He stood there, red-faced and angry. He was yelling, but I couldn’t hear what he said. In an instant, the entire room had cleared as people ran from the manor. Everyone but the two men and the woman.
It was then that I saw the resemblance between the younger man I’d first seen and the angry man. Father and son.
They were arguing, but I couldn’t hear. Suddenly, the older man pulled out a pistol and aimed it at his son, then at the other man.
The two men rushed from the room, the old man laughing as he watched them flee.
I slowly began to wake, but my head was full of cobwebs. I could feel the malice from my dream like it was inside me. I related to the man’s poor son, but right now, it felt more like I was the father. Hate coursed through me. Anger… “I lost her for what? A queer?”
I realized I was hearing the man’s thoughts.Lost who?Then realization dawned… the young man’s mother. The old man hated his son because his wife had died in childbirth. My heart ached for them both, then broke for the son. Being born into a life where one parent dies giving you life, and the other hates you for having survived. My momentary sympathy for the old man vanished just as quickly.What a fucking asshole.
My mind remained foggy when I felt myself turn and saw an image of Evan. Anger… well, more than anger, a mix of emotions surged through me. Attraction, longing, resentment, all wrapped together. I wanted to kill her…Her?No, Evan was a man… I was losing track of who I was seeing. One minute it was Evan, the next a woman. The woman at the party. The woman his son had loved like a mother.
Fuck, I thought,what is happening to me?
9
Evan
Ididn’t want togo back and face the entity, and certainly not on my own. Fuck, he scared me more than anything I’d ever faced before. There was something about him, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but I felt it down to my core. He was angry, and somehow it was because of me. He was angry with me.
I had no idea why, just that he’d seen me as something to hate or, more accurately, to destroy.
Cary was snoring on his couch, and I justified sticking around in case he needed more help. I hadn’t intended to stay in his cottage this long, let alone watch him sleep. I thought about returning to The Pink Palace, where I’d stayed after being released from the hospital, although I was quickly going through my limited funds. I had no intention of sleeping in the manor again, and I’d even contemplated leaving my belongings behind because I didn’t even want to venture inside now.
As my mind wandered, my gaze landed back on Cary, who didn’t appear to be having a restful sleep. He genuinely might still need my help, though. His shoulder was scratched like you’dexpect to see in a werewolf movie. There hadn’t been quite as much blood, but before we got the poultice on him, the welts were growing in size way too fast for my comfort.
This felt so surreal. I… was I losing my mind? I shook my head. No, no… this was real. I’d seen the ghost. I’d seen the welts down the back of Cary’s shoulder. Hell, I’d felt them when applying the poultice. And I sure as hell hadn’t thrown myself against the boiler. My body ached from it.
Only then did I realize, Cary had saved me. He’d literally put himself between me and evil incarnate. As a result, he’d been wounded. How could I not stay and help the man?
It felt a little awkward being in Cary’s home when he was asleep, though, so I decided to check out the little lake with the swans. It was warmer here than on the top of the hill, almost like the area was protected somehow.
Maybe with all the old-growth forest surrounding it, it was.
I sat on a small bench overlooking the lake and enjoyed the soft touch of the sun that continued to warm me, assuring me that even after the horrible encounter, the world was still a good place. There were still good places around, including this little spot.
The swans must’ve been used to being fed, because the moment they realized I was sitting on the bench, they swam toward me. I would have to remember to bring food for them if I ever came back this way.
During the winters back home, we’d sometimes drive out to the Potomac River on Sundays when we were all a little stir-crazy from being locked inside for too long. The Tundra Swans would often fly in and swim around the marshes not far from our home.
Watching these swans, although much more elegant with their curved necks than the Tundras were, made me homesick. Had Imade a mistake with all this? I’d left it all behind, ended the lease on my dad and grandma’s old trailer house.
I’d even left my long-term relationship with… well, no use remembering the asshole. I knew, at the very least, I did right by dumping him. I should’ve done that long ago.
I didn’t know if I’d done right by moving here. I grew up halfway between Richmond, Virginia, and Washington, DC. Where was I now? On the Oregon coast, where I didn’t know a soul and there were so few people, they didn’t even have a Costco nearby. How did broke people go out to eat if they couldn’t go to Costco for a buck-fifty hotdog?
I chuckled at my silly reasoning, which helped lighten my mood a bit. I wasn’t a millionaire, and my people weren’t made to live in fancy-ass manor houses, even if they weren’t haunted by evil ghosts that wanted to kill them.
We considered ourselves lucky to find a nice home in the middle of nowhere and not have to live in an old decrepit shack, which might’ve been our fate if we’d stayed in Oregon. Last I’d heard from my mother, which was ages ago, that was exactly where she’d ended up—some derelict trailer just outside Portland.
The swans swam away now that they’d figured out I had nothing to feed them. The grass had begun to green up, so I assumed they had plenty to eat anyway, although I wondered if maybe Cary fed them.
Remembering him, I rose and turned back toward the cottage. Damn, it was so sweet. Someone had recently painted it. The cheerful yellow walls accented by dark wood suggested what I thought was called Tudor style. I had once dated an architect, and the man spent an entire date pointing out houses and naming the styles.
I only remembered Tudor because I was obsessed with all things Anne Boleyn. Well, not just her, King Henry VIII and allhis wives, but Anne especially. Why? I had no idea. Some gay men tended to obsess over Greek gods, or Diva singers. I went more for British royalty.
While I couldn’t wait to get rid of the possessed manor and all the drama associated with it, I wondered about this quaint cottage. I’d have some money in my pocket when the estate sold.Ifit sold, considering it was haunted by an evil entity that wanted to kill me and maimed others. Not that we’d advertise that in the listing.
