Author: Kelsey Ketch
Publication Date: September 22, 2021
I left the United States to find inner peace. Instead, I find myself confronting a malicious ghost.
Astyr Salt is a spiritual and emotional empath who moved to England with the intent to forget about a traumatic, supernatural event that occurred during her freshman year of college. However, when she takes a spiritual cleansing assignment in a haunted country home in Essex, she is isolated with all her own pent-up emotions.
These emotions energize the ghosts inhabiting the country home, helping them draw their own tragedies to the surface. Searching for the truth, Astyr is forced to relive the past. And the deeper she dives into the country home’s horrific history, the more the intertwined memories place her in the path of an evil and demented predator.
A blend of contemporary fantasy, horror, and mystery, Bly is inspired by Henry James’s classic novella, The Turn of the Screw.
Turning onto a long, gravel driveway, a four storey, stone mansion appears framed in the minicab’s windshield. The style resembles a castle rather than a country home. At least, any country home that I’ve ever seen. Then again, I’m in England, not the southeastern region of the United States. The car pulls in front of the massive oak door, from which I’m half expecting the cast of Downtown Abbey to emerge, and comes to a full stop. Without a word, the driver slides out of his seat to open the trunk and fetch my luggage. My nerves on edge, I gently touch the pentacle bracelet Nolyn gave me to feel his calming energy radiate from the tourmaline. Then, pulling Litten’s backpack carrier with me, I step out of the car. My eyes are unable to steer themselves away from the various gray stones and the muntins of the immense windows. Despite being a bright and sunny day, there is a dark shroud over the house. An ominous aura that is pulsing with both anger and sorrow. It’s obvious this home has witnessed a lot of tragedy.
I pause as everything grows still. The birds overhead stop singing. The soft breeze comes to an abrupt halt. I don’t even hear the driver shuffling my travel bags behind me. Yet, my other senses pick up an unearthly presence as the temperature drops to the point my fingertips grow numb. I turn my head to look up at the parapet surrounding the third-level balcony, focusing near the turret. There is nothing but thin air to the naked eye. However, by the icy goose bumps unraveling across my skin and the raised hairs along my lower arms and neck, I can tell I’m being watched. I can’t determine if it’s the energy of a spirit or something else. All I know is that I have caught its undivided attention.