Page 15 of Edwina


  The police had found Edwina and brought her back. She had been sitting in the remains of a burned down house, the very same house she had been sent to foster care in. Her caretaker, Marie-Therese was dead, that much they knew. They had found her burned remains and figured she had been sleeping in the living room of the house when the fire started and never made it out. It had all been chaotic that night of the storm and many people had died, some in car accidents, one even drowned in the fjord, Line Petersen heard. It had been a strange night, no one at DMI, the Danish center for meteorology had even been able to see the storm on their radar or predict it. But the police and firefighters had been busy all night and, therefore, it had been morning before they had found Edwina sitting in the ashes of the burned down house. The police took her to the station and called Line Petersen.

  The two other children had been found in Roskilde, where a woman named Camilla Terkildsen had taken them to the hospital. Her friend had brought them to her house in the morning, and Camilla knew immediately that the children needed medical attention. The hospital personnel had treated Ida for rat bites and rat bite fever, and they told Line there was no doubt that the girl had been attacked by some sort of animal, possibly rats, but when searching the house and especially the basement, which hadn't been burnt because of the fire door, the police found no rats or even any signs of rats. No nest, not even excrement. They had an expert look through the only room remaining from the house, but he concluded that no rats had ever lived there. Nevertheless, Ida claimed she had been attacked by rats the size of cats, but, then again, she also claimed that a unicorn saved her life by making the hole in the door that she could climb out of. The police told Line that it looked more like she had used some tool, probably a hammer, to make the hole. What was real and what was part of Ida's imagination, Line had given up on ever figuring out. The fact was that Ida was badly hurt and had lost one eye, which had now been replaced by a glass eye, and Line had to find her a new family. She was trying to find one who could take in both her and Sebastian, but it wasn't easy. Many would love to have a seven-year-old, but a one-eyed thirteen-year-old who spoke to imaginary unicorns was harder to sell them.

  Line sighed again while looking at Edwina. Exactly what her role was in all that had gone down on this tragic night, Line could only speculate about, even though she didn't want to. She knew she would never know. It would forever remain a bloody mystery.

  "You just can't help yourself, can you? No matter where you go, you leave nothing but destruction and death behind you. How am I supposed to help you?"

  As usual, Edwina didn't speak. She just stared at Line and she felt a shiver run down her spine from her look. How she loathed this girl that had caused so much trouble everywhere. Yet, she was her problem, and she would be until she turned eighteen.

  Line closed the file with a slam. Then she took off her glasses and put them neatly on the table in front of her.

  "Well, I guess this is your lucky day after all," she said. "Or maybe it's mine." Line let out a laugh, then stopped. "You just don't care about anything, do you?"

  Edwina looked at Line like she couldn't care less.

  "Well. Believe it or not, I have found someone who is willing to take you in." She paused for effect, hoping the girl would have some sort of reaction, that she would maybe just blink, something. But there was nothing.

  Line pushed a button on her intercom. "We're ready," she said.

  "Okay," came the answer from her secretary.

  Line leaned over and folded her hands on the desk. "Now, don't you dare ruin this one," she said.

  As she spoke, she looked into Edwina's eyes. What she saw in them frightened her to the core, so badly she had to lean back with a small gasp. It looked like someone was looking out at her, a small face of a girl frozen in a scream.

  The door opened and a face appeared. It was handsome and smiling. Line got up from her chair and walked towards him. She had liked him from the beginning. He was the one who had contacted her and asked her about Edwina. He had told her he was interested in taking her in and Line had almost fallen out of her chair. His presence in her office made her unease go away. She felt calm and confident in his hands. She greeted him with a handshake, then turned and looked at Edwina.

  "Edwina, here is the man who has promised to take good care of you. His name is Anders Granlund; most people simply call him The Priest."

  The End

  * * *

  Afterword

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for purchasing Edwina. This book is a spin-off of the third novel in my Rebekka Franck Series called Five, Six...Grab Your Crucifix where I wrote about Edwina for the first time. If you want to read more about her and what happens to her after the Priest takes her in, then get the book here: Five, Six... Grab your Crucifix.

  If you want to read the entire horror-series beginning with One, Two...He is Coming for You then you can get them below. If you enjoyed Edwina then you might also enjoy my collection of horror-short stories called Horror Stories from Denmark or my novella Chain Letter.

  While you're at it then don't forget to check out all of my other books. On the following pages you can read an excerpt from the first novel in my Rebekka Franck horror-series One, Two... He is Coming for You.

  Take care,

  Willow

  To be the first to hear about new releases and bargains—from Willow Rose—sign up below to be on the VIP List. (I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your inbox.)

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  Copyright Willow Rose 2013

  Published by Jan Sigetty Boeje

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Cover design by Jan Sigetty Boeje

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sigettys Cover Design

  Special thanks to my editor Jean Pacillo

  http://www.ebookeditingpro.com

  * * *

  To be the first to hear about new releases and bargains—from Willow Rose—sign up below to be on the VIP List. (I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your inbox.)

