Page 15 of Grotesque

M y reflection moved with me as I skimmed my hands over my legs. Bruises in the shape of bite marks peppered the inside of my thighs. And there, just under the tattoo, was the shape he had carved into my skin. A crescent moon, or “C”.

I’d hoped it had all been an elaborate dream, but the proof was undeniable. Rosaline’s monster was haunting me.

I’d barely been able to meet Quint’s eye when I’d finally worked up the nerve to go downstairs the next morning. I’d feigned that I had nightmares, which wasn’t technically lying, last night had been terrifying.

And delicious.

The stranger hadn’t needed to threaten me not to tell Quint about him. There was no way in hell I was going to tell anyone how I’d become a willing partner in the midst of being attacked.

“Do you want me to come back tonight?” Quint ran a hand through his hair.

I hated the way he tried to catch my eye. I felt as if he could see through my jeans and sweatshirt to the bruises and bite marks the stranger had left behind. “No. Hopefully you being here last night scared him off.” I tapped the screen of my phone. “I’ll call you?”

“I’ll be over as soon as you do. Even if it’s just another bird.” He jerked his chin.

That reminded me that I needed to dispose of the crow. I didn’t want to leave the thing rotting on my front porch. No telling what other unwanted guests it might attract.

I let out a deep sigh. “Thanks, Quint. You’re a hero, you know that?”

“Just call me Clark,” he said with a smile. He rose from the table. “I’ve gotta run to work, but seriously. If you need anything, don’t hesitate.”

I pulled a smile from where it was buried deep within. “I’ll text you later to check in.”

He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze on his way out.

I took my coffee into the next room to watch him drive away. Once his car was out of sight, I turned around to face the house.

I cupped my hands over my mouth. “Come out! Come out!”

The lack of response unnerved me. Mysteries shouldn’t be so scary during the day.

I made a quick online search for nanny cams and ordered four.

Three for each of the main entrances that would catch anyone coming into the house, and a fourth for my bedroom.

They would be here in a couple of days. I was dipping into my savings to order them, but it would be worth it once I had the proof I needed for the cops to take me seriously.

And then what? How did one get rid of a vampire? It’s not like the police would be able to do anything about it. It’s not like staking vampires was a part of their job description.

I did another search on how to ward off vampires.

There wasn’t anything new to uncover from what I already knew about them.

Stake to the heart, obviously. Not all vampires were inhibited by sunlight.

(This one I didn’t think was true. So far, the monster had only visited me in the evenings.

If that was any indication of his limitations, I suspected that he couldn’t come out while the sun was shining.) Silver burned them.

(I also didn’t think this was true based on the locket he had tried to give me that had magically disappeared.) They didn’t have reflections–

I walked to the mirror in the foyer and pulled off the sheet. Why was there a rule to be wary of the mirrors if they would help me determine what was real and what wasn’t? What did the moths have to do with all of this? I wrapped the sheet around my arm absentmindedly.

There was something important about the mirrors I needed to figure out. I remembered how my hand had pushed through the glass. I reached out tentatively, my fingers hovering over the surface, but when I pressed against it, nothing happened.

Relief flooded through me. At least that part could be explained away. I’d just had too much to drink. My hand couldn’t have gone through the mirror because that’s not how they worked.

Grumbling, I snatched a trash bag out from under the kitchen sink.

I needed to get rid of the dead crow. Doing two things at once wasn’t my strong suit, but I only had so many hours of daylight left before my stalker would return.

It wasn’t fair that I had to clean up the monster’s mess.

My room had been a wreck too, everything askew from where I had bumped into every available surface.

I grabbed the crow through the trash bag and flipped it inside out, tying a knot at the end. Now to find a shovel.

There was a small shed at the backside of the manor, its door hung crooked on rusted hinges. The wood was grey and brittle with age. It looked out of place when the rest of Glamis Manor was shining and new. The door tipped farther forward, threatening to fall off completely when I pulled it open.

I frowned.

The floors were completely rotten through, cobwebs galore lining nearly every nook and cranny. I wondered vaguely about the groundskeeper Beth had mentioned at the library. What was his name again? Surely this wasn’t where he kept his tools… everything was rusted.

I grabbed a shovel with a broken handle and made my way to the back field where an oak tree stood alone. It seemed like a decent enough place to be buried. It was better than chucking the bird into the woods or a garbage can at any rate.

The broken handle made the work awkward. I had to crouch every time I dug the blade into the dirt. All the while trying not to tear up my hand with splinters.

A cool breeze fanned the sweat building at the back of my neck. I glanced toward the house when the familiar twinge hit me. It was nothing. The creature was a vampire, and he couldn’t get me right now. I could almost feel him laughing at me, though.

Thunk.

I pulled the shovel free. A broken root looked up at me forlornly. I muttered a quiet apology before angling in a new direction. The soil was softer on this side, and made the progress faster. Just another foot and I would be happy with the size of the hole.

Clink.

I struck the ground again and the distinct scrape of metal came as I hit something that definitely wasn’t a root. I worked the shovel around the flash of silver until four sides of a rectangle were revealed. I reached down, digging through the grit until I’d pried it free.

It was a small metal box, unremarkable and streaked with dirt and rust. I raised an eyebrow, and popped off the lid.

Inside lay a small leatherbound book and a collection of photographs.

I wiped my hands on my pants before flipping through them.

The photographs captured a young woman with dark hair coiled about her head and a sharply mustached gentleman a few years older, standing stiffly at her side.

In the back sprawled Glamis Manor in all its glory.

There was nothing written on the back. The other photographs were much the same.

Smiling couples who remained nameless, photographed in what I recognized to be various parts of the manor.

The last picture was a charcoal drawing that was slightly smudged. It depicted a young woman standing in a garden, holding a thin stem covered in small white flowers. I’d seen the same ones in the garden out back. I flipped the picture over.

