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[sophisticated-creepy]

          Raphael wasn’t cruel, theatrical, to be certain, but never cruel, which is why he delicately plopped Lola down upon the bed from his shoulder, and then stepped back to give her space. She scrambled to her knees once free, throwing an arm out defensively while crawling towards the other side of the bed, trying to put distance between him and herself to buy time as she assembled a torrent of half-shouted string of ramblings, her eyes wild with preconceived notions of how he was going to respond to the accusations of her so-called “bad behavior” before she had the chance to explain the whole situation.

          “Whoa! Easy, Lola, easy. It’s okay,” Raphael reassured calmly, raising his hands as a sign of good-faith. “You’re safe, I promise. Take a moment, breathe, collect yourself. I’m going to grab you some water.” He retreated into the bathroom, taking his time so Lola could settle herself, and when he returned, he had a towel wrapped around his waist held with one hand and a glass of cool water in the other.

          “Here,” he offered, handing Lola the beverage.

          “You’re…you’re not going to ‘reprimand’ me?” she asked, taking the water.

          He laughed, sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “I am not beholden to Modesta’s ‘orders’, you know that,” he said. “Only I may decide when you have been truly ‘naughty’ enough to warrant a punishment,” he added, waggling his eyebrows in a dastardly fashion. The gesture caused Lola to laugh, relaxing her, and she comfortably sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing him while she sipped at her water.

          “Thank you.” She trusted him, and knew she was safe, as their dynamic was based on mutual understanding and negotiations when it came to play, not led by the whims of outsiders to their relationship.

          “However, she did enact the ‘Raph Card’, as our friends endearingly call it, when they feel I need to step in and curb your recklessness. As if I could ever control you,” he added with a chuckle. When her head tilted to the side, not understanding his statement, he clarified. “You are charmingly feral, like the wild dandelion you so effortlessly embody. Now, tell me your side of the story. Why did Modesta feel the need to use the ‘Raph Card’?”

          Lola shared everything with him, not leaving out a single detail, as all the while he sat with his elbow propped on his knee, chin in hand, listening to her story with rapt attention. He gave her all the space she needed to fully express herself, taking in her words and artful gestures, her whole body moving in an ebb and flow that mirrored her tale.

          “So! You were bespelled by your greatest weakness,” Raphael concluded once Lola finished her retelling of the adventure in the library, and he had to smile, for it unquestionably made perfect sense that a book would be her ultimate undoing.

          “It was her book, Raph. Lillian’s spell book,” Lola reiterated, handing him her empty water glass. “How could anyone expect me to surrender it, especially once I gave it a hug?”

          He laughed, setting the drinkware on the nightstand. “That argument might not be strong enough to hold up in a court of law,” he pointed out.

          “No jury would convict me,” she countered, straightening her spine, preparing to face the rhetorical challenge, her smile full of promised mischief. “Obviously, I know stealing is wrong, but given the circumstances, can you blame me? Let alone fault me for wanting to keep it?”

          “That depends,” he began, eyeing her shrewdly. “Where is the grimoire now?”

          “In the library, under the floorboards, where we originally found it,” Lola answered with steadfast honesty. She caught Raphael’s eyes narrow in the slightest increment, assessing whether or not he believed she was genuine. “You don’t trust me?”

          “Of course I trust you,” he said, though his sentence felt a touch unfinished.

          “But…?” Her own eyes narrowed with wary speculation, for she saw the twinkle in Raphael’s eye forming, his unmistakable tell he was about to be playful. Her body prickled, anticipating his scheme, ready to spring into action should he make any sudden movement.

          “Well, I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence if I didn’t at least give you a pat down.”

          “What?!”

          She was momentarily stunned, which was exactly what Raphael was hoping would happen when voicing his comment, and before she could blink, he pounced, knocking her to the bed. His hands roved enthusiastically over her torso and sides