  - Sign up to be on the VIP LIST here -

  Connect with Willow Rose:

  @madamwillowrose

  willowredrose

  willow-rose.net

  Books by the Author

  click the link to grab your copy today

  Mystery/Horror Novels:

  What Hurts the Most (7th Street Crew #1)

  You Can Run (7th Street Crew #2)

  You Can’t Hide (7th Street Crew #3)

  Hit the Road Jack (Jack Ryder #1)

  Slip Out the Back Jack (Jack Ryder #2)

  The House that Jack Built (Jack Ryder #3)

  Black Jack (Jack Ryder #4)

  One, Two...He is Coming for You (Rebekka Franck #1)

  Three, Four...Better Lock your Door (Rebekka Franck #2)

  Five, Six...Grab Your Crucifix (Rebekka Franck #3)

  Seven, Eight...Gonna Stay up Late (Rebekka Franck #4)

  Nine, Ten…Never Sleep Again (Rebekka Franck #5)

  Eleven, Twelve...Dig and Delve (Rebekka Franck #6)

  Thirteen, Fourteen...Little Boy Unseen (Rebekka Franck #7)

  Edwina

  To Hell in a Hand Basket

  Itsy, Bitsy Spider (Emma Frost #1)

  Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2)

  Run, Run, as Fast as You Can (Emma Frost #3)

  Cross your Heart and Hope to Die (Emma Frost #4)

  Peek-A-Boo I See You (Emma Frost #5)

  Tweedledum and Tweedledee (Emma Frost #6)

  Easy as One, Two, Three (Emma Frost #7)

&
nbsp; There's No Place like Home (Emma Frost #8)

  Slenderman (Emma Frost #9)

  Where the Wild Roses Grow (Emma Frost #10)

  * * *

  Horror Short Stories:

  Eenie, Meenie

  Rock-A-Bye Baby

  Nibble, Nibble, Crunch

  Humpty, Dumpty

  Chain Letter

  * * *

  Paranormal Romance/Suspense/Fantasy Novels:

  Beyond (Afterlife #1)

  Serenity (Afterlife #2)

  Endurance (Afterlife #3)

  Courageous (Afterlife #4)

  Savage (Daughters of the Jaguar #1)

  Broken (Daughters of the Jaguar #2)

  Song for a Gypsy (Eye of the Crystal Ball -The Wolfboy Chronicles)

  I am WOLF (The Wolfboy Chronicles)

  * * *

  Box Sets:

  Jack Ryder Mystery Series Box Set: Vol 1-3

  Rebekka Franck Series: Vol 1-3

  Rebekka Franck Series: Vol 4-6

  Rebekka Franck Series: Vol 1-5

  Emma Frost Mystery Series: Vol 1-3

  Emma Frost Mystery Series: Vol 4-6

  Emma Frost Mystery Series: Vol 7-9

  Emma Frost Mystery Series: Vol 1-5

  Daughters of the Jaguar Box Set

  The Afterlife Series: Books 1-3

  Horror Stories from Denmark

  The Wolfboy Chronicles: Vol 1-2

  * * *

  About the Author

  The Queen of Scream novels, Willow Rose, is an international best-selling author. She writes Mystery/Suspense/Horror, Paranormal Romance and Fantasy. She is inspired by authors like James Patterson, Agatha Christie, Stephen King, Anne Rice, and Isabel Allende. She lives on Florida's Space Coast with her husband and two daughters. When she is not writing or reading, you'll find her surfing and watching the dolphins play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. She has sold more than a million books.

  Connect with Willow online:

  @madamwillowrose

  willowredrose

  willow-rose.net

  [email protected]

  One, Two… He is Coming for You

  Excerpt

  For a special sneak peak of Willow Rose's Bestselling Mystery Novel One, Two… He is Coming for You (Rebekka Franck #1) turn to the next page.

  One, two, He is coming for you.

  Three, four, better lock your door.

  Five, six, grab your crucifix.

  Seven, eight, gonna stay up late.

  Nine, ten, you will never sleep again.

  Prologue

  One, two… the song in his head wouldn’t escape. Sure, he knew where it came from. It was that rhyme from the horror movies. The ones with the serial killer, that Freddy Krueger guy with a burned, disfigured face, red and dark green striped sweater, brown fedora hat, and a glove armed with razors to kill his victims in their dreams and take their souls, which would kill them in the real world. “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” that was the movie’s name. Yes, he knew its origin. And he had his reasons for singing that particular song in this exact moment. He knew why, and so would his future victims.

  He lit a cigarette and stared out the window at a waiting bird in the bare treetop. Waiting for the sunlight to come back, just like the rest of the kingdom of Denmark at this time of the year. Waiting for spring with its explosion of colors, like a sea of promises of sunlight and a warmer wind. But still the winter had to go away. And it hadn’t. The trees were still naked, the sky gray as steel, the ground wet and cold. February always seemed the longest month in the little country though it was the shortest in the calendar. People talked about it every day as they showed up for work or school.

