Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
I was a homeowner. I’d owned property before, but now that I had a real house with a yard and a garage—and a cemetery—I felt like I might’ve achieved something on a new level. I was domesticated. Could it be that I felt like an actual adult?
Chuckling to myself, I shoved my easel a little more to the right.
The rest of the house was fine as it was, but the conservatory-turned-studio was where I would be spending most of my time.
The upgrade from a corner of my old loft to a twenty-by-twenty space with natural light had me running around doing my best to spread out and fill up the space with all the toys I hadn’t had room for until now.
I might try sculpture. I might learn photography. The possibilities were endless!
And while I set up my workspaces, I’d also heard that creaking and slamming gate twice more.
No sign of the great black beast either time, but I had heard a scream or two.
My theory of escaping souls had brought me to learning about the various creatures that guarded the afterlife.
Hellhounds sounded like what I had seen, and I was desperate to witness one again.
I’d set up cameras all around the property but hadn’t caught any evidence yet.
Still, it was thrilling to have actual proof of a paranormal world operating in the shadows of reality. The very thought of something dangerous lurking just out of sight had inspired me to begin my new collection. My excitement grew with every sketch I made.
And beastly creatures kept popping up in my work, too.
As I carried in more canvases to fill new shelves, I walked past the planters and realized they were freshly watered.
The dirt was definitely saturated. I hadn’t done that.
Had the caretaker been in? I’d tried calling the number Jenny had for Mister Sable, but it had rung the fancy rotary dial phone in the foyer.
Maybe I should leave a note amongst the plants for the man to reach out?
I wouldn’t be against communicating by sticky note if that was all Sable could handle.
After shoving the canvases in their new cubbies, I found a piece of paper, some tape, and a pencil.
I scrawled out a request for contact, listed my cell phone number, and tried to briefly assure the man that a text or call any time would be appreciated.
Paper taped to the pencil, I stabbed my little sign into the dirt of a particularly prolific fern at eye level.
I wasn’t upset that someone had access to my home—I’d had plenty of people help me with cleaning or cooking over the years, so I didn’t find it creepy, per se.
I’d just like to make contact with Sable.
Be seen as a safe person. Align our priorities.
And it was entirely possible that Sable had lost someone he cared about when Dodge passed, so I wanted to support him, if I could.
Reassure him that nothing had to change if we didn’t want it to.
Plucking at the collar of my black t-shirt, I tried to get a little breeze going down my sweaty torso as I surveyed the room. Almost done. I was about to start fussing instead of unpacking, so it was a good time to take a break.
Since I’d discovered there really was a bench beneath the weeping willow in the cemetery, I grabbed my water bottle and baggie of mixed nuts and headed outside.
The air was crisp and earthy now that the last of the summer heat had gone away.
Not so cold yet that it could snow, it was still chilly enough that I was cooled almost immediately.
Reds and golds were peeping out of the green leaves of trees and bushes throughout the yard.
Dew dampened my ratty black tennis shoes as I walked toward the bench.
Head on a swivel, I hoped for a peek at the beast, but there was no sign of him.
I sat on the bench and listened intently to the sounds of birds and the wind through the headstones, desperate for some little noise.
I’d have happily taken a tuft of black fur or a muddy footprint, too.
Just anything that would cement the fact that there was a great black beast guarding this place against evil spirits.
I munched some almonds and cashews, remembering back to meeting my new neighbors.
The Hughs on the left and the Bowerys on the right were both empty-nesters, their children all in college.
Neither of them had ever seen or heard anything like a large black dog in the area.
I hadn’t bothered mentioning the sound of metal doors creaking open or slamming shut after the looks I’d gotten for asking about a dog.
I knew I conjured a particular concern with the goth way I dressed and the makeup I wore, so I didn’t want to push my luck with my new neighbors.
Both couples seemed nice enough, but I had no idea how conservative they might become if they thought I was a little too far left of center.
And maybe I wanted to keep the mystery of my beast all to myself.
I hunkered down just inside the mausoleum, peeking around the door to spy on the human.
He looked very different today in casual clothes and no makeup.
More androgynous somehow with his midnight hair up in a messy bun, damp t-shirt clinging here and there, and long legs encased in black denim.
Watching him move absolutely fascinated me.
And the scent of him! I couldn’t name a particular smell, but my heartbeat quickened every time I caught a whiff of him.
Suddenly, he whistled sharply three times, and my ears swiveled around to focus on him.
He looked around as if expecting something to run toward him, but then chuckled and shook his head.
Sitting there sipping water and eating nuts, he didn’t seem to be disappointed that nothing had come to him, so I had to assume that he didn’t, in fact, have a wayward pet somewhere.
That was good—animals never liked me much.
I sighed and sat down in the beam of weak autumn sunlight let inside by the crack of the mausoleum’s door.
I’d been inside the house last night to water the plants and select a new book from the library.
While I wasn’t comfortable staying inside anymore, I couldn’t resist the luxury of something to read and didn’t want to let the plants wither.
I’d seen that the man was setting up an artist’s workshop in the conservatory and had several sketches of dark and mysterious scenes already.
The sketches fit the aesthetic of the house and the man very well.
I wanted to see them come to life as he worked on his creations.
I’d meant to select Frankenstein from the library, but discovered it was missing.
Assuming the man was reading it made me glad but also had me longing to discuss the book with him.
Dodge hadn’t read the books, only collected them, and hadn’t considered me enough of a person to have lengthy conversations about literature.
I’d selected Bram Stoker’s Dracula instead and wondered if the man would notice that there was a blank space on the shelf.
Part of me did long for the chance that we might know each other. It would be a delicate thing to introduce myself. Terror was always the first reaction when a human met me, and battling that back took a lot of time and patience. Would it be worth the effort? Could it be?
I watched as the man stood up and stretched, the sound of his back cracking easily reaching my ears. Glancing around, the man seemed to hesitate before he shrugged and headed back to the house. Was he looking for something? For someone?
As he walked away, he kept peering around and said, “Where are you, my great black beast?”
Was he looking for me?
I stood up and stepped out of the mausoleum to stare after him as he walked away.
Had he seen me at some point? He hadn’t screamed, if he had.
Hadn’t been afraid. If he was truly trying to find me…
No. No, I couldn’t be sure. Not yet. Maybe he was, or maybe he’d seen some bird he liked.
One of the black squirrels in the area. That black swan that sometimes wandered away from the Bowerys’ pond. I couldn’t be sure it had been me.
I’d wait. If we were meant to know each other, it would happen when it was meant to happen. I wouldn’t push it. Fate knew better than I did.