Hi readers. Because my first novel, Grimly Jane, is taking up so much of my time, I haven't really been promoting Spanelli. I thought you might like to read the first chapter since, you know, it's sort of a good story. Well, I won't ramble anymore. Remember, your comments are always welcomed. (Forgive the formatting and non-indenting. I have the hardest time trying to format things in Blogger)

Summary: Twelve year old Spanelli McQuillen works at The Museum of Oddities, the family owned antiques shop. When her mother purchases Hamley House, an abandoned home that sits on a hill at the edge of their small neighborhood, Spanelli gets the feeling that something isn’t right with the grand, old estate. After she discovers a letter tucked between the pages of an old book, her fears are confirmed and she is taken on a wild adventure as she discovers the frightful mysteries of the old house.
SPANELLI - Chapter One
The house was large, much larger than the cozy, three bedroom they’d just moved from. And it was looming, its monumental structure casting a shadow upon the entire street.    Spanelli ambled up the rocky walkway and observed the grounds. There were four, fretful looking sculptures perfectly aligned along the front of the house. A crooked, rusty fountain sat directly in front of the sculptures, struggling to produce water from its rotting spout. Walking still slowly toward the front door, her eyes widened as they followed the twisting, overgrown ivy that crawled up the bricks and covered most of the windows.    She was overcome with uneasiness and she couldn’t understand why, for there was nothing immediately frightening about the house. It was a bit run down due to age and neglect but that was normal since Spanelli and her mother were its’ first occupants in twenty or so years. Still, the house seemed to curse her with a temporary disability, stifling her movements and burdening her mind with unimaginable thoughts. As she stood there staring at the crusty, brick mansion, a warm breeze surrounded her, whistling eerily and shocking her out of her daymare. Breathing heavily, Spanelli approached the front door.    There were people all about the house as she finally made her way inside—movers, a home inspector, an electrician and a plumber—all of them working hard to prepare the house for her and her mother.    “Be gentle with that lamp, it’s fragile,” said Spanelli’s mother as she directed the movers on where to place their numerous belongings. “Yes, right there. And take care not to damage the wallpaper, it’s delicate and extremely rare. I’ve no plans to replace it.”    Widening her large, brown eyes as she examined the grand entryway, Spanelli walked toward her mother. “Voices. I hear voices in the walls. There’s someone here,” she said, setting her backpack on the floor.    “Don’t be silly,” her mother replied, distractedly.    “I don’t think I like this house very much,” continued Spanelli, frustrated at her mother’s dismissive response.    Wiping her unruly coils out of her face, Ann turned and looked at Spanelli. “Nonsense. This was once the grandest home in the neighborhood. A little TLC and it will be grand once more, like new even.” She placed her elegant hands on Spanelli’s shoulder and smiled. “Besides kid, we make our living on making old things new again.”    She’d made a valid point. She and Spanelli owned and operated The Museum Of Oddities, an antiques shop that had been in the family for sixty-five years. They had a strange fascination with the exceptionally old and rare, always managing to see the beauty in the most hideous of things. Like magicians, they brought out that beauty, making old things look even better than they might have looked when they were first made.    Though Spanelli was only twelve, Ann quite depended on her opinions and expertise when it came to purchasing and restoring things, from old china to photos, toys and books. In fact, she’d consulted her on just about every purchase since Spanelli was six years old. But in the case of Hamley House, their new home which sat on a hill at the edge of town, she decided to surprise her clever daughter by going on with the purchase without her.    “Spanelli,” began Ann, petting the top of her head, “now I know unfamiliar surroundings can appear strange at first, scary even. Perhaps you should go exploring, you know, take a look around and get to know the place before you write it off as unbearable. After all, we have a rule about judging things before we’ve tried them, right?”    “But, I…”    “No buts kid. Besides, I don’t want you in the way when those clumsy movers start hauling in the big stuff. Now run along and remember…”    “I know, I know. There’s beauty to be found in everything. You just need the vision to see it,” Spanelli cut in, finishing her mother’s sentence. Although she’d become quite good at seeing the beautiful side of things, she was having a hard time seeing Hamley House as anything but a creepy, towering building filled with dark secrets.    Climbing the right side of the double, curved staircase, Spanelli started down the narrow hallway. The left side of the hall was nothing but windows, most of them cracked and grimy, laden with pigeon droppings, cobwebs and overgrown ivy. The right side of the hall was a wall covered in floral wallpaper that was different shades of pink and peeling due to moisture and age. Lopsided portraits of odd looking people lined the walls. And if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn that their eyes followed her as she passed by.    