Here’s the first part of the first chapter of my recently re-released gothic mystery novel Phantom Audition:

What Mia noticed most was the silence.

She kept expecting to hear Steven’s voice, or the insistent thud of his feet, as he rehearsed his lines, pacing up and down. She expected to hear him on the phone to his agent, publicist, or to a director.

In the mornings, she no longer heard his absurd singing in the shower. His seat at the breakfast table stood empty. Mia would avert her eyes, unable to bear staring at the space he should occupy. He should be sipping his tea, scrolling through his phone, crunching his cereal… Silence chewed the room instead, like wind and rain gnawing an eroding landscape.

At nights, Mia would awaken and roll over, hoping to warm herself on his body. But Steven wasn’t there, and he wasn’t coming back. He had been replaced with the same terrible silence that screamed, clawed, and tore at her mind whenever she entered the rooms that still had his smell. The memory of her husband had stained the entire house.

Mia had always thought the mansion ludicrously big for the pair of them, but now more than ever she felt the size of the place. A curious unease lingered, as though the carpets, furniture, paintings, and ornaments had turned against her. She felt like a stranger in her own home, imagining everything around her glared in frowning disapproval. Perhaps her presence was a desecration.

One Monday morning a month after the funeral, the unpleasant sensation of feeling watched by the house became too much, and Mia yelled out into the silence.

‘It’s my bloody home too!’

The house responded without mercy, making every tiny tick of the clock an intolerable cacophony. Mia put her hands over her ears. She knew her behaviour was absurd, but the curious mixture of anger and fear that stirred within her had taken her by surprise. Sadness at Steven’s passing was to be expected, but she had not expected to feel so defensive or fearful. Perhaps bewilderment at the events leading up to his suicide by drug overdose still had her on edge.

Even though she still wore her dressing gown, Mia continued to sit in the morning room, on an ornate Elizabethan chair that matched other antique furniture in the room from the same period. Occupying this chair felt like a strangely defiant act, as though she were challenging the house itself. Steven’s ancestors glared down at her from portraits on the wall. His home was now hers, and sooner or later, the ancestors would just have to accept it.

‘It’s my bloody home,’ Mia muttered. ‘Deal with it.’

‘A-hem!’

Mia leapt out of the chair and spun towards the doorway. A middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform stood there, her face unsmiling and severe.

‘Liza… Good God, you made me jump!’

‘Ma’am,’ said Liza. ‘I apologise for startling you. I know I’m a little early.’

‘Yes, yes, of course… Is it Monday already?’

Liza didn’t reply. Her eyes bored into Mia.

‘Of course it’s Monday.’

Mia looked down, avoiding Liza’s glare. Eventually the maid spoke again.

‘I can come back to this room later if you like, ma’am.’

‘No, no, that’s fine. I’ll get out of your way. I need to have a shower really.’

Mia scurried out of the morning room and headed back up the main staircase to the west wing. She locked herself in her bathroom, feeling very foolish. Her heart beat a little faster as she tried to get a grip on herself, staring into the mirror.

‘It’s my bloody home. Mine.’

But it didn’t feel like her home. Liza Richards, a hired cleaner who came in on most days, had been employed by the Yardley family for years, and her demeanour was more like that of a proud, old-school housekeeper. That Mia had leapt out of the Elizabethan chair when challenged by Liza, as though she were some disobedient child, underscored to Mia yet again that she felt threatened by Elm House, the ancestral home of her late husband, the renowned actor Steven Yardley.

Renowned actor.

Renowned.

Perhaps that was the problem. Steven had been renowned in many ways. Rich family. Successful acting career. What was she in comparison? Mia recalled the whispers when they had married three years previously, that she was little more than a gold-digging, hack bit-part actress. Such rumours never bothered her whilst Steven had been alive, for they were utterly false. She and Steven had loved one another with an enviable passion. Their marriage had been one made for the right reasons. What did it matter what anyone else thought?

However, since Steven’s death, after inheriting everything, it had been impossible not to feel this resentment amid icy stares at the funeral, and at the reading of the will.

‘My bloody home…’

Tears streamed down Mia’s face as she stared into the mirror. She felt utterly pathetic. A part of her wanted to return downstairs to the morning room. She wanted to place herself in that Elizabethan chair with her arms folded, reading the paper, and glaring at Liza as she went about her cleaning duties. But she felt so utterly defeated. Her stomach twisted, and she felt sick. She slumped to the floor, bent double, sobbing.

‘Steven… Steven…’

She allowed herself a moment to cry. But after a couple of minutes of anguish, Mia took a deep breath, wiped her face, and stood up again. She couldn’t allow Liza to see her like this. She had to be strong.

Mia took a shower then headed to her bedroom to get dressed. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of lurking upstairs until Liza had finished, but part of her despised such a cowardly notion. Why should she want to avoid Liza? She was an employee. Besides, the gardener was due to arrive soon, and she had to give him instructions.

Mia returned downstairs to the kitchen. She made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes. Still the silence taunted, but Mia ignored it.

Outside, the mid-February drizzle threatened to become a downpour. Staring out of the window towards the driveway, her eyes came to rest on a large horse chestnut tree amid the extensive gardens. The branches were stark and bare right now, but Mia recalled Steven’s fondness for that particular tree, and the significance it had held for him throughout his entire life. Mia briefly closed her eyes, remembering a summer’s day when they had sat beneath the horse chestnut tree in the warm afternoon sun, with the lingering scent of freshly cut grass and white roses. She could still taste the honey on her lips and his. She recalled the wasp sting that had rudely interrupted their passionate kiss. Placing her hand to her arm, she rubbed the place where the wasp had struck. Was it her imagination or was there still a scar?

For more, pick up your copy of Phantom Audition in paperback or ebook here (in the UK), and here (in the US). Or you can click here, to download the book from Smashwords.