Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I make it back to the main house still in a daze. My dampened coat clings to my skin, half-frozen at the edges, the lining soaked through with sweat and snow. My breath fogs in uneven bursts, each inhale sharp and shallow.
I can’t tell if I’m shivering from the cold or from what happened only minutes ago.
It still doesn’t even feel real.
The steps leading onto the terrace are crusted in ice. I catch myself on the rail, boots slipping as I haul myself up, one hand fumbling for the doorknob, the other still pressed against my stomach as if I’m trying to keep from spewing.
The door slides open with warm air immediately enveloping me—from the flames in the fireplace and the centralized heating.
It should feel comforting; it should be some form of solace after being out in the frigid cold for so long.
But it has the opposite effect. It only makes me shiver harder. It’s as if my body’s gone into shock.
I don’t stop in the entryway or bother taking off my boots. I stumble through the living room until I reach the stairs in the hall and then make my way to my room.
It couldn’t have been real. I must’ve imagined it the same way I’d imagined the noises last night in the house.
“Get it together,” I whisper. I peel off my coat and toe out of my boots, coming before the mirror in the room for a look at my reflection.
The girl staring back at me doesn’t seem so convinced.
Her complexion is washed out, eyes wide and pupils dilated, curls stuck to the side of her face.
There’s a scrape on her jaw from where a branch caught her. A smear of dirt on her cheek from the frantic running in the woods.
…and a startling pulse between her thighs as she remembers the feel of his thick fingers inside her.
Exactly why I need to wash this off; I need a hot shower to wash away any thoughts and evidence of what happened.
The water is scalding, steam rising in thick clouds. I stand under the spray until my skin prunes and the sting from the heat chases away the numbness.
The stress must be getting to me. That’s all.
It was an overreaction to the unease and anxiety I’ve been feeling, my brain chemistry responding in kind. Hallucinations aren’t unheard of in situations like this.
Shirtless men in Santa Claus pants and a mask with giant antlers don’t appear out of thin air; they damn sure don’t chase women in the woods and play with their pussy, all while grunting in their ear.
It was a hallucination that went too far.
But I have a deadline. A job to complete. People are depending on me. Enough spiraling in some self-induced meltdown.
I said I would decorate Mr. Taylor’s estate, and that’s what I’m going to do.
Twenty minutes later, scrubbed raw and wrapped in a towel, I emerge from the steamy bathroom with a fresh sense of resolve. I’ll eat, then get some rest and reset.
The game plan seems like the perfect strategy until I see what’s resting on the bed. I stumble to an abrupt stop, gaze falling on the center of the bed.
The same exact spot where I’d found last night’s gift, only today there’s a different present waiting for me.
It’s small and square, wrapped in satin ribbon and a bow on the top.
No! NO!
Not again!
My insides quake as I edge closer and reach out with stiff fingers. I tug on the ribbon and slide off the top of the box to reveal possibly the strangest gift I’ve ever received in my life.
Inside, nestled in a bed of crushed black velvet, is a silver bell.
Small and ornamental. The kind you might find on a butler’s tray or use for decoration at Christmas.
I don’t dare touch it, my breath caught in my chest.
I’m not crazy! I’m not imagining these things! This bell was not here when I came back from outside and got undressed for my shower.
On a panicked note, I dress fast, throwing on leggings, a hoodie, and my snow boots. My hair stays pinned up like I’d had it under the shower cap.
I race down the stairs, skipping two at a time, boots skidding against the hardwood as I veer toward the east wing of the house where the garage connects. My thumb smashes down on the button on the small remote Mr. Taylor gave me that operates things like the garage and front gates.
The door rises with a jerky whine.
Six cars sit neatly parked in a staggered row—two luxury sedans, an old SUV, a pickup truck, a sleek vintage coupe, and a beat-up Jeep with snow tires. All of them gleaming under the motion sensor fluorescents that flick on.
Every single one of them dead.
