One unsuspecting day, her jealous husband swiftly ended her life. However, there was one thing she left behind that would stand the test of time—her shoe marks. After forty-five years, they still remain in the house she once lived in as well as her undying spirit. Why? Ever since Maggie was brutally murdered at the hands of the man she loved, her tormented soul searches for acceptance and love from a family who will stay for the long haul.
Wounded on D-Day and in Operation Market Garden, retired Major Jeremy Stone, is excited about starting life over as a civilian. With a new job, he purchases what he believes is the perfect dream home for his wife Laura and two small children, Meredith and Robert. Shortly after having moved in, his dream home quickly turns into a hellish nightmare. The Stone’s are faced with a decision that will affect them for the rest of their lives. Will Maggie’s enraged ghostly spirit drive them away like all the previous owners before them? Or will they stay and fight the spiritual entity that surrounds them.
This is not just a story about a family and its attempt to comprehend the mysterious phenomena of the spirit world. Shoe Marks demonstrates the realities of war, love, romance, abandonment, adoption, fear, and the fight to survive.
Inspired by true events, this epic pillow grabbing paranormal is sure to put reader’s seeker on the edge of their seat.
Maggie Horton opened one eye, and then shut it to avoid the bright sunlight that penetrated straight through her bedroom window. Fatigued and sleep deprived, she rolled over, moaned, and covered her face with a floral print feather pillow.
Her baby whimpered as she sat up on the side of the bed. With gentle hands, she picked up her firstborn son and cradled him in her arms. “There, my sweet little James.”
After his feeding, she placed him back down in the new cradle her husband, James, had custom-built for her before the baby was born.
Maggie opened the chifarobe door and reached for the same gray dress she’d worn for the past three days. She covered her blistered, sore feet with socks, along with a pair of black-laced leather shoes with one-inch heels. After coiling her long brunette hair into a tightly woven bun, she squeezed her rosy cheeks.
Studying her reflection in the mirror, she whispered, “Well, this is as good as it’s going to get.” Maggie was dressed for the day with nowhere to go. She did, however have a great deal of work to accomplish.
Before starting her daily chores, Maggie smiled at her baby, who was sleeping soundly. She sat down at her secretary desk. After dipping her writing feather pen into the black ink, she proceeded to write a letter to her son with the hope that one day she would give it to him.
When Maggie was finished writing, she walked down the wooden staircase and went into her husband’s smoking room. With a hammer in hand, she removed the nails in one of the floor planks where she secretly kept the family safe box. Inside the old family heirloom were rare coins, paper money, and an antique family Bible her mother had given to her before succumbing to yellow fever.
Maggie opened the large leather-bound Bible and, with a feather pen, entered her new addition onto the Horton family tree. Then she placed the love letter to her son between the pages of Psalms, along with a black and white photograph taken of her husband, herself, and their baby, James Junior.
Knowing her treasure was safe; she lowered the wooden plank back into the floor and hammered the nails into the wood. “There. All done,” she said, grinning and wiping her hands.
Every day was the same: milk the cows; wash the clothes; cook the meals; churn butter; and try to keep the fire going in the wood-burning cast iron stove.
But for some reason unbeknownst to her, she felt that this day was going to be different.
Maggie opened up the barn doors and greeted Matilda and Madeline, who stood at their hay troughs. She sat down on her stool, with her forearm, wiped the perspiration from her brow, and proceeded to milk her favorite brown and white cow.
Hearing a strange noise, she stood up and peeked over Matilda’s furry back. In a nearby stall, a man was sleeping. It was her former lover, John Smith, who was turning to one side as he slept soundly with his head against his leather saddle.
Startled yet somehow not very surprised, she couldn’t help but smile. Then she wondered why he was there and how quickly she could get him to leave before her husband found him there.