Old New England inns and the Ghosts who love them
For European settlers, at least, New England is the oldest part of the country. Settlement began in earnest in the 1600s, so our countryside is dotted with 400-year-old cemeteries, ruined houses, and, yes, inns. Wentworth By The Sea, where I was married, is a gorgeous Victorian hotel that only recently was restored to its original glory. In the 1980s, it was abandoned and in such a state of decay it was featured in the horror thriller In Dreams.
So the Borderland hotel is based upon several places I’ve actually visited, beautiful old buildings I wish I had the resources to restore. It’s also based upon an event Fred knew quite a lot about, but I’d never heard of. Now everyone knows about it: the Spanish flu epidemic. As incredible as it may seem, Fred and I knew nothing about the COVID pandemic when we began writing this novel, two years ago. But as Fred described the pandemic that swept through our country from 1918 to 1920, killing at least 675,000 in the United States (by a conservative estimate—it may have numbered in the millions), I knew he was on to something.
Thus the Borderland was born, an Edwardian hotel run by an efficient staff who are doing the best they can to handle an outbreak of the Spanish flu—except that it’s 2020 and that epidemic occurred a century ago. When a modern gay couple stumbles upon it, a delicate balance is upset… and a sinister presence is angered.
You might ask: since you write about ghosts, do you actually believe in them? The answer, for me, is complicated. I’ve experienced some things that might be construed as encounters with the spirit world, but I can usually find a rational explanation for them. I was half asleep; the sounds might have been made by animals in the surrounding forest (if you’ve ever heard a fisher cat, you’ll know how horrifying they can sound); it could just have been a cold draft; and so on.
But part of me not only still believes, but wants to believe. And why not? It doesn’t do me any harm to believe in the possibility of ghosts, and it makes the world a more interesting place.
If anyone is interested in that topic, I recommend Esp, Hauntings and Poltergeists: a Paraspychologist’s Handbook by Loyd Auerbach (https://www.amazon.com/ESP-Hauntings-Poltergeists-Parapsychologists-Handbook-ebook/dp/B01LWRE8YS/
). It’s one of the best books on the subject I’ve ever read, covering a broad range of topics and presenting some good arguments.
So I hope you enjoy Borderland. It was truly a work of love, from the moment Fred suggested we work together on a ghost story and years of development, completely rewriting the plot several times, and periods of frustrating writer’s block. The final product is one we’re both proud of.
Blurb:
They were young.
In the prime of life and recently married.
And then the diagnosis came.
Cancer.
George and Jason make arrangements to travel back to George’s home state of Vermont so he may pass away in the town where he grew up, but a terrible storm diverts the couple into the gates of an out-of-the-way hotel called Borderland.
Sure, the employees are well dressed and polite. Sure, the food and entertainment are old-time fare. But it’s all a schtick, right?
Or is there something far more sinister at work here?
Welcome to the Borderland Hotel, where you may check in, but you’ll never, ever leave.
Links:
The sensation of his lover filling him rolled like molten waves through his body. Every whispered word, each murmur and bead of sweat that trickled between them with each thrust and arch was a testimony to their love. This union, the Eucharist, salvation found in stolen moments over the years when they were younger flashed through his mind. Each tender kiss, each passionate look across the room when their eyes sought each other, the shedding of clothes, the nights that surrounded them when they’d made love until their limbs shook and then fought to catch their breath, and the mornings that found them asleep in each other’s arms, rolled through his memory the way thunder rolls across a parched valley.
The mattress underneath him bore their weight, and George, pinned between, encouraged Jason as he ran his hands down his strong back to rest on his buttocks, squeezing, his own penis swollen and trapped between their bodies, but he dared not touch for fear of this moment ending. It had been months, and now he needed this man—his lover, his husband—more than ever. He needed him to suspend time. Here in this moment, he wasn’t dying. Here in this moment, as they made love touched by the silver moonlight from the window, he was immortal. He was safe, and time held no meaning. Jason’s eyes were locked on his, the same fire George had seen thousands of times before burning into his own.
“I’m not going to last much longer,” Jason breathed.
“It’s okay. Let go,” George whispered. “It’s okay to let go.”
Something flickered in Jason’s eyes, and meaning passed between the two in that split second before Jason’s gaze lost focus and his back arched one final, trembling time. As he held himself up, George reached between them, and with a few flicks of his wrist brought his own release before Jason rolled over, breathing heavily. The sudden emptiness filled George with time as it came crashing in around them and they slowly descended to the earth. He scooted over into Jason’s arms and rested his head against Jason’s thick shoulder until Jason opened his arm and pulled him closer.
Time had resumed with the tick-tick of the clock on the mantel above the fireplace, and it beat in sync with Jason’s heart, held prisoner in its cage of flesh and bone. Jason’s breathing was off, ragged still, and when George raised his head to look, Jason’s face was turned away from him. “Jason…”
Jason covered his face with his palm as if embarrassed by something he’d been caught doing.
“Hey…hey…what’s this?” George tugged Jason’s hand down and turned his face toward him.
“I’m…I’m…never…” He shook his head, anguish rife across his features as tears flowed salt rivers down toward his ears.
“What?” George’s throat tightened around the word.
Jason, the adult, in seconds melted into the insecure child afraid of the dark, who screamed when he got stung by a bee, didn’t understand why his momma didn’t come home and why Daddy cried late at night. All of these stories he’d told George over the years. Jason, the wispy spirit, the fun-loving, shake-your-groove-thang poet, was now ground under the heel and weight of time resuming, and it made George smile and love him all the more.
“What are you afraid of, my beloved?” he asked, gently wiping away the tears with his thumb.
Jason took a raggedy breath, his face blotchy and red. “I’ll never be able to make love to you again.” His face crumpled once more, and he sat bolt upright in bed, dragging George with him and wrapping his arms around George’s naked body. His sobs tore George’s heart to shreds, and he purposefully and deliberately felt every teardrop and shudder, letting it serve as affirmation of the love between them. His own tears fell, but not from sadness, from appreciation. A smile stretched his lips as he kissed Jason’s ear. Jason loved him, and George let himself drown in it, soak in it, allowed it to wash over him, an anchor pulled tight before time came and swept them out of each other’s arms.
Jamie Fessenden set out to be a writer in junior high school, but it wasn’t until he met his future husband, Erich, almost twenty years later, that he began writing again in earnest. With Erich alternately inspiring and goading him, published his first novel in 2010.
Nine years later, Jamie and Erich married and purchased a home together in the wilds of Raymond, New Hampshire, where there are no street lights, turkeys and deer wander through their yard, and coyotes serenade them on a nightly basis.
Jamie eventually left his “day job” as a tech support analyst to be a full-time writer.
Author website: https://jamiefessenden.com/
F.E. Feeley Jr is a believer in magic, in music, in literature, art, and those things that connect us all. Born in Detroit, Michigan, Feeley is a veteran of the United States Armed Services. Feeley has written eight novels in the past six years, including Memoirs of the Human Wraiths, Closer, When Heaven Strikes, The Color of Love, Borderland, and Hallelujah. Feeley has published a collection of Poetry in his book, Heaven Underneath the Sound of the World.
Married to the love of his life, John, Frederick resides in Southeast Texas where they take care of their cat, Ms. Abigail Adams.
Author website: https://fefeeleyjr.com/