The House on Black Lake
Read The House on Black Lake Online
Authors: Anastasia Blackwell,Maggie Deslaurier,Adam Marsh,David Wilson
Tags: #General Fiction
OUSE
on
B
LACK
L
AKE
by Anastasia Blackwell
A Creative Revolution Publication
Los Angeles
San Francisco
Text and photographs copyright © 2010 by Anastasia Blackwell
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of publisher.
Creative Revolution Publications
Los Angeles-San Francisco
First Paperback Edition: January 2010
First Hardcover Edition: January 2010
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Blackwell, Anastasia
The House on Black Lake: a novel/by Anastasia Blackwell - 1st ed. p. cm
Summary: World weary Alexandra Brighton’s vacation on an exclusive private lake outside Montreal turns dangerous as she is lured into a sensual world of dark secrets and is compelled to make a dramatic transformation.
ISBN 978-0-9825002-0-0
ISBN 978-0-9825002-1-7
(1. Gothic - fiction 3. Montreal - fiction. 4. Romance - fiction. 5. Canada - fiction. 6. Women’s - fiction. 7. Suspense - fiction) 1. Title.
Printed in the United States of America
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I
WISH TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY SONS, WHO ARE A CONSTANT SOURCE OF
pride and encouragement. And to the many individuals—you know who you are—who provided support and inspiration for the characters and scenes in my book. Special thanks to Adam Marsh, developmental editor; Maggie Deslaurier, copy editor; Martha Dwyer, proofreader; David Wilson, photographer, and Robert Aulicino, who created the book cover and interior design.
My gratitude to the creative team for
The House on Black Lake’s
trailer, as they were the first to breathe life into my story. Special credit to Fraser Bradshaw, cinematographer; Isaac Ebersole, producer, Jesse Spencer, editor; Peter Busboom, film composer, and cast: Morla Gorrondola, Benny Duskin, Wade Russell, and Tosh Yanez.
Thanks to the staff at Trapeze Arts in Oakland, California. Especially Simon, Janene, and Stefan, as they were highly inspirational in leading me beyond my fear to fly into the unknown with unfettered abandon.
Special recognition is offered to my sister, Kathleen, who assisted with the editing of film stills and led me through the dark hours before the dawn of a new chapter in my life. And to my late mother whose beautiful soul led her down the safe path and inspired mine to take another.
Finally, I am grateful to you—the readers who dare to take the odyssey to Black Lake. I hope you enjoy the journey and are transformed and stirred to begin your own at book’s end.
RELUDE
I
N THE COURSE OF A HUMAN LIFE THERE IS OFTEN A DEFINING
moment, a glimmer of time when everything changes and there is no turning back. Nearly thirteen years have passed since my fateful moment, yet its power remains.
It was Christmas Eve and approaching dusk when we arrived at a holiday party at the edge of the desert. Candles in the snow along the stairway guided guests up to a magnificent dwelling perched on a bluff, overlooking a nearly alien landscape that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Inside the festive entrance hall my husband removed my long white coat and smoothed wrinkles from the matching dress.
Our hostess drew aside velvet curtains at the rear of the vestibule and motioned for us to enter a darkened corridor. The mysterious passageway, illuminated by the glow of Venetian chandeliers, led to a Sistine-like rotunda where the music of Mozart reverberated from speakers in the rafters.
In a shadowy corner, beyond where most of the guests congregated, I noticed a striking couple reclining on a burgundy divan. The man drew his hand along a willowy thigh and whispered in the ear of the stunning redhead. She turned to watch as my husband escorted me into the room, an enigmatic smile sweeping across her face, as if intended only for me.
The woman’s seductive companion followed her gaze, and in the dazzling instant his eyes met mine something inside me awakened and bound me to him in a way I cannot explain.
My idyllic life was shattered that night. Nine months to the day I gave birth to a son and suffered a disfiguring affliction. Desperate for a cure, I made a pilgrimage to St. Joseph’s Oratory, where the faithful are said to be healed. At the alter I made a vow: truth for beauty, a promise to follow my manifest destiny in return for an unmarked face. As my husband ushered me from the basilica, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a stained glass depiction of the Madonna and child. My cheek had begun to thaw—and now I had a price to pay.
The ensuing years brought a second son and the collapse of my marriage. I soon became little more than a shadow hiding in the remnants of my former life. The more I pursued truth, the greater the resistance—until I gave up any notion of seeking a rightful path. My shattered existence was invaded by a wild terror and escaping its embrace became my sole ambition.
I was besieged nightly by dreams of cataclysmic events and empty houses where I wandered as a lonely specter. One night I experienced an exceptionally powerful vision. I stood on a cliff overlooking a whitewashed city encased in iridescent fog. A slice of light shot through the mist and a diseased woman appeared to offer a trio of golden spheres. The eyes of the charismatic man in the desert burned through her sunken orbs.
The dream left me with an unbearable desire for resolution. I knew it was a sign I must make the journey to see him again, if I was to survive.
—AB
ONTENTS