Rosaline, 1812

It was her.

I sat back on the ground, the bird momentarily forgotten as I raised the small notebook.

A tremor ran through my hand as I opened it. Rosaline O’Connor was scrawled across the upper corner of the first page.

“Holy shit,” I said. It was a diary. My heart thumped in my chest. It felt like I had found a long-lost treasure. I turned the pages gently, not sure how they’d welcome being handled after being forgotten for so long.

The first few entries were without event.

She wrote briefly about moving North, how the journey had been long and cold.

They’d come from a settlement in Virginia.

A difference in beliefs had driven Rosaline and her fiancé, Gerald, up north.

They’d left as soon as the ground had thawed, unaware that it would take longer for the North to defrost than where they were coming from.

I skimmed through the next couple of pages until I got to a piece that said they were constructing a new home.

June 13, 1812 They say the land is cursed here and that this is why we were able to attain such a large acreage for such a low sum.

But how can something so beautiful be cursed?

There is a large field in which Gerald has started construction of our new home.

New builders come every day from Bristol to help.

It’s going rather quickly, I dare say we’ll be in by the end of summer.

August 19, 1812 A gentleman came by this afternoon to view the property.

He is a merchant of sorts. He was selling these hideous stone creatures from his cart.

Gargoyles he called them. They’re supposed to protect the property they’re set to guard.

I hate them, but Gerald has bought eleven.

The one that looks like a dragon is being set over the front door, while the others will go on the balcony.

I hate having them where I can see them from my bedroom.

September 4, 1812 There is a strangeness to the house that chills me.

Maybe this is the curse everyone was talking about.

In the daylight it feels as if I am being watched.

The sensation follows me from room to room.

Once I even felt its presence in the garden.

But it is when night falls that it becomes more insistent, this constant weight, the knowledge that I am not alone.

What scares me most is how keenly I sense its hunger.

Gerald says it is because I am still adjusting to our new home.

He doesn’t feel the weight of it as I do.

Once I felt something grab me while I was sleeping. Gerald works long hours, and he was not in bed when this happened. How can a house be haunted when no one has yet to die in it? I know how morbid that sounds but there is something very wrong here.

Gerald has named the house Glamis Manor. He says it came to him in a dream.

I turned, scooting my back against the tree so I could face Glamis as I continued to read. I knew the feeling she was talking about. I could feel it crawling over my skin at that very moment.

September 30, 1812 I was right. There has been someone watching me, and last night, I met him.

He’s beautiful. Lord, forgive me for saying this because I do love Gerald, but this man is the most beautiful I have ever seen.

I know I should have been afraid of him but when I saw him standing at the end of my bed, I thought him to be an angel.

When I asked him if that’s what he was, he laughed at me. His voice was as beautiful as he was. He said he is of a divine power, something greater than an angel. I didn’t know there was anything above the angels, but I believe him. If you saw him, you would understand.

November 29, 1812 I’m sorry I have not written in some weeks.

In truth, I have been too ashamed to pen these words.

The angel – even though that’s not what he is, it is what I call him – has been visiting me every night.

It started as a kiss upon our first meeting, when I was so awed by his beauty.

Since then, his kisses have become more abundant, leaving decadent marks in the most indecent places.

I’m blushing as I write this, but he kissed me between my legs.

I’ve never felt anything like it. I didn’t know one could put their mouth there and feel such bliss.

I am certain it’s a sin, but oh the feeling is so wonderful.

The angel tells me not to have guilt for what we do and so I try not to. But I can’t help feeling that I am betraying Gerald in some way. I can’t allow this to go on any further. Gerald and I are married, and marriage is sacred. I’ll tell him the next time I see him that this has to stop.

December 9, 1812 My angel hasn’t returned.

Have I offended him in some way? Did he know I was going to tell him to stop?

Now that he is no longer here, I feel like I am going mad without him.

I want to feel his lips on mine again. If he returned, I think I’d like to put my mouth on him the way he did to me. Between his thighs.

January 2, 1812 It has been some time since I’ve written but so much has been happening–

A chill skittered across my skin, dragging my attention up. The sky was darkening. I lurched to my feet, kicking the box and its contents across the ground. Had I been reading all day? I looked down at the book clutched in my hand, my finger between the pages. I was already halfway through it.

I scooped up the photographs and journal and set them back in the box. I turned back to the bird laying in its plastic bag. The beady outline of its eye was pressed against the film.

“I’m sorry little guy.” I slid the bag into the hole. I hadn’t meant to forget about it, but finding Rosaline’s diary felt like I had already won the million dollars owed to me. No, not owed, gifted to me. Finding this felt like a gift.

I shoveled the dirt into the hole and gave it a solid pat. There wasn’t time for a prayer (do you pray for animals? I don’t think they have souls, so it probably doesn’t matter) and scooped up my new treasure before jogging back to the manor.

It wasn’t until I was safely back in the house that dread hit me. I looked down at the box I held. I shouldn’t have taken it. Yet I found myself gripping it tighter. The journal was proof – even if it would only be proof to me – that what I was experiencing was real.

As much as I was aching to keep reading Rosaline’s story, I knew I didn’t have much time.

The sun would sink and then my stranger would return.

I knew whatever Rosaline had to say was true, and so I could not let him get his hands on this precious diary.

As the last bit of light faded from the sky, I tucked the silver box beneath the mattress of one of the back bedrooms. The diary I planted in plain sight in the library, between The Divine Comedy by Dante and another nameless spine.

I’d be back to finish Rosaline’s account of her time with the ‘angel’.

And though my stomach churned with the knowledge of how her life had ended, a small part of me hoped the diary would contain the secret I needed to rid myself of the stranger, before I met the same fate.