you’re after. No matter how tired you are, never give up because you could be close—perhaps only a click or a turn of a page away.
         The old platitude “If it’s good, it don’t come easy” crossed his mind. “ Fiat. ” So be it.
         Then the idea struck from nowhere, and he actually laughed out loud because he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. The courthouse downtown had to have something on file. The house was on the edge of town, but still within town limits and therefore under the jurisdiction of Coventon. No way would the city, much less the county, pass up the chance to collect taxes.
         A trip to the courthouse and the records department was in order because that was most likely going to be the simplest route to get started. It may have been abandoned and possibly forgotten but it was still there. The house existed. The property had been no fanciful figment of his imagination. There was a deed or tax records in existence somewhere down deep in a dusty drawer and if he had to do so, he would dig until he exhumed his prize. Nobody could buy something that didn’t exist, but this house did exist. He’d seen it with his own