Epilogue - Wolfe
ONE YEAR LATER
T he screams echoing through Marsden Manor on Halloween night are music to my ears.
Well, most of them. The blood-curdling shriek from the Crimson Chamber sounds genuinely terrified, which means Howie's new pneumatic werewolf is doing its job a little too well.
"That's the third person tonight who's literally run out of that room," Ash observes from beside me, her camera capturing the chaos as visitors flee past us in delighted terror. "I think Howie outdid himself."
"He's going to be insufferable," I mutter, fighting a smile.
I stand in the main hallway of my haunted manor, watching my wife work her magic with a camera, occasionally greeting guests who recognize me as the infamous Beast of Marsden Manor.
My wife. The word still sends a thrill through me.
"Oh, perfect!" Ash exclaims, dropping to one knee to capture a group of teenagers posing with our life-sized Victorian mourners.
One of the kids notices me watching and nudges his friend. "Dude, that's him. The Beast. "
I raise an eyebrow, letting the shadows play across my features. Tonight I'm wearing my mask—not to hide, but as part of the atmosphere. The half-mask has become less armor and more costume piece, something I can take on and off without the crushing weight of shame.
I lean closer the boys. “If you stare too long, your face will melt!" I rasp, ripping off my mask and laughing maniacally.
The teenagers scatter with horrified squeals, and Ash laughs, that bright sound that never fails to warm something deep in my chest.
“You're enjoying that way too much,” she accuses, standing and winding her arm through mine. “It’s kinda morbid.”
"Says the woman who made me pose with fake blood dripping from my hands for last month's marketing images.”
"That was art," she insists, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "And it got us three more bookings for private events."
She's not wrong. Since Ash's original feature in Thrill Seeker Magazine —complete with the unmasked photo—Marsden Manor has become the premier haunted attraction in the Northwest, surpassing our previous numbers by thousands. Next year's Halloween season already has a waiting list.
But more importantly, that photo changed everything for me.
Seeing myself through Ash's lens, helped me realize I'd been haunting my own life long before I created this manor of monsters.
Outside, the crowds mill about the grounds, couples clinging to one another throughout the hedge maze while kids dart through legs to grab candy from the haunted snack cart.
There’s a pumpkin carving contest and an apple-bobbing station.
It’s remarkable how much we’ve already expanded with plans for even more.
"BOSS!" Howie comes careening around the corner, his warlock cape flapping behind him. "The werewolf just made someone pee themselves! Like, actually pee! It was glorious! "
"Please tell me you're cleaning that up," Dev says, appearing behind him with their tablet in hand. They're dressed as a Victorian undertaker tonight, somehow making it the pinnacle of fashion. "We can't have bodily fluids ruining the vibe."
"Already on it," Ghost materializes from the shadows. He's wearing his usual all-black ensemble, but has added a white bowtie and vampire fangs for the occasion. "Lee's got the mop and the enzyme cleaner."
"I knew that wolf was too realistic," Lee grumbles as he passes, mop and bucket in hand. Despite his complaints, I know he loves it. He’s become something of a legend himself, with guests swearing he's actually a ghost who's haunted the property for generations.
"Meeting in the library in twenty," Dev announces, checking their tablet. "We need to discuss the Thanksgiving horror dinner theater proposal."
"Thanksgiving horror?" Ash perks up. "Please tell me there will be zombie turkeys."
"I can make that happen," Howie says immediately, already pulling out his phone to make notes. "Oh! What if the turkey comes back to life and attacks the Pilgrims? We could have gravy that looks like blood and?—"
"Twenty minutes," Dev interrupts firmly, and Howie sighs.
As my team disperses back to their stations, Ash tugs on my hand. "Come on, I want to show you something before the meeting."
She leads me through the manor, past rooms filled with happy screams and theatrical scares. In the Portrait Gallery, we pause to watch two young girls jump and scurry away as the paintings' eyes follow their movement.
“Remember when the fire lock system trapped us?” Ash asks softly.
“How could I forget?” I pull her against my side. "You saw my face for the first time."
“And you saw me here ,” she counters, laying a hand over her chest.
It's true. Ash had been fearless in a way that had nothing to do with my scars and everything to do with her heart. She'd seen past every defense I'd built, every mask I'd worn, straight to the man underneath who was desperate to be loved, but terrified to hope for it.
"Where are we going?" I ask as she leads me up the grand staircase.
"You'll see."
We end up in the main turret, which we've converted into a photography gallery. Ash's work covers the walls showcasing her stunning pictures of the manor in all seasons, behind-the-scenes shots of the crew, and artistic portraits of our various monsters and ghouls.
But the newest addition stops me in my tracks.
There, in the center of the main wall, hangs a photo I've never seen before.
It's us…on our wedding day, three months ago. But it’s not one of the formal shots our photographer took. This one is different.
In the image, I'm lifting Ash into my arms outside the manor, her white dress flowing around us like mist. My face is turned toward hers, completely unmasked, and I'm smiling—really smiling.
Ash has her arms wrapped around my neck, laughing at something I'd whispered.
The sunset behind us covers everything in a gold and rose hue, making the manor look less like a house of horrors and more like something from a fairy tale.
“When did you—” My voice catches.
“Willa took it,” Ash explains, coming to stand beside me. “Right after the ceremony, when you were carrying me to the reception. She just happened to capture it.”
I stare at the photo, seeing what anyone looking at it would see: a man in love. Not a monster, not a beast, not a collection of scars. Just a man holding his whole world in his arms.
"It's perfection," I manage.
"I thought so too. And I’m totally jealous that an amateur got that one. Lucky duck." She wraps her arms around my waist, smiling. "I wanted to hang it before tonight. Our first Halloween as a married couple deserved something special."
I turn to face her, holding her face in my hands. "You're what's special. You changed everything, Ash. This place, this life…none of it means anything without you."
"Smooth talker," she teases, but her eyes are glistening. "Keep that up and I might let you carry me to bed later."
"Let me?" I growl playfully, backing her against the wall. "Woman, I'll carry you anywhere I please."
"Mmm…I love when my beast goes alpha," she murmurs, then yelps with laughter as I immediately sweep her up into my arms. "Wolfe! We have a meeting!"
"They can wait a sec." I capture her mouth in a kiss that's full of promise for what I plan to do to her later when we’re alone.
When we finally break apart, we need a moment to compose ourselves.
The library’s crowded when we arrive. Dev has spreadsheets ready, Howie's sketching zombie turkey designs, Ghost is reviewing security footage, and Lee's pretending to nap in his chair.
"Before we start," Ash announces, "I have news."
Everyone turns to look at her, and she suddenly seems nervous. My brave, fearless wife actually fidgets with her camera strap.
"I got a call from National Geographic," she says in a rush. "They want me to do a photo essay on 'American Gothic: The Art of Modern Horror Attractions.' They specifically requested Marsden Manor as the centerpiece."
The room erupts in congratulations, but I can't speak. I'm too busy staring at my wife in awe.
"When?" I finally manage.
"Next month. They want to capture us preparing for Christmas horror season." She bites her lip. "Is that okay? I know it's busy, and?—"
I cut her off with a kiss that has Ghost making exaggerated gagging noises.
"You're just jealous because your vampire fangs are scaring away potential dates."
"I'll have you know these fangs are very popular with the ladies," Ghost replies with a hiss.
"Hello! Hello!" Willa's voice comes from the doorway. "Are we interrupting?"
She and Dash stand there with little Brynn, who's dressed as a tiny witch and clutching a dragon-shaped candy bucket.
"Uncle Wolfie!" Brynn shrieks, running straight for me. I catch her and swing her up into my arms.
"And what are you supposed to be, little monster?" I ask.
"I'm a witch who turns beasts into princes!" she announces, tapping my mask with her plastic wand. "POOF! Now you're handsome!"
"He was already handsome," Ash protests, tickling Brynn and making her giggle.
"Now you're more handsome," she adds..
"Can't argue with that logic," Willa says with a shrug, as Dash claps me on the shoulder.
Dash and I have become friends over the past year, bonding over many things, including our shared appreciation for the women who changed our lives. He’s also introduced me to the thriving veteran community here in Deepwood, and I’ve even attended some events.
"The place looks fantastic," Willa tells Ash, hugging her tightly. "That photo you posted of the new Edgar Allan Poe room gave me literal chills."
"That's the point," Ash laughs. "Though Wolfe's talking about adding a whole Lovecraft wing next year."
"Budget permitting," Dev interjects. "Which brings us to our meeting?—"
"Meeting's canceled," I announce suddenly. Everyone turns to stare at me. "It's Halloween, we're with family, and the manor's running smoothly. We can talk business tomorrow."
"Who are you and what have you done with Wolfe?" Howie demands. "The real Wolfe would never cancel a meeting."
"The real Wolfe has learned there are more important things than business," I say, setting Brynn down. "Like watching his friends and family enjoy Halloween in the most haunted attraction in Montana."
"I like this Wolfe," Lee comments from his chair. "Less growling."
"I still growl," I protest.
"Mostly in the bedroom," Ash murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. The little hellion.
We spend the rest of the evening giving Willa, Dash, and Brynn a private tour, complete with behind-the-scenes demonstrations of our effects.
Brynn is fascinated by everything, declaring each room "the best one ever " until we reach the next.
When Howie shows her how the werewolf works (from a safe distance), she claps with delight and asks if she can have one for her bedroom.
"Absolutely not," Willa says firmly, while Dash mutters something about "maybe a smaller one."
As midnight approaches and the last guests leave, screaming and laughing into the night, our makeshift family gathers in the dining room.
My wife sits beside me, her hand in mine, surrounded by the people who've become our family. Brynn’s fast asleep on a settee near the window.
Ghost tells war stories that have Dash riveted.
Dev and Willa debate the merits of various horror authors.
Howie shows me and Ash the upgrades he wants to do to the computer system.
And Lee pretends to disapprove of everything though I know he’s secretly enjoying the havoc.
"A toast," I say, raising my glass. "To Marsden Manor," I begin, then pause. "No. To family."
"And to love," Ash adds softly, her eyes shining. "To the man who proved that every beast deserves a happily ever after."
"And to zombie turkeys!" Howie says, making everyone laugh.
"To zombie turkeys," we all agree, clinking glasses.