Haunted Secrets: Tales of Leo Moreland Vol. 4

Leo Moreland is back with more eerie investigations When the dead refuse to rest, it’s Leo who gets the call. This time, the stakes are higher. And the spirits are far more dangerous.   Join him as he discovers the secrets of a long-locked crypt, investigates a chilling doppelganger haunting with roots deeper than death, and faces a ghost from a forgotten asylum whose twisted gift always comes at a cost.   In Haunted Secrets: Tales of Leo Moreland Vol. 4, the dead doesn’t play by the rules—and neither can Leo. And he’s the only one standing between the living and what waits on the other side.   Turn the page, if you dare. But don’t expect to sleep easy. PRINT LENGTH 121 pages AUDIO LENGTH 3 hours and 23 minutes NARRATED BY Thom Bowers PRODUCT DIMENSION 6 x 0.5 x 9 inches ISBN 979-8-89476-293-7 LANGUAGE English PUBLICATION DATE April 21, 2025  Read a Sample Ghost Game “Okay, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Jonathan said. “I mean, we don’t have to go inside.” “Aw, shaddup.” Warren punched him on the upper arm. Jonathan winced but didn’t protest. Warren wasn’t so bad, but he had a chip on his shoulder. Everybody knew Warren’s family was poor because his dad was a lush and couldn’t hold a job. That made Warren unpredictable, but he stood up for his friends. Nobody else got to punch Jonathan. “Guys, are we doing this or not?” Andy asked, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Skinny, pale-faced Andy looked as nervous as Jonathan felt. The old brick building they faced looked nondescript by daylight. But now it was near sunset, and the blood-red light gave it a sinister aura. The Serling Clinic was the subject of many rumors. There were lots of stories about it. Kids had found a body there a year or so back. A vagrant looking for shelter. Police said it was natural causes, but those kids needed therapy, allegedly because of the look on the dead guy’s face. People kept talking about tearing down the clinic, but complicated legal problems meant the clinic just stood there, gradually crumbling. Jonathan’s father had said talk about the clinic being haunted was just BS, but it was no place for a party. And that throwaway remark was why Jonathan had suggested having a party in the old clinic. It was a way for the nerdy do-gooder types to seem a little dangerous and a little wild. It was lawbreaking, but not like stealing or setting stuff on fire. Jonathan had assumed the suggestion would be enough and that they would never get this far. He had underestimated Warren, and not for the first time. The big guy wasn’t very imaginative, but he was determined. Now, Jonathan could only hope that they couldn’t find a way in. “Of course, we’re doing it,” Warren said firmly. “We just have to circle ’round back, away from the road. There’s a stretch where a tree came down in the storm last month. Pretty much crushed the fence.” Warren always seemed to know stuff like that. He was right as usual. They clambered partway up the tree trunk and got scratched and bruised for their pains, but after a few minutes of cursing and inept acrobatics, they stood at the rear entrance. The clinic’s windows and doors were boarded up. Jonathan, heart pounding, found himself praying that there was no way in. But Warren was too well-informed. He headed straight for a low window and easily pried away the boards. The window was devoid of glass. Inside, Jonathan made out a small lunchroom. There was a sink just under the window. “Okay, let’s get this party started!” Warren threw his backpack inside and climbed over the windowsill. Jonathan and Andy looked at each other. There was an unspoken acknowledgment that they did not want to do this, but when Andy spoke, he said “Follow my leader, I guess.” Jonathan, the smallest and by far the weakest of the three, struggled with the window. Warren chuckled, gripped his hand, and hauled him over the sill. As Jonathan tumbled to the floor, he felt the temperature drop slightly. The air was laden with a mixture of odors, none of them pleasant. There was dust, recently disturbed by their antics. Also decay, the telltale stink of something that had died nearby. Along with dust and decay was a faint, acrid tang of chemicals. Disinfectant, bleach, and others less specific. After all these years? Jonathan wondered. How could they linger for decades? “Anyone else notice that?” Andy asked. “It just got real cold real fast!” Warren laughed as he picked up his backpack. “Must be the ghosties! Or maybe the ghoulies; who can say?” Andy produced a flashlight from his backpack and flicked it on. Warren did likewise. Jonathan had not brought a flashlight because he hadn’t expected them to get this far. He tagged along as Warren, followed by Andy, left the lunchroom. They passed doors with ominous signs, one that stood out for Jonathan. ECT. Electro-Convulsive Therapy. He’d watched a YouTube video about that once, and it had given him nightmares. “Where are we going?” Andy asked. Warren put on a fake