Chapter 6
chapter
six
Harriet
I can’t sleep. Again. I don’t know if it’s the town or something else.
The something else being that I haven’t gotten any closer to finding my professor and he’s no longer responding to my message requests online.
Or at least he hasn’t been online. I’m not sure which.
But it could also be the fact that Chris, the prehistorical cat boy, actually came by the motel today and left a message for me at the front desk.
He’s getting a little aggressive for my tastes. Especially since I’m not the least bit attracted to him. Nor have I given him any encouragement to pursue me.
So yeah, insomnia.
I’ve already tried all of my go-to methods: drinking a cup of chamomile tea, reading from one of my beloved mythology textbooks, a tiny bit of yoga. Nothing is working and I feel even more alert now than when I tried to go to bed.
Maybe if I go for a walk, that will help.
Get some fresh air. Once I’m dressed in some yoga pants, an aging Scooby-Doo t-shirt and my sneakers, I’m ready to go.
I grab my bracelet-sized keyring which has my keys, but also a panic whistle and pepper spray.
What can I say? I like to be prepared. Especially in a town with legit monsters.
Though, ever since day one, every single one I’ve met has been at the very least cordial. Not always friendly, but people aren’t always friendly either.
I leave my hotel room and walk around to the back of The Sunnyside Motel. Everything here is so neat and tidy, it’s just perfectly charming. I walk past the tightly clipped lawn to the wooded area behind. The entire town is surrounded by the woods.
I suppose some might think it all to be creepy, but I find it beautiful. I love the scent of the damp earth. The lack of big city lights means the stars shine even brighter. As I leave the lit area of town and enter deeper into the forest, everything inside of me stills.
It’s so peaceful out here.
My family is stupid wealthy. Basically, my dad wrote a couple of super catchy songs and we’re still living off the royalties. It’s kind of ridiculous. But it’s definitely made aspects of my life easier.
For one, I love to learn. Especially about ancient cultures and myths, that’s my guilty pleasure, and then anything musical, for Steven.
Having access to a seemingly unending supply of funds, I’ve been able to be a perpetual student.
It also allows me to travel to see some of the places I study about.
Last year I went to Scotland to Loch Ness, and while I didn’t see the beastie, I feel certain something is lurking beneath that dark peat-stained water.
Before that I went for a tour in the swamps of Louisiana looking for Big Foot. I will tell you I saw some big alligator feet, but that was about it. I’m pretty sure I ate my weight in fried shrimp and gumbo. They definitely know how to eat down there.
The further into the woods I walk, the softer the ground becomes. As if I’m walking more on moss than solid earth. The canopy of trees overhead makes me feel as if I’m in a cocoon of branches and pine needles. Despite the occasional howls and yips I hear in the distance, I feel safe.
And then another sound reaches me. I pause, trying to determine which direction it’s in. Off to my left. Deeper into the woods. It’s music. Sounds classical, maybe. I do know it’s definitely a piano.
Finally, I make it through a chunk of thick woods into somewhat of a clearing. Before me stands an old rock building. The music is definitely coming from there. I creep closer until I touch the hard, rough surface of the rock exterior.
I stand outside of the dilapidated rock wall.
I think this might have been a church at some point if judging from the stained glass windows—though they’re mostly broken now.
Though I didn’t see a steeple of any sort.
Whatever the building’s original purpose, it's long since been taken back by the woods.
Vines cling to the sides, crawling this way and that, nearly suffocating the building. But inside, inside I hear the music.
Astounding, beautiful music that makes me stop and feel. My eyes flutter closed and I inhale slowly. Why does it feel as if I could be playing the song? A ridiculous notion considering I can barely play my car stereo.
Like, you know how a lot of cars come with satellite radio? Yeah, can't ever make that work. So I'm forced to either listen to terrible radio stations or the same old stuff I’ve had downloaded to my phone since before college.
I mean after all my music classes, I can now read music and fumble around a piano. But it’s so clunky I refuse to call it playing.
In any case. I stand here outside the window like a creeper listening.
I know I won’t just stand here for much longer because I'm compelled.
Compelled to find a way inside the building and see who's playing the music.
I want to meet them, talk to them. I want them to play more songs.
Meeting them—speaking to them—feels of upmost importance.
The haunting melody keeps me locked in place until finally the notes end.
I walk around to what I'm assuming is the front of the building just as another song begins. Still, I enter the building. Off to the left is an upright piano that has seen better days. Behind it is the man I’ve been looking for.
“It’s you,” I say.
His fingers bang on the keys as he jerks his head in my direction.
“I’m sorry I startled you. Sorry I interrupted. You play beautifully,” I tell him.
He nods and a grumbled “thanks,” comes out.
I slowly move further into the building, walking closer to the piano. He’s watching me, a scowl weighing down his brow.
“I think we met, sorta, once before,” I say. Then I wince. “Well, not really met, but I think I saw you when I first drove into town. Do you remember me?” I point at my wilting ponytail. “Blond with the pink streaks?”
“Don’t come any closer,” he growls.
I stop moving and stare into his face. There’s nothing about him that’s frightening. Quite the contrary, he’s beautiful. His long, light brown hair hangs past his shoulders. Bare shoulders that are like round mountains atop a masterpiece of a chest. I can’t see anything past his pecs.
The small horns that curve away from his head are short and goat-like. The dark slashes of his eyebrows off-set his eyes. Eyes unlike any I’ve ever seen. They’re yellow. A golden topaz that follow my every breath.
“You're a faun, right? Like Mr. Tumnus?”
His lip curls in a snarl. “I’m not a fucking faun. I’m a satyr.”
I know the word immediately and I recall reading about them once or twice, but I don’t remember. Then something registers. “Oh, right. Like Pan? Except you play piano and not a flute?” I ask.
I swear a smile tugs at his lips. “You’re more or less correct.”
“Do you play the flute?” I ask.
He snarls again. “Not if I can help it.”
I take a careful step towards him. “I’m Harriet, but my friends call me Harry,” I say.
“Will you tell me your name?”
He just stares at me. “Are you the one who has been asking about me around town?”
So there is a gossip train in this town. I chuckle. “Guilty.” Then I realize what he’s said. The only one I’ve asked about is my professor. “Wait. Professor Jace?”
“What do you want?”
I swallow. “I just wanted to meet you.”