Chapter 3
Chapter Three
D ash stood at the gates of Blackwood Manor. The moon was nearly full, but it wasn't high enough to illuminate the grounds. Not that he really wanted to see what things looked like in the moonlight.
He'd sent Slate a text, glad they'd remembered at the last minute to exchange numbers. The gates were closed, and Dash had zero intentions of climbing the fence. He wasn't even sure he wanted to walk through the gate at night.
Worried he'd come up short on his first day, he’d put his head down and focused on work the entire afternoon. It also helped him forget he had to visit Blackwood at night.
Waiting for Slate to respond was borderline nerve-wracking. Dash wasn't superstitious, but he freely admitted being a bit uneasy. Unless he suddenly started to hear voices, there was something weird about Blackwood Manor. He was equally sure Slate and Liv knew something they weren't telling Dash.
A smart Dash would've headed home, but Slate messed with his head. They hadn't discussed sexuality, but Dash was certain Slate liked guys. Maybe not exclusively, but enough that he'd sent signals even someone as dense as Dash recognized. Most were probably to get Dash to help, but their first meeting, Slate held hands a bit too long for him to be straight. He also didn't know Dash was a software engineer.
None of which explained why Dash hadn't left already. Doing something to impress the hot guy was only a few steps below prostitution. Besides, Dash didn't do relationships. His parent’s divorce was ugly, and they were bitter, lonely people ever since. He'd rather stay single than be hurt, angry, and miserable.
A light came on over the front door, and Slate popped out, his silhouette backlit by the soft glow inside. The new vintage-inspired outfit he wore blurred the lines between past and present. How many of those different sets of Victorian clothing did he own? Dash got that it added to the manor's timeless atmosphere, but the house wasn't open for business yet.
"Right on time," Slate called out. "That's a good sign." He flashed a knee-weakening smile, and Dash couldn't remember why he hadn't wanted to visit.
"Precision is important when writing code," Dash said as he waited for Slate to unlock the gate.
"Good attitude." He pulled Dash into a brief hug before motioning toward the manor. "Ready to work some tech magic?"
Dash hadn't managed expectations well enough if Slate thought he could magically solve Blackwood's tech problems. It could be a combination of things, code being one of them. "Let's see what we're dealing with first before we start calling anything magic."
Behind them, the gate creaked its way shut, closing with a clink of metal on metal. The sound gave Dash an 'oh shit' moment. This was what happened when he let his dick think for him.
"I'm really glad you agreed to help," Slate said. "It gets lonely in the house. Most nights it's just me."
Another ambiguous comment Dash couldn't figure out. "How long have you lived here?"
"Since I was twenty-two." Slate opened the front door and let Dash go in first. "My grandmother left me the house when my parents didn't want to take over the business."
"If this is too nosey, tell me, but how old are you?"
"Not too nosey," Slate said. "Twenty-seven last month. Have you had dinner?"
There hadn't been any mention of eating together, but Dash hadn't wanted to spoil his appetite if it turned into a dinner date. "Does a protein bar on the walk over count?"
"Definitely not." Slate frowned. "Why would you eat those? They taste awful."
Most nights, after a run, Dash didn't have the motivation to cook or even order take out. "I run a lot. They help deliver energy over an extended period."
"I had a hunch you wouldn’t eat, so I ordered take out." Slate led them into a formal dining room. Under an amazing crystal chandelier, the table was set for twelve. "Liv's parents own the Chinese restaurant in town. It's pretty good, especially if you know the owners."
They passed through the dining room, down a long hallway, and came to a large, well-lit kitchen. Two place settings were at one end of a table capable of seating at least eight. Slate had the food already on the table. There was way more than the two of them could eat.
"I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a variety."
Dash's first thought was how rich was Slate. The haunted house couldn't support the upkeep, much less Slate. He pushed that wildly inappropriate notion aside. "Thank you. That's very kind of you. I eat most things, so I'm sorry you bought so much."
"No worries, we can eat it later in the week." Slate pointed to a chair and continued to the large restaurant size refrigerator. "I have water, lemonade, wine, and some soda. I'd avoid the sodas. They're all diet because Liv doesn't want all the empty calories."
Dash had been staring at Slate's butt and almost forgot to answer. At least he could play it off like he was deciding. "Water or lemonade are fine. Whichever you're having."
"Both." Slate brought two containers to the table. "I like lemonade but it's too sweet, so I cut it with water."
For something that wasn't a date, Dash couldn't shake the date like vibe Slate was throwing off. "Then both it is for me too."
"Excellent choice." Slate filled each glass half with water and the rest with lemonade.
They filled their plates, and Slate smiled when Dash picked up a pair of chop sticks. "What?" Dash asked
"Practically no one in town can use chop sticks." He pointed his sticks at Dash. "You're the perfect dinner companion for tonight's meal. If you'd used the fork I'd probably have cringed the whole time."
Dash found it funny that something he and all his friends did in the city made Slate so happy. He wasn't complaining. Anything he did that made Slate happy was a good thing.
They spent the next ten minutes eating without talking. Slate encouraged Dash to have more, but he declined. "If I eat too much, I'll fall asleep before we finish."
"That's okay," Slate said before putting a piece of chicken in his mouth. "I have plenty of guest rooms."
Dash laughed it off, but he wasn't sure he could spend a night in Blackwood Manor. "A guest room won't get the work done."
