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Welcome to!  You can find out more about Helena and all her friends on this page and in the book!  Her next adventure, Helena and the Haunted House takes place in a New England colonial home built circa 1737!   You can hear more from Helena & friends on Twitter at @USHelenaHill and @HenryGonzalesR2!  Or write to me, her sponsor at .  Enjoy the ride, and don't get ghosted!

Helena & the Haunted Hospital

About the Book...

Teens Helena Hill and Henry Gonzalez-Ross are best buds, students of knowledge, lovers of books, and self-confessed nerds.  When Helena has a literal run-in with college student Diamond Bell, and couch-surfer/musician Kevin Timo Kildare ends up on Helena's living room couch, a comedy of errors is set off that leads the young people to find themselves unwilling (at first!) ghost hunters.  With the help of a deck of tarot cards, some science, and Helena's kind but quirky mother, the group battles a force of evil to free themselves--and some other innocent souls--from earthly--and paranormal-- ties that bind.

Helena and the Haunted Hospital 
by Author Andrea Foster
Helena and the Haunted Hospital by Author Andrea Foster

About Us

I'm Helena Hill.


Helena. My mother named me Helena after Helen of Troy fame. Helen was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and my mom thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world when I was born. She didn’t know I’d turn out not-so- beautiful. Men fought for Helen of Troy. I used to think, the only fighting happened about me was who would get stuck with me on the dodge ball team.  

I live at home with my mom Jessie. She’s a bit of an aging hippie—all sweetness and love and light stuff, but at least, she’s an intellectual one, and she turned me on to the library and books and her hippie sayings like “turn me on”. I love her, because she can be sweet but obstinate. She’s lazy about the right things and obstinate about the right things, too. 

Like, she won’t give in to using plastic, and she insists on composting and recycling and stuff like that. This sometimes creates a problem for me when I want a soda or a pizza, because her version is homemade and not take out.    

And where’s my dad, you ask? I don’t know. My dad was/is an artist living somewhere in the woods of Connecticut, while he let his s.o. take care of him. Not my mom, obviously. This will go on until she gets sick of him and kicks him out for the next one to pick up and get ensnared by. He’s not one to work –or do much art, either. He’s very good at art, almost a Michelangelo type, really, when he does it, but he doesn’t have much get up and go. So, it’s his exes who have that, and they all, including my mom, got up and went, sooner or later.

The (Haunted?) Jeff Davis Hospital


Simon Brown managed the artists’ lofts that were built in an old haunted hospital near downtown. The hospital had been built on a civil war cemetery and had eventually been a place to house the insane. In addition, rumor had it that many people who’d had the plague were buried there on the surrounding grounds. I had gone there with Henry on a “Haunted Houston” tour and couldn’t get the “dead body” energy out of me for a week! Bad news!

I'm Henry Gonzalez-Ross.


That’s technically Henry (Enrique) Stephen (Esteban) Gonzalez-Ross de Houston. That makes me a 7178=God’s perfect knowledge + God’s power to build or destroy, or the equivalent of that old saying “Knowledge is Power”. (You don’t include the Houston, which is a place name, in that, but Houston is a 4, Freeing oneself through Culture, certainly a propos for such a diverse place as our fair city is!)   

I give my Spanish name too, because Enrique is the master number 44—power--and Esteban is a 3 for creativity, making my Spanish name in toto an 8 for power, much better than the crazy 5

of the Ingles version. The truth is I am more like the 5, because my

name really is Henry Stephen Gonzalez-Ross, named after my mother’s father, Henry S. Ross. We use the Spanish surname Gonzalez and hyphenate my mother’s maiden name, in a nod to that side of our culture. 

My mom is Mary Ainsley Ross, which is a 6, but when she got married, she became a 22, which is a master number and one of the most fortuitous ones, known as the “Master Builder”. My dad is a 2, so looks like they are both better together than apart, as 2’s are good for relationship and balance. Also shows how the females always trump the males! Dios Mio!

About Us

I'm Diamond Bell.


Not to be confused with Diamond Lil, who Mae West played in a movie. There is nothing more annoying than old folks bringing up dead and gone histories that the mere mention of my name revives. Your neurons are firing erroneously, people. My last name is Bell; my first name is Diamond. Nothing to do with either a frog-shaped nasal-voiced lascivious actress or the B-24 plane circa WWII, a bomber.   

Au contraire, my mother has always called me her precious gem, but how could she have known that I would become as hard and colorful as my namesake? People call me cold, but is a diamond, with its glistening rainbows, cold? Forged by thousands of years of pressure and heat, could a sliver of a diamond be cold if it can read celluloid disks and cause them to emit symphonies, harmonies, and glorious voices? No, a diamond is about spark and passion. Ah, there is so much more to me!


The (Haunted?) Jeff Davis Hospital


"Mom, that place is the most haunted place in Houston. I hope you didn’t give them any money!”

“Just first and last month’s rent, to get Kevin squared away, dear. He’ll pay me back. Surely, after all the revitalization, the energy there has changed…”

“Mom, the place is on a civil war graveyard! I couldn’t get the ICK off me the last time we went there. How could you do that?”

“Dear, I am sure we can smudge and send any spirits to the light. If you feel better, we will have someone come and douse the place in holy water and bless it.”

“Mom, those Tibetan monks that came to Heights Yoga Spa didn’t help that place, either. Some places, you just can’t help. " 

I'm Kevin Timo Kildare.


That’s me! I’m what they call Black Irish—no one’s quite sure what kind of mongrel my type is—is it Spanish in origin? Gaelic? Or am I one of those “dark invaders” formerly known as the Vikings? 

Truth be told, now I’ve invaded the states, as a musician/adventurer, and with the help of a “couch surfing” website, I am a worldly hitchhiker of sorts, playing a tune in exchange for my room and board.   

My current host, Mrs. Hill, has invited me to join her most eclectic family here in the southern states’ version of the tropics, Texas. Houston, to be exact, which I formerly pronounced 

“how-ston” until I learned on arrival at the airport, after many fits and giggles of the natives, is pronounced “HYEW-ston”. Quite a different affair from what we Paddies thought it was. I had really wanted to go to Dallas—JR and all that, cowboy hats and boots and

the like, but I found Mrs. Hill to be curious, quirky, and accommodating, so who am I to say? 

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