I try them all, one after the other. Slamming doors, jamming keys, hitting start buttons until my heart aches from how hard it’s beating.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of life.
It’s as if the batteries were drained. As if someone intentionally made them inoperable knowing I’d eventually try to drive one.
A chill spreads across my skin, deeper than cold and bringing goosebumps to my arms.
I bolt from the garage and return to the large house, wrenching my phone from my hoodie pocket as I dial Mr. Taylor.
The number rings a couple times, then is abruptly cut short by a flat monotone female voice delivering the worst news imaginable.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you believe you’ve reached this recording in error, please hang up and try your call again.”
The message repeats with a beep.
I yank the phone away and stare at the screen like it might correct itself, but when I dial it again, I’m greeted by the same daunting message.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “What the hell’s going on!?”
I try Mark the driver next. I was provided his number before I ever landed in Silver Hollow, when Mr. Taylor had sent me the initial set of instructions for my travel arrangements.
But it’s not as if his number brings any more luck.
This time, I’m sent to a personal voicemail. His recording is brief and casual.
“Hey, this is Mark. I’m not available. Leave a message.”
The beep sounds louder than usual in my ear. I blurt out everything on my mind.
“Mark,” I gasp desperately, “it’s Ivy. I…
I don’t know what’s happening. Something’s wrong here.
Someone’s been inside the house. I don’t know how, but they’re leaving gifts in my room and I—fuck, I don’t even know if I imagined it, but there was a man in the woods.
He… he chased me and he… he had this mask with antlers on.
And t-the cars—they won’t start! Please come get me.
I can’t stay here. Call me back as soon as you get this. ”
I hang up with a trembling hand and press the back of the phone to my forehead, forcing myself to breathe in and out.
There’s still one more number I can try. Sheriff Paloma had given me his when he visited after Mr. Taylor left. I quickly dial it next.
My heart skips a beat when he actually answers after four rings.
“Sheriff Paloma speaking.”
After everything I’ve experienced over the last twenty-four hours, his voice is instantly soothing.
“Sheriff—hi—this is Ivy Davis. I’m calling from the Taylor estate.
I… I think there’s someone out here,” I say, panic in my tone.
“Someone left some gifts in my room. I was out walking the grounds earlier and… and I think I was followed. Not followed—chased! I was chased. He was some big man with a mask that had antlers. Like Krampus or something. I don’t know.
But it didn’t feel like a prank. And then I got back to the house, and the cars won’t start and—”
“Hang on a minute. Slow down. You’re speaking gibberish right now, Ms. Davis. What about Krampus?”
“The man in the woods! With the mask on! He was shirtless and had on these red pants like Santa Claus!”
He’s silent for a second or two. For a second too long.
“Listen, I’m being serious!” I whine, stomping my foot. “Someone’s been in the house and they’re leaving presents for me on the bed!”
“That’s not possible. Mr. Taylor made it explicitly clear his entire staff is off for the holidays. You’re the only one there, Ms. Davis.”
“No I’m not! Someone’s drained the batteries in the cars!”
“Maybe it was Krampus,” he suggests almost mockingly.
“This isn’t funny! What are you even for if you’re not going to respond to emergencies?”
“I do respond to emergencies. But I’m afraid what you’ve described doesn’t fit the bill. It sounds more like you’re allowing your imagination to get the best of you.”
“It’s not my imagination!”
He sighs over the phone as if inconvenienced by my panic.
“I’ll tell you what. How about I make my way out there tomorrow?
It can’t be tonight because of the inclement weather that’s forecasted.
But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll drive out first thing tomorrow morning and do a sweep of the premises. ”
…sure. After I’m already prey.
“You know what?” I snap. “Don’t even bother! I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you!”
I hang up on him before he can even think to counter what I’ve said. For a couple seconds afterward, I’m indignant and angry.
Then the disturbing reality of my situation sinks back in.
I step toward the large window in the living room that overlooks the forest terrain and the mountains of snow as far as the eye can see.
There’s no help coming.