42. Aspen
ASPEN
I’d gone to bed, purposefully wanting to avoid both Blake and Levi, and had spent a fitful couple of hours, tossing and turning.
I’d given up at one point and sat up to drink the water beside my bed and draw in my sketch pad for a little while.
It must have done the trick, because I’d fallen asleep soon after.
Now I think I’m awake again, except I’m pinned to the bed, my heart crashing against the cage of my ribs.
I’m not alone.
Someone is standing in the corner of the room. Watching me.
Am I dreaming? Or caught between the twilight place between waking life and sleep?
I know someone is here, though they haven’t said or done anything. I think they already have, though. My bedcovers are no longer covering my body, and my camisole has been pulled down, exposing my breasts.
I can’t even move to cover myself back up.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I frozen like this?
Has someone drugged me during the night so now I’m immobile and helpless?
Terror grips me. Had I locked my door before I’d gone to bed?
I can’t remember. I’ve grown lax at doing so recently, and the old-fashioned key with the large wooden fob has sat forgotten on my dresser most of the time.
Who are you?
Is it the same man from the staircase? The one who’s been following me?
The man is huge. A giant standing in the corner of my room, like a monster out of a fairytale.
Is he going to scoop me up and run away with me?
So often, I feel like I’m disjointed from the real world.
Or perhaps it’s this place—Windridge Hall—that isn’t a part of the real world, and it’s sucked me into its other dimension with it.
The figure steps away from the window, closer to my bed, and his face is caught in a silvery shaft of moonlight so I can’t make out his features. My breath catches. Though the details are masked by the night, there’s something familiar about him.
Do I know you?
The intense fear I’d experienced upon waking ebbs a little. He’s been here before. I’ve been having dreams—intense, sexual dreams where I climax in my sleep—and I’m sure this man is responsible.
He doesn’t mean me any harm; I’m sure of it. If anything, I feel like the opposite is true. He’s here because he’s watching over me, making sure I’m safe.
He moves closer, stepping out of the shaft of moonlight and back into darkness.
He’s so near now, I could put out my hand and touch his leg, except I still can’t move.
Instead, he’s the one who touches me. His fingers ghost down my bare arm, pausing only to thumb the tiny strap of my camisole which hangs halfway down my arm.
Was he the one who pulled down my top to bare my breasts, or did it just happen naturally during my movement in sleep?
He moves his hand again, now to skirt over the curves of my naked breasts, and my skin rises in goosebumps.
He outlines my nipples, his touch so delicate, it’s like butterfly wings sweeping over my skin, and my nipples harden in response.
A familiar tingle condenses at my core, and I let out a groan.
I know he hears me, because he pauses, as though considering his next actions.
I should tell him to stop, but my lips won’t move, but also, a part of me doesn’t want him to.
I want to feel those featherlight touches between my thighs, fluttering over my clit and dipping inside me.
I want him to bring me to climax and then leave me so I can drift back to sleep, sated and alone.
But no, the men of Windridge Hall seem to only want to tease me.
His hand drifts down, over my belly, and there he stops. I wish I could lift my hips, to encourage him to continue, but I can’t. I don’t know what’s happened to me, why I can’t move. Is this sleep paralysis? Am I still dreaming and none of this is real?
No matter the explanation, my nighttime visitor goes no further.
He withdraws his hand then takes hold of the covers and pulls them back up my body, hiding my bared breasts from his sight.
Then he vanishes from view, and a moment later, the soft snick of the door closing meets my ears.
A sigh rushes out of me and I close my eyes, willing for either sleep to pull me back under or for my visitor to return.
Daylight filters through the window, drawing me from sleep.
Snippets of memories come back to me like slides on an old projector, flipping through my mind. Did it even happen? Or had I dreamed my visitor, my brain trying to process the sexual encounter I’d had with Blake, my body still needing to find release and doing so in the form of a stranger?
I never found any release, though. I’m still frustrated. That hasn’t changed.
I yawn and twist my head, my eyes fluttering open. Something is on my pillow. I jerk away, automatically thinking it’s some kind of huge bug, but then my brain makes sense of what I’m seeing.
