A disillusioned widower discovers the true story of his abandonment at age five and the tragedy that befell his father. Aided by a ghostly figure from another dimension, he will unravel the past, solve age-old murders, find new love, and discover treasures long ago hidden. Along the way, he finds proof of the parental love he always felt, bringing closure to his past. With fresh confidence in his life, he utilizes his newly acquired fortune to benefit others.
A paranormal, murder-mystery story that you won't be able to put down! Based on a little known, historical, true story of bandits, greed and lost treasure.
A disillusioned widower discovers the true story of his abandonment at age five and the tragedy that befell his father. Aided by a ghostly figure from another dimension, he will unravel the past, solve age-old murders, find new love, and discover treasures long ago hidden. Along the way, he finds proof of the parental love he always felt, bringing closure to his past. With fresh confidence in his life, he utilizes his newly acquired fortune to benefit others.
A paranormal, murder-mystery story that you won't be able to put down! Based on a little known, historical, true story of bandits, greed and lost treasure.
April 22, 1997
From the back of a black limousine a mahogany casket was wheeled. Beneath a Carolina-blue sky, the chest was meticulously carried over dew covered grass to its final resting spot by six pallbearers. Steadily they released the coffin onto a lowering frame atop a two-and-a-half-foot by eight-foot plot of ground where in less than an hour, the earth would reclaim the soulless body the casket cradled.
Unseasonably chilly for April, daybreak had ushered in the promise of a spectacular day. The sort rarely associated with funerals. In layered clothing, mourners, including the deceasedâs two boys and their families, crowded under a canopy that had been erected to shield them from the brisk morning breeze. As the committal service was about to begin, a cold gust of wind surged through the crowd, punctuating the stark reality of the moment. In full bud and bloom, a nearby lilac bush had released its aromatic perfume into the air as a peculiar reminder that spring was a season of birth and renewal.
For the man seated closest to the casket, the smell of lilacs was bittersweet. One of the first plants to bloom in the spring, the flower was a favorite of the deceased. With hands clasped, a stone-cold realism coursed through his veins. Pinned to a shattered heart, from this day onward he would wear the label of a widower. The manâs vacant stare gazed past the spray of lacey, pink-fringed white roses that covered his sweetheartâs coffin into a future devoid of warmth, silken hands, and the smile of the lady who loved him. Adorning the lid, the bouquet beautified the one person Clint had no idea how to live withoutâElise.
Any other time the gentle caress of a cool morning breeze would have been welcomed. But not today. Still dazed by the tragic events that had unfolded only days before, Clint was numb to the core with grief. The root of regret had pierced his notion of being the perfect husband, causing him to withdraw from those who loved him most. Ill-equipped to handle irrational guilt for not having been with Elise in her final hours, despair turned to blame. Had I only⌠he imagined. I might have saved her.
No one looked around. They just looked down at their feet, out into the cemetery past the grave markers, or at the large blanket of roses centered over the coffin between the gatherers. When the bible was opened and a marker removed, all eyes turned toward the vicar who had just cleared his throat, ready to address the crowd.
When Pastor Jim began to speak of a promised land, of which his wife was now a part, Clint stopped listening. Breathing in the fragrance that reminded him of Elise, Clint could not bring himself to accept the preacherâs meaningful words. Though they were intended to impart peace of mind, Clint had moved beyond being comforted. He drifted away to a place where joy still lingered, back to a time before his world had come crashing down.
As tangible as the ceremony felt at the graveyard, Clint saw in his mind and felt in his heart, Elise sitting by his side. They were in a lawyerâs office, and he had just finished signing a contract with Orange County and the State of Indiana for a portion of the escheated property. Below his name, Elise had scrolled hers. Their eyes locked when she placed the pen on the desk, euphoria beaming on their faces. The deal was sealed.
Since no heirs had stepped forward to contest the reversion of land, which had been entrusted to the state, Clint and Elise were able to share in the good fortune of appropriation. A sizeable unpaid tax lien qualified the property for repossession. After a lengthy red tape jump-through-the-hoop-ordeal, the State of Indiana eventually annexed ten of the twenty-acres and put the remaining ten-acres up for sale. The stateâs acreage was absorbed into the national forest while the other portion that butted up to that acreage was sold at public auction.
Grateful to have purchased the residual ten-acre parcel, this fortuitous event had turned the page on a new chapter in their lives. A modest home surrounded by an idyllic white picket fence had become more than a mere pipedream.
In Clintâs head, the ink had not yet dried on the last page and line of their purchase agreement with the state. It had been the most desired thing either one of them had ever yearned for in thirty years of marriage. They had become joint landowners. Their new home was situated off Highway 150 on South CR 550E in southern Indiana, southeast of Trotter Crossing. Seven miles from Salzburg, the nearest town, Clint and Eliseâs new property bordered the Indiana Hoosier National Forest.
Little did he know at the time, but Clintâs future had a different story to tell that did not include Elise. Unfortunately, on April 20, 1997, just one week after theyâd moved in, Elise collapsed onto the kitchen floor, never to regain consciousness. Their lifelong dreams abruptly ended. The trips they had envisioned to Montana to visit Wade, Clara and Lily, driving up to Alaska, gardening and harvest time filling Ball jars and making jam to store in the cold cellar for winter use were all erased. Those dreams would now never come to fruition.
With the fragrance of fresh lilacs saturating the air, Clint continued to flip through the pages of time. Walking down memory lane, he recalled how Elise often arranged vases of fresh lilacs in their Seymour, Indiana, duplex each spring. Symbolic of first love, Elise had tucked a sprig into Clintâs lapel the day of their wedding. On March 2, 1967, she had proclaimed him to be her first and forever love.
For a thousand years and more, she often wrote at the bottom of her cards to Clint.
A voice reentered Clintâs cognizance as Pastor Jim concluded the committal ceremony with a reading from 1st Corinthians 15:51â57. âBut let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will not all die, but we will all be transformed,â he quoted dolefully.
Clint closed his eyes, unable to listen to any message of finality regarding his wife. With his two boys and their families at his side, showing their concern and support for one another, Clint went through the difficult motions of civility as friends and family zeroed in on him. While unintended, their well-meaning gestures of reassurance and concern only managed to agitate him.
Pastor Jim took Clintâs hand in his as the crowd meandered back to their cars. âIâm truly sorry, Clint,â he said, probing Clintâs eyes to see how he was holding up, âfor your loss. You know I am here for you anytime, day or night. Rest assured Elise is in Godâs hands now,â he prophesied. âShe was an earthly angel and is among the heavenly ones now! We all loved her. A precious soul, she wasâŚâ his words trailed as he shook his head in sorrow. He seemed unsure whether he should add much more, given the blank empty stare he saw on Clintâs face. âGodâs grace and time heal all wounds.â
Cocking his head to the side, Clint gazed into the benevolent eyes of the preacher, wondering if he really believed what he was selling. âI donât mean to be rude, Jim,â he replied coldly, âbut thatâs not a lot of comfort. Not for me anyway.â
Clint took a deep breath and counted to ten. With more distance between them, he glanced up and said, âNo disrespect, sir, but I guarantee you some wounds donât heal. Not this one.â He tried not to sound as callous as he felt, but within the dark recesses of his soul, a storm raged.
In his opinion, God was nowhere to be found. Elise was the believer, not him, and all the prayers in the world would not alter that fact or bring her back. They hadnât helped when Elise was discovered unconscious on the kitchen floor moments before her death, nor had they been answered at age five when his dad had abandoned him. They also werenât heard when his best friend Gary failed to return from Vietnam. In Clintâs experience, God was not in the business of responding to prayers, at least not his. Not then, not now, not ever.
As Clint dredged up the pastâamid two mausoleums at the back of Three Pines Park Cemeteryâa mysterious presence stood silently observing the crowd. The activity at the grave and roadside was scrutinized as the folks visited and eventually moved toward their vehicles. The middle-aged man with black hair, who stood at the center of the commotion after losing his wife, was the spectatorâs primary focus.
Clint had been lured to the property he now owned by the entity who studied him. A restless soul, the gaunt-faced man in suspenders and a fedora was not seen by the naked eye but was present in spirit as he waited patiently for the service to end.
The forsaken countenance worn on Clintâs face as he stood by the roadside appeared mindful. He had followed the crowd back to the road to suggest he too planned to return to the church, which in truthfulness, he had no intention of doing. As the cars and trucks slowly drove past, he dutifully acknowledged each one with a nod or a wave until finally the last vehicle had vanished through the gates onto the boulevard.
South Creek Assembly of God Church, where the funeral had been conducted, was the groupâs destination. A generous smorgasbord of warm foods and desserts had been prepared by the ladies of the church and awaited the funeral-goers. Elise had visited the church twice, both times without Clint. When he called to make her funeral arrangements, the minister graciously offered their services which included a meal in the assembly hall following Eliseâs committal ceremony.
Clint breathed a sigh of relief when the last vehicle motored through the gate. He then turned and scaled the steep hill back to her grave. He could not bring himself to leave Elise. The thought of her alone without him was inconceivable. After thirty years of marriage and never being apart, Clint was drawn to Elise like a moth to a flame.
A host of conflicting emotions welled inside Clint. They can carry on without me, he thought. Iâll see Rusty and Wade and the rest of the crew in the morning on their way out of town. He paused, thinking about his kids. They have each other. Iâll be there for them later, but not tonight.
Like a child, when he reached Elise, Clint broke down and sobbed knowing the mahogany casket was ready to be lowered into the earth. He hugged his body tightly as he leaned against the bier, no longer able to hold back the floodgates of grief he had been masking for the familyâs sake. A reservoir of pent-up anger turned a valve that released a torrent of tears. The weight of his agony drew him into a place darker than the darkest night.
The observer from the mausoleums approached Eliseâs burial vault. The folding chair Clint had used during the service, now behind him, became occupied. Although not seen, the watcher from another realm lingered while Clint worked through his layers of emotions.
As strange as it may have sounded to the ordinary person, in that moment, Clint made the decision to spend the night. Exhaustion had waned the energy required to drive home. He knew the cemetery crew was standing at a distance, waiting on him to leave. As he walked down the hill back to his truck, he nodded at them, indicating they could finish their work.
The hour had grown late, and a cast of long shadows lengthened over the park grounds, producing silhouettes of headstones. A symphony of spring peepers swelled as nightfall descended over Three Pines Park Cemetery.
At last, the grave diggers tossed their tools aside, and with the last bit of topsoil deposited, they used their shoes to pack the soil tightly. While they strolled to their cars, Clint waited in his truck.Â
After the two-man crew drove away, their red taillights enveloped in darkness, Clint grabbed the sleeping bag he kept stashed under the seat of the F-100. He climbed the hill back to the grave, his breath visible in the gradually falling temperatures.
Leaning against a nearby tree, Clint watched as the sun lowered in the west. As twilight descended, sounds played in his headâ indeterminate whispers and sighs evoked from a distant past.
Memories flickered from the pages of time, reminding Clint of what it felt like to be passionate and in love. As the sunset and the minutes ticked by, the stark reality of separation grew stronger. Although Clint assumed it was just the two of themâhe and his Eliseâon their final night together, he was mistaken.
Invisible to human sight, Clint had no idea that a third presenceâthe observerâhad joined the wake.
The Unseen Player by MA Senft is a truly captivating novel that will leave you spellbound from start to finish. This novel is a masterful blend of mystery, supernatural elements, and poignant human drama, all of which are expertly woven together to create a richly textured and deeply satisfying reading experience.
The story follows Clint Reeves, a man who was abandoned by his father when he was just a child. Clint grew up in an orphanage, never knowing why his father left or what became of him. Years later, as an older man, Clint begins experiencing strange visions and ghostly encounters after moving onto his new property. It is only then that he learns the true story of his past and the events that took place the night his father failed to return.
What makes this book so compelling is the way in which Senft navigates the mystical and the everyday, creating a world that is both familiar and otherworldly. Her vivid descriptions of the natural landscape and the supernatural elements that drive the plot forward are expertly crafted, creating an immersive and captivating reading experience that will keep you hooked from start to finish.
As Clint delves deeper into the mystery of his past, he also finds himself drawn into a decades-old crime that he must solve in order to free a restless soul. Along the way, he discovers a life-changing secret, one that will not only change his own life but also the lives of an entire community.
Throughout the novel, Senft expertly explores the themes of family, love, and the unknown, creating a story that is both mysterious and heartwarming. Clint's journey of discovery is rich in detail and expertly crafted, taking readers on a ride that is both exhilarating and emotionally resonant.
Ultimately, The Unseen Player is a story about the power of forgiveness, redemption, and the unbreakable bonds of family. As Clint learns the truth about his past and the events that led to his father's abandonment, he also discovers that even after the worst of times, life is full of surprises and happiness.
The Unseen Player is a beautifully written and deeply satisfying novel that will stay with you long after you've turned the final page. With its compelling storyline, expertly crafted characters, and heartfelt message, this is a book that is not to be missed. If you're a fan of supernatural mysteries, heartwarming family dramas, or just great storytelling, then this is the book for you.