  Every freaking day since Christmas.

  Now, it wouldn’t be long before the light came back. But in reality it always took months of waiting and anticipating before spring finally appeared.

  The man staring out the window didn’t pay much attention to the weather though. He stood with his cigarette between two fingers. To him, the time he had been waiting ages for was finally here.

  He kept humming the same song, the same line. One, two, he is coming for you .... The cigarette burned a hole in the parquet floor. He picked up the remains with his hands wearing white plastic gloves and carefully placed them in a small plastic bag that he put in his brown briefcase. He would leave no trace of being in the house where the body of another man was soon to be found.

  He closed the briefcase and went into the hall, where he sat in a leather chair by the door to the main entrance.

  Waiting for his victim to come home.

  He glanced at himself in the mirror by the entrance door. He could see from where he was sitting how nicely he had dressed for the occasion.

  He was outfitted in a blue blazer with the famous Trolle coat of arms on the chest, little yellow emblem with a red headless lion—the traditional blazer for a student of Herlufsholm boarding school. The school was located by the Susaa River in Naestved, about 80 kilometers south of Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark. As the oldest boarding school in Denmark, the school took pride in an array of unique traditions. Some of them the world outside never would want to know about.

  The blazer was now too small, so he couldn’t close it, but otherwise he was looking almost like he had been back in 1986. He was, after all, still a fairly handsome man. And unlike the majority of the guys from back then, he had kept most of his hair.

  His victim had done well for himself, he noticed. No surprise in that though, with parents who were multibillionaires. The old villa by the sea of Smaalands farvandet in the southern part of Zeeland was big and admirable. It could easily fit a couple of families. It was typical of his victim to have a place like this just as his holiday residence.

  When he heard the Jaguar on the gravel outside, he took the glove out of the briefcase and put it on his right hand. He stretched his fingers and the metal claws followed.

  He listened for voices but didn’t hear any to his satisfaction.

  His victim was alone.

  Chapter One

  “We’re going to be too late. Do you want me to be fired on my first day”? I yelled for the third time while gazing up the stairs for my six-year-old daughter, Julie.

  “Go easy on her, Rebekka. It’s her first day too,” argued my father.

  He stood in the doorway to the living room of my childhood home, leaning on his cane. I smiled to myself. How I had missed him all these years living in the other part of the country. Now he had gotten old, and I felt like I had missed out on so much and that he had missed out on so much of our lives too. It was fifteen years since I left the town to study journalism. I had only been back a few times since and then, of course, when Mom died five years ago. Why didn’t I visit him more often, especially after he was alone? Instead I had left it to my sister to take care of him. She lived in Naestved about fifteen minutes away.

  Well there was no point in wondering now.

  “You can’t change the past,” my dad would say. And did say when I called him crying my heart out and asking him if Julie and I could come and stay with him for a while.

  I sighed and wished I could change the past and change everything about my past. Except for one thing. One delightful little blond thing.

  “I’m ready, Mom.”

  Her.

  Julie is the love of my life. Everything I‘ve done has been for her and her future. I sacrificed everything to give her a better life. But that meant I had to leave it all behind—her dad, our friends and neighbors, and my career with a huge salary. All for her.

  “I’m ready.” She ran down the stairs looking like an angel with her beautiful blond hair braided in the back.

  “Yes, you are,” I nodded and looked into her bright blue eyes. “Do you have everything ready for school”?

  She sighed with annoyance and walked past me.

  “Are you coming or not?” She asked when she reached the door.

  I picked up my bag
from the floor, kissed my dad on the cheek, and followed my daughter who waited impatiently.

  “After you my dear,” I said as we left the house.

  I found a job at a local newspaper in Karrebaeksminde. It wasn’t much of a promotion since I used to work for one of the biggest newspapers in the country. Jyllandsposten was located in Aarhus, the second biggest town in Denmark. That was where we used to live.

  When I had a family.

  I used to be their star reporter, one of those who always gets the cover stories. Moving back to my childhood town was not an easy choice, since I knew I had to give up my position as a well-known reporter. But it had to be done. I had to get away.

  Now, after dropping off my daughter at her new school and smoking two cigarettes in anxiety for my daughter’s first day, I found myself at my new workplace.

  “You must be Rebekka Franck. Welcome to our editorial room,” said a sweet elderly lady sitting at one of the two desks piled high with stacks of paper. I looked around the room and saw no one else. The room was a mess, and so was she. Her long red hair went in all directions. She had tried to tame it with a butterfly hair clip, but it didn’t seem to do the job. She got up and waddled her chubby body in a flowered yellow dress over to greet me.

  “I’m Sara,” she said. “I’m in charge of all the personal pages. You know, the obituaries and such. People come to me if they need to put in an announcement for a reception or a 50-year anniversary celebration. Stuff like that. That’s what I do.”