deep voice to answer. “Into the depths of horror!” Nobody laughed. They passed small wards containing bedframes and other debris. A door marked “Radiation: Keep Out” naturally attracted their interest. Warren opened it to reveal nothing but empty metal shelves lining two walls. Then, they came to an office marked “R. D. Serling M.D.”, followed by a lot of other letters. “Guy sure liked to boast about his qualifications.” Warren kicked the door halfway open. “Why here?” Jonathan asked. “Because this,” Warren shone his flashlight into the blacked-out office, “is where the evil genius who ran the place hung out. If his ghost is around, it’s probably in here. Come on! We’re gonna contact him. Or maybe just get drunk. Possibly both.” The door wouldn’t open all the way, thanks to a drift of old-fashioned box files and loose paperwork. Apart from ransacked filing cabinets, the office contained nothing but a desk with a lamp and a couple of chairs. Warren set his backpack on the desk and unloaded cans of cheap beer. Andy opened his backpack and produced something very different. “What the hell is that?” Jonathan asked, though he already knew. “My kid sister’s Ouija board,” Andy grinned. “I got the planchette, too. She won’t miss them, she’s into some pathetic K-pop stuff now.” He opened the board and set it on the dusty desktop by the beer, followed by the planchette, a pointer shaped like an elongated teardrop. The setup looked cheap and tacky. The board was dog-eared cardboard, and the planchette was bright red plastic. “This is dumb,” Jonathan said. Warren punched his arm again, not quite so hard this time. “Hey, little man. You said, ‘Let’s go to the haunted asylum,’ so here we are. And if there’s ghosts around, we gotta try and talk to ’em, right?” “Right!” Andy said brightly, opening a can. A jet of foaming liquid shot out, spraying Warren and the Ouija board in equal amounts. Warren cursed and opened a can, aiming at Andy. This situation is ridiculous, Jonathan told himself as he was hit by the fallout. There are no ghosts, and we are just going to drink and fool around. He opened a can of beer but was careful to aim the spray of foam into a corner. About half an hour of drinking and trash-talking ensued. Jonathan hadn’t eaten much that day, and the booze went to his head. Soon, he was laughing loudly, all nervousness forgotten. “Hey,” said Warren eventually, “let’s get the séance underway before you lightweights pass out.” They stood around the desk, snickering and joking as Andy set the planchette in place. Jonathan looked closely at the board for the first time. As well as the alphabet and numbers 0 to 9, the words YES and NO were at the top. Andy put his finger on the pointer, and the others followed suit. “Okay, you’ve read the manual, what next?” Warren asked. With his free hand, Andy shone his flashlight under his chin. His pale, narrow face looked grotesque, but his friend’s lopsided grin was too familiar for Jonathan to feel spooked. “Is there anybody there?” Andy intoned solemnly. The silence was broken by a distinct farting noise, sending them all into a fit of childish giggles. Then Warren wafted the air with his free hand, glaring at Jonathan in mock outrage. “Lay off the enchiladas, buddy!” “He who smelt it, dealt it,” Jonathan replied. Then, he felt the planchette move. It slid slowly toward YES. “What a surprise,” Warren scoffed. “You moving it, Andy?” “No way!” Andy set down his flashlight and asked another question. “Are you Dr. Serling?” The planchette quivered slightly under Jonathan’s finger. He could not see which of his friends was making it do that. Then, the pointer slid a few inches to his right and settled on NO. “Who are you then?” Warren demanded, his tone still mocking. “Jacob frigging Marley?” The planchette quivered again and then moved down toward the alphabet. “Bet it’s a nice simple name,” Warren said. “Nothing from, like, ancient Greece or something.” He was right. The planchette indicated just four letters. FRED. “Okay, Fred.” Warren sounded bored now. “Who are you? Or who were you?” The planchette moved more swiftly this time, and before it finished, they all recognized the word PATIENT. “Oh, great. A loony ghost,” Warren sighed. Andy made an impatient noise and asked another question. “Do you have a message for someone on this side?” YES came the reply. Then, the planchette slid back and forth, spelling out a surprising phrase. I GRANT WISH YOU PAY ME. “Oh, sure,” Warren said. “Guy’s a genie now. This is dumb.” He took his finger off the planchette. “Which one of you dorks was pushing it? Or was it really ol’ Long Dead Fred?” Jonathan removed his finger and then Andy did the same, grumbling under his breath. The planchette moved again. It spun around a few times then darted toward YES. There was a long silence during which Jonathan became acutely aware of how deep inside the darkened building they were. “Shit.” Warren sounded suddenly sober. “That changes things.” The red plastic pointer shuddered and jabbed at YES again. ***