It’s a stick doll.
This definitely wasn’t here when I went to sleep last night. I would have seen it. Could I have been sleepwalking and moved the doll from my nightstand? But no, that doll is exactly where I left it, propped up against the bedside lamp.
This is a different doll.
Someone was definitely in my room last night. Did that mean my dream hadn’t been a dream at all? It had been some kind of lucid waking moment? I’d seen the man who’d put this here, and he’d been huge.
It seems crazy, but my nighttime visitor isn’t my main concern.
The other two men I live with are the ones occupying my thoughts, and, at some point, I’m going to have to face them.
I’m telling myself I did nothing wrong, that what happened between me and Blake was completely consensual, but then why do I feel so bad?
I’m none the wiser about what I should do.
Should we pretend like nothing happened between us? Am I supposed to leave because we’ve upset Levi? I don’t want to come between father and son.
But I don’t want to leave. I want more of Blake. I don’t want to pretend nothing happened between us just to keep Levi happy.
I remember my fantasy. I could keep Levi happy, too…
I shake the thought from my head. No, Blake wouldn’t like that, and besides, I sense Levi would not be a healthy addition to whatever is going on here. Because something is going on. I feel with every fiber of my being that everything isn’t as it seems here at Windridge Hall.
My instinct is to hide away, but it’s not like I can just stay in my room forever. I have to go to the kitchen to eat. I’m hoping Blake will come to me if I stay in my room. Maybe we can lock Levi out? He’ll be free to do whatever he wants to me then, without any fear of interruption.
But now my imagination has conjured the idea of Blake and Levi taking me at the same time, I’m starting to wonder if just having Blake will be enough.
When the snow falls, and we’re trapped at Windridge Hall, how will Levi react if Blake and I are screwing around and he’s not included?
I can’t deny that there have been some moments of intense sexual tension between Levi and me.
He has an incredible body from all that outdoor work and activity, and he’s beautiful to look at, with those piercing blue eyes and those dark lashes and perfect cheekbones and jaw.
Sure, he behaves like a complete asshole ninety percent of the time, but occasionally I see through the cracks of the wall he’s built around himself.
But what about the third person? The one who keeps following me and leaving me those strange little stick dolls.
The one who watched me masturbate on the chaise longue before slipping away.
Is he the same person who visited me last night?
He must be. Whoever he is, when the weather turns, he’ll be stuck here as much as the rest of us.
The only person I can think of is the prepper Blake said lives in the woods.
He’s the only explanation as to who has been following me.
But then why hasn’t Blake made him stop?
He knows it’s freaking me out, and he’s promised to have a word.
I wonder if the only way to escape this fear is by facing it head on. If I meet this man, perhaps I’ll understand why he acts the way he does. It’ll take some of the mystery out of it.
I’ve had enough of feeling like I’m being watched. Being followed. Whoever this guy is who’s living out in the woods must have some kind of fascination with me. Blake had promised he’d go and talk to him, but if he has, it hasn’t made any difference.
I need to speak to the man myself. Tell him to stop following me and coming into my room at night.
Considering my new gift on my pillow this morning, I assume he’s also responsible for the little stick dolls.
It seems like something a person who lives fully off grid might be into to occupy his time.
I need to let him know they’re not appropriate either.
Even if I did quite like the first one, the more that have appeared, the more threatening they’ve become.
Mind made up, I jump out of bed, use the bathroom, and change into warm clothes.
The temperature is noticeably dropping now, and even the room has a chill.
I slip out of my room and sneak through the hotel, my heart thumping.
I’m more anxious about bumping into either Blake or Levi than I am confronting this strange man.
I leave via the front doors, keeping my head down as though that will prevent me from being spotted. My feet crunch on the gravel as I move at a fast pace, not quite a run, but not far off it. Shivering, I pull my hoodie closer around me.
I think I know the location of the cabin where he lives. I’ve spotted the roof and chimney from a distance, when I’ve been at a higher point on the hillside, nestled between the trees. There might even be some other, smaller buildings around it—sheds or outhouses, perhaps.