Chapter 6
Chapter Six
D ash stirred, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. As consciousness fully returned, memories of the previous night flooded back. He hadn’t known what to expect when they got back to Blackwood Manor, but it had been nice.
They held hands and talked about trivial things that had nothing to do with supernatural events or what was happening between them. Once back at the manor, they sat in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate and pretending nothing weird had happened or would in the coming days. Slate brought up the computer system, telling Dash the haunted house actually did rely on tricks because no one could predict the spirits. Dash agreed to look at it in the morning.
Slate showed Dash to a guest room, gave him towels and some soap to wash off the face paint, and ended with a sweet, but mostly chaste goodnight kiss. Dash couldn’t decide if he was upset nothing else happened or glad. The old him would be disappointed, because sex was all that Dash would’ve wanted. The idea they’d wait made no sense. Wait for what? Dash didn’t do strings or relationships.
The current version wasn’t so clear on his motivation. He didn’t mind waiting because there was a promise of more to come. The fact he hadn’t been disappointed was proof enough Dash had changed, at least a little.
Whatever they were, spending the night at Blackwood Manor was a significant step. Toward what, he couldn’t say.
Dash stretched, his fingers brushing against the intricately carved headboard. Despite the lingering unease about the supernatural events that seemed to be escalating around him, he smiled. He could tell himself he didn’t do relationships, but he wouldn’t deny he liked Slate. A lot.
“Great," Dash muttered to himself, "I've officially crossed into Twilight Zone territory. Next thing you know, I'll be picking out curtains for the haunted house."
The smell of coffee and bacon lured Dash out of bed. He put on the clothes from last night, because they hadn’t progressed to the stage where he felt comfortable going to breakfast in just his boxers.
Slate was in the kitchen, looking unfairly attractive in rumpled pajamas and bedhead. He grinned when Dash entered the kitchen.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Slate slid a mug of coffee across the counter. “Sleep well?”
Dash nodded, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. “Better than expected, given the, uh, unique ambiance of this place. No midnight ghost parties or demonic possessions, so I'd call it a win.”
Slate's smile faltered slightly. “About that. I know things have been intense lately. With the haunted house, the supernatural stuff, us...” He gestured vaguely between them. “I just want to make sure you're okay with all of this.”
Dash took a sip of coffee, considering his words carefully. “It's a lot to process. I’m not sure how I feel about the strange things, but I'm glad to be here with you. Though I'm pretty sure this isn't what they meant by 'small town charm' in the job description."
“Not that I had anything to do with the job posting, but you’re probably correct.” Slate’s joyful expression wasn’t totally back, but it had improved. “Promise me if stuff gets too crazy for you, that you’ll tell me? I don’t want it to stop what’s happening between us.”
The two seemed inextricably entwined, but he understood Slate’s concern. He didn’t want one to derail the other either. “Deal,” Dash said. “But can we at least hold off updating our relationship status on social media for a little bit?”
Slate laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You really don’t understand small towns, do you? Mrs. Finch and her gossip network are way more powerful than social media.”
Judging by the way everyone reacted to the two of them last night, he had no doubts about the accuracy of Slate’s assessment.
Slate put a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of Dash. “I probably should’ve checked to see if this was okay, but I didn’t want to wake you,” Slate said. “If you don’t eat eggs or meat, I have oatmeal and cereal.”
Dash found it sweet that Slate was so concerned. He picked up a piece of crispy bacon and took a bite. “This is so perfect, it’s like you know me. Even the bacon is done the way I like it.”
Slate’s smile faltered as he set his breakfast down and sat next to Dash. “I know you don’t totally believe in things, but the dance last night… most people around here swear it’s real.”
He stopped chewing to sort out his emotions. Before the dance, Slate had warned Dash and then joked that Dash didn’t believe in myths. If the legend were true, Slate hadn’t really deceived Dash, but he had encouraged them to dance.
If Dash’s soul had to be entwined with someone, he was glad it was Slate.
He put his hand over Slate’s. “If you’re worried I regret dancing with you, I don’t. You’re one of the nicest, most considerate guys I know. And you’re super-hot.”
Pink colored Slate’s cheeks and Dash thought it adorable how bashful Slate acted. The moment, like so many between them, was interrupted by a shadow passing across a window, followed by the floorboards creaking, and finally, the temperature dropped. Slate’s body stiffened, a subtle reminder of the weight he carried as the guardian of Blackwood Manor.
“For a guy who runs a haunted house, you're too tense.” Dash smiled. “Shouldn’t I be the one to jump when things go bump in the night?"
Slate's smile was a mix of amusement and something deeper, almost sad. “They’re only restless spirits, ancient curses, and the occasional demonic entity. You know, small town stuff.”
If that was supposed to calm Dash, it failed. “I’ll keep that in mind. So is the equipment really an issue or was that a ploy to have Saturday breakfast together?”
“That’s real,” Slate said, finally starting to eat. “We can work on it after I clean up and get dressed.”
T he weekend flew by in a whirlwind of trial and error. Dash resolved most of the issues with a simple program to force Slate’s older machines to accept the latest updates. A few issues, however, had no tech-related solution that Dash could find.