"Tell me more about what you do." Slate leaned forward with genuine interest.
Dash shrugged. "It's mostly problem-solving. Finding ways to make systems more efficient and reduce energy consumption. Not nearly as exciting as running a haunted house."
"It's interesting," Slate said. "It's also lonely. Small towns don't have the best dating pools, especially when you’re gay."
Dash nearly choked on his food. After coughing for a few seconds, he noticed Slate lost his ever present smile. Pointing and hoping Slate got the message to hold on, Dash took a drink to get himself under control. "Sorry, I didn't expect that. Let me counter that with, cities have more gay men, but most just like to play games."
Their eyes met, and Dash watched Slate's smile return. "I wasn't sure if you were too, so I figured outing myself was the fastest way to resolve things."
Dash grinned at how brazen Slate was. "You don't like to tap dance do you."
"Truth, I learned as a kid, but I sucked so I gave it up," he said wiggling his eyebrows. "I tried feeling you out, but I didn't get a clear signal, so I tried being direct. It worked."
Dash laughed. "Yes it did."
They finished eating and Dash help clean up. It was a tiny slice of domestic life Dash wanted but avoided because he was afraid of turning into his parents. "Thanks again. This was nice."
"My pleasure, and I totally mean it," Slate said. "Other than Liv, I haven't had anyone over for dinner in years. It was nice."
They made their way to the control room, and Dash noticed how different the house felt at night. Shadows seemed to move on their own accord, and more than once, he could have sworn he heard whispers just at the edge of his hearing.
"Is it always this... atmospheric at night?" Dash asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Slate chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring in the gloom. "The manor does have a certain charm after dark. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."
In the control room, Dash immersed himself in the technology, his fingers flying over keyboards as he diagnosed issues and proposed solutions. The setup was more complex than he'd initially thought, a mix of modern equipment and older systems that seemed almost custom-built.
"Your main issue is integration," Dash explained, pointing to a diagram he'd sketched. "You've got newer programs trying to communicate with legacy systems. It's creating bottlenecks and causing the glitches you've been experiencing."
Slate leaned in close to peer at the diagram, his arm brushing against Dash's. The contact sent a jolt through Dash, but it wasn't welcome. Slate wanted someone to share his life with, and Dash didn't do commitments.
"So, you can fix it?" Slate asked, his lips near Dash's ear.
Dash swallowed, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on how close Slate was standing. "I think so," he replied, his voice slightly hoarse. "Your system's outdated, and can't handle some of the more complex programs. I can try to create some custom interfaces to help bridge the gaps. In theory it should work."
Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a cold breeze swept through the room. One of the monitors sparked, causing both of them to jump back. The acrid smell of electrical burn filled the air.
"That's new," Slate muttered, looking concerned. "It's never done that before."
As they worked to get the systems back online, the strange occurrences continued. Cold spots appeared and disappeared, tools seemed to move when they weren't looking, and at one point, they heard what sounded like a woman's laughter echoing through the halls.
Dash tried to rationalize each event. "Old houses settle all the time," he said after a particularly loud creak. "And the temperature fluctuations are probably just drafts." But even as he spoke, he found himself less and less convinced by his own explanations.
He caught Slate watching him with a mix of amusement and something else he couldn't quite identify. Was it concern? Or maybe hope?
"Still think it's all smoke and mirrors?" Slate asked, his voice low and challenging.
Before Dash could respond, the door burst open. Liv rushed in carrying an arm full of old books and papers. Her sudden entrance broke the tension that had been building between them.
"Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "But I really need to show you something."
She spread the documents out on a nearby table, the yellowed papers and leather-bound books filled the air with the musty scent of history. "Look here," she said, indicating an old sepia-toned photograph. "This is Esmerelda Blackwood on the night she first opened the haunted house. And see that shadow behind her? It's not cast by anything visible in the photo."
Dash leaned in, his skepticism warring with his curiosity. The shadow did seem oddly placed, and its form was disturbingly humanoid. "It could be a double exposure," he suggested, but his voice lacked conviction.
As they pored over the documents, the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Dash could see his breath misting in the air. The lights began to flicker more intensely, and a low, mournful moan emanated from the walls.
Dash had just finished rationalizing everything, when all the equipment in the room sprang to life at once. Monitors displayed static and strange symbols, speakers emitted high-pitched whines that made them all wince, and in the center of the room, a swirling vortex of mist began to form.
Dash stumbled back. This was beyond any explanation he could muster. The mist seemed to have depth and substance, swirling in patterns that defied physics. He looked to Slate and Liv, expecting to see the same shock on their faces, but instead saw a mix of excitement and apprehension.
As quickly as it had appeared, the vortex dissipated, leaving the room in eerie silence. The only sound was their heavy breathing and the faint hum of the equipment cooling down. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and something he couldn't identify.
"What... what was that?" Dash finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands shook, so he clenched them into fists to steady himself.
Slate and Liv exchanged a look before Slate turned to Dash. "That was just the beginning. Still think you can explain everything with logic and science?"
Dash opened his mouth to argue, but he had no words. As he looked around the room, at the now-calm equipment, at Liv's excited face, and at Slate's challenging gaze, he realized that his neat, orderly world had just been turned upside down.
And despite the fear and confusion, a small part of him was thrilled by the prospect of unraveling this mystery alongside Slate and Liv. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Okay," he said, meeting Slate's gaze. "I'm listening. Tell me what's really going on in this house."