Continuing her trek down the unusually long hallway, she finally arrived at her first door. As far as she could see, outside of the washroom, whatever room the door lead to was the only room on the entire floor. Looking around as if she were up to the worst possible mischief, she placed her shaking hand on the S-shaped handle. As she pressed down on the handle to open the door, she heard a Whoosh! The door wouldn’t budge.    “What was that?” She gasped, reluctant to look behind her for fear some ghastly figure with razor sharp teeth might be hovering over her. She glanced over her shoulder. “Whew,” she breathed, relieved that her imagination had simply got the better of her. “Must’ve been the wind or something.” She was right. All she’d heard were the creaks and moans of the house settling as old homes are prone to do.    Nervous and shaky, she once more fixed her focus on the door in front of her as she tried to open it. When pressing on the handle didn’t work, she turned to her side, using her shoulder to try and force it open. When the door still refused to open, she grew frustrated.    “C’mon you stupid door,” she muttered, wildly kicking the bottom of the door with her foot. Kicking and pushing with all of her strength, the door begrudgingly crept open. Pushing on the door to open it wider, she stepped onto the wood floor. “A playroom,” she said, looking at all the vintage playthings as if they were some enchanted treasure. There were tea sets, porcelain dolls in beautiful dresses, old shoes and costumes, which no doubt were used for playing dress up, numerous stuffed animals and little wooden toys, even a working train set.    As she walked further inside, taking in all the sights, smells and sounds, her body suddenly began to shudder. There was something unnerving about the room, something terribly odd that she couldn’t put her finger on. She bent down and picked up a chessboard. The pieces were placed on the board in such a way that the game seemed to have been in the middle of being played. In fact, everything in the room had that sort of feeling, as though children were in the middle of their activities but suddenly forced to abandon them. Unable to shake the nagging feeling that something about the room wasn’t right, she continued to explore, mentally absorbing all details in case she needed to draw upon them later.    “This floor could use a good washing,” she thought, looking down at the dust prints her shoes had made on the floor. As she took her next step, she stumbled and fell over an area rug, which instead of lying flat, was humped and lumpy in one spot. Rising from the floor, she limped over to the lumpy area and lifted the rug to see what caused her to fall. “Beautiful,” she said, her eyes widening as she picked up a tarnished, jeweled box that was sitting on the floor under the rug. Careful not to disturb any of the box’s delicate adornments, she lifted the top. As it opened, a gold cat sprouted up, spinning to the lullaby that started to play as the box was opened. “A music box,” said Spanelli, studying the box. As she watched the cat spin, she noticed a small, silver button along the edge of the cat’s foot. When she pushed it, the music stopped playing and the cat stopped spinning. Suddenly it clicked open, leading to a hidden compartment in the bottom of the box. Lifting the cat all the way up, she looked inside.    Though the color was faded and worn in spots, the pink velvet lining was rich and beautiful. Pressed into the velvet was a silver skeleton key. As she lifted the key from its resting place and put it in her pocket, a burst of cold wind blew about the room, so strong it sent her to the floor once more. She looked around, frightened, trying to see where the wind was coming from. All the windows in the room were sealed shut. There were no holes in the ceiling or any other noticeable openings where the wind could’ve escaped from.    “It’s creepy in here,” she stuttered as she arose from the floor, shivering from coldness and fear. “I’m going to find mom.”    Just as she turned to leave, she heard a voice whisper, “Spanelli, Spanelli.”    Spanelli looked behind her. “Who said that?” She asked. She received no response.    She ran toward the door when she again heard, “Spanelli, Spanelli.”   She looked all around the room, noticing an archway that appeared to lead to a hidden room. “Funny, that wasn’t there before. At least, I don’t think it was,” she said, suspiciously. She walked over to the archway, down the half hallway and to the crooked, pink door that waited at the end of it. Putting her hand forward and placing it on the doorknob, she tried to turn it. It was locked. “Great,” she huffed, “a locked door. Well, so much for exploring.”    Then she remembered the key that she’d planted in her jeans pocket. Filled with curiosity, she fetched the key from her pocket and examined it to see if it was a match for the keyhole in the door, but she couldn’t tell just from looking at it. The only way to know if the key would fit was for her to try it. Just as she put the key in the keyhole, she felt a hand on her shoulder.    “Ahhh!” She screamed, covering her face from the creature that could very well be standing behind her.    “Spanelli. What has gotten into you kid? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Ann, looking puzzlingly at her daughter.    “Whew. It’s just you mom,” replied Spanelli, relieved. She hugged her mother so tight it was as though she’d never see her again.    “Of course it’s me. Who else were you expecting? Oh Spanelli, I keep telling you that that imagination of yours is gonna get you in a world of trouble one day. Come on, we’re eating out tonight,” she said as she and Spanelli left the room.