Slate invited Dash to spend Saturday and Sunday night at the manor. “So we can work as late as we want,” he’d said. Dash’s cynical nature wanted to call bullshit, but he didn’t because Slate had given Dash his own room. Once he squashed his jaded side he realized Slate was lonely. Even if they weren’t sleeping together, they kept each other company.
Checking his work log, Dash was surprised how productive he’d been considering it was a Monday. After three days and nights, the creaking boards, strange sounds, and odd temperature changes had mostly become background noises. The only distraction was Slate, and Dash welcomed those interruptions.
“Ready to hit the library?” Slate said.
Dash smiled as he admired Slate leaning casually against the door frame. The Victorian clothes fit well, showing off his muscular frame. Dash wondered what Slate looked like without his clothes. Maybe one day.
“Sure. I’m curious what’s so great about the place that it’s practically Liv’s home.”
“Trust me, it’s not the ambiance.” He pushed off the wall. “Liv loves her books more than people. You and I are her only friends.”
The weather had turned colder and even the short walk from the manor to the library chilled Dash to his bones. He forgot to bring his heavy coat from his apartment foolishly thinking the nice October weather would continue.
Inside the library, Dash kept his coat on longer, trying to thaw out. A pair of hands grabbed his upper arms and rubbed up and down. “I should’ve loaned you an overcoat,” Slate said. “We can stop by your apartment if you’d like to spend the night at the manor tonight.”
Dash had expected Slate would ask again, and this time he wanted a better reason than they could work late. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but why do you really want me to stay in your house?”
He stopped rubbing, but Slate kept his hands on Dash’s arms. If he gave Dash the same answer, Dash was going to sleep at his apartment. It wasn’t just so they had more time to work. You didn’t kiss your assistant good night, or make him breakfast every morning.
Slate pulled him around so they were face-to-face. “I like you, Dash. Even if we’re not a couple, I enjoy waking up to make you breakfast and then eat together. You banish the loneliness, and make the manor more of a home than a place.”
He struggled to maintain eye contact, but Dash gave him major points for continuously trying. “Do I make you nervous?”
“Not even a little,” he said with conviction. “I might be an extrovert, but when it comes to relationships I don’t have the same confidence. You also mentioned you’ve avoided anything serious, so I don’t want to push you. I’d rather have you around as a friend than not at all.”
Slate’s confession exposed everything he hid from the world, and it left Dash feeling guilty. He made Slate settle for some morsels because he’d said he didn’t want a boyfriend or more.
Dash pulled him into a hug and buried his head in the crook of Slate’s neck. “I like you too, Slate. I have my own issues to deal with, but I like waking up knowing your there. You’re beautiful, inside and out. If you can be patient with me, I’d like to try to be more than friends.”
His body shook as Dash knocked down a wall he’d used for years to protect himself. Maybe that dance had linked their souls, because he’d never told anyone he wanted to be their boyfriend.
Slate squeezed him until Dash stopped shaking. Pulling away, his smile was back. “I can be as patient as you need.”
Staring into Slate’s eyes, Dash wanted to kiss him, but wasn’t sure he should. Was that too fast after he said he needed to go slow.
“For the love of pumpkins, would you kiss already?”
They turned and Liv stood in the archway, shaking her head. Slate looked ready to snark back, but Dash used his fingers to cup Slate’s face. He pulled Slate closer and kissed him. It wasn’t a totally innocent kiss, but they wouldn’t get arrested for lewd behavior in a library.
Dash glanced at Liv. “Happy?”
“More than you know,” she said without the slightest hint of snark Dash expected. “Now, can we please get on with the research?”
The trio spent the next two hours poring over dusty tomes and microfiche records. Dash wasn’t always sure what he was looking for, but most of what he read were mundane facts about life in a small farming community in central New York State.
Liv's enthusiasm was infectious as she connected seemingly unrelated events. They were about to take a break for dinner when she put several pages of notes on the table.
“Look at this pattern," she exclaimed, spreading out a timeline across the table. "Every Blue Moon in October coincides with a spike in paranormal activity. And not just minor occurrences. Most were full-scale supernatural events."
Remembering what Madame Zelda said, Dash wasn’t thrilled with the news. “Any chance there won’t be a Blue Moon this October?”
“Sorry, handsome,” Liv said. “The next one will be at the end of the month.”
Dash sat back in his chair and a printout of newspaper from 1924 fell to the ground. Picking it up, his eyes caught on a familiar name in the middle of the page. “Reeves? Who is Ezra Reeves?’
The other two crowded next to him, and Slate read the page out loud. “Ezra Reeves, son of the town’s founding Reeves family, disappeared after leaving his wife and infant son to deal with an undisclosed emergency. It goes on to say the town continued to search for one of its leading citizens. Reeves’ wife, Fiona, blamed Esmerelda Blackwood, claiming she was a witch and sacrificed her husband’s soul as part of a demonic ritual. Gentry Blackwood, Esmerelda’s husband dismissed the accusation, stating quote. ‘Poor Fiona has lost her mind from her grief. Her ridiculous allegations are the ravings of a mad woman.’ Then it gives more details about Fiona and her son Henry.”
“Henry,” Dash said in unison with Slate. “My great grandfather’s name was Henry Reeves.”
The revelation was too much of a coincidence. Slate said EcoCode had been searching for the right person. They must’ve targeted him because he was the descendant of Ezra Reeves. The monster pay raise, the quirky condition that resulted in him having to live in Oriskany Falls, and his familiy’s dislike of Halloween all made sense.
He glanced at Slate, who was watching him with concern.
“Don't worry, Slate. I’m good.” Dash flashed a silly grin. “And I promise not to call you a witch or start brewing potions in your basement. Do you have a basement? It’s an old house, so it should, right?”
Slate's laugh was soft, but genuine. “Yes we have a basement, but it’s not suitable for potion making.”
“Speaking of food,” Liv said. “Let’s go eat. I sent Dad our order.”
S now had started to fall when Dash left his apartment and headed back to the manor. After their talk at the library two days earlier, Slate had asked him to stay until they fixed the house’s tech system. Dash smiled at the idea of deliberately sabotaging the system so he could stay longer. Then again, given the persistent unexplained glitches, Slate might have thought of that already.
Dash wondered what they’d do if they couldn’t fix the systems in time. The haunted house was as much an Oriskany Falls tradition as any he’d experienced. Failure would gut Slate and Dash wouldn’t let that happen. Finding a solution, however, would need to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, Dash had other plans.
For the last five nights, he’d slept in the guest room. Alone. Slate had been respectful, but Dash wanted to take the next step. Even if all they did was sleep, Dash wanted to spend the night in the same bed. Not that he’d turn down sex, but his true motive was to fall asleep together.
He turned the corner, and unexpectedly saw Slate heading his way. Dash smiled when their eyes met.
“Darn,” Slate said when they met. “I thought I had time to meet you at your place. Figured you could show me around.”
Meeting Dash at his apartment was sweet, but he suspected Slate had a different plan in mind. “We can go back now if you’d like, or I can show you tomorrow. Maybe you could spent the night? I don’t have a guest room, or even a second bed, but we can figure it out.”
Slate laughed and put his arm around Dash’s shoulder as they headed for the manor. “I was trying to find a good way to ask if we could sleep in the same bed, and you stumbled into the suggestion.”
His hunch confirmed, Dash twisted and kissed Slate’s cheek. “Two things. First, I assumed you were trying to invite yourself over and take advantage of the fact I only had one bed.”
“That obvious?” Slate sounded deflated.
“Not really,” Dash shifted his backpack, and put his arm around Slate’s waist. “I was hoping to ask you the same thing. Well, not the same thing. I wanted to see if you would sleep in my bed with me tonight.”
“I’d like that, only, let’s use my bed.” He pulled Dash closer. “I’d feel weird sleeping in the guest room.”
“You’re the lord of the manor,” Dash said. He groaned inwardly at how much of a dork he was. “Sorry. That sounded so much better in my head.”
“It was cute.” Slate kissed Dash’s cheek. “Like you.”
They stomped the snow off their boots on the porch, and Dash’s heart thudded in anticipation. Hanging his coat next to Slate’s he felt a cold breeze come from inside the house. He looked at Slate who seemed just as confused.
Unlike prior times, the change in temperature didn’t end as abruptly as it started. It also didn’t just appear around them from nowhere. This breeze came from the system room.
He slipped his fingers into Slate’s and shrugged. “We should probably go investigate.”
“Yeah.”
Slate led the way, and they followed the trail to a section of the wall that shimmered in the dim light. They pressed against the panel and it swung open with a soft groan.
“Of course there's a hidden room,” Dash said. “This wouldn't be a creepy old manor without one.”
“I’ve never seen this before,” Slate said. He poked his head into the opening. “There’s an old storage room on the other side.”
Being told it wasn’t new, didn’t calm Dash’s frayed nerves. Slate might be used to these weird occurrences, but they were still new to Dash.
The room beyond was small and cluttered with antique-looking artifacts. Moonlight filtered through a dusty window, casting an ethereal glow over dust-covered journals and strange symbols etched into the walls. Dash's fingers trembled as they stepped into the room. The breeze stopped, but the temperature dropped even more.
A translucent figure suddenly appeared, hovering over a book on the floor. He recognized the elderly woman from the first night in the house. Esmerelda Blackwood stared at Dash with spectral eyes that pierced right through him.
"The veil grows thin," she whispered, her voice echoing as if from a great distance. "You must be ready, Morten Reeves. When the Blue Moon rises, the fate of Oriskany Falls will rest in your hands."
Before Dash could respond, the apparition faded, leaving him with a racing heart and a mind full of questions. Slate bent down and picked up the book on the floor. Unlike the rest of the room, this was dust free.
Slate opened the book, and looked up in surprised. “This is for you.”
He turned the book around and handed it to Dash. Written in flowing script were the words, “For the descendant of Ezra Reeves.”
‘I always thought my tech job was boring and I should try something new,” Dash said, trying to contain his fear. “I should’ve been more specific in what I had in mind.”
Dash closed the book and mustered a smile. “I think I’ll read this in the morning. We have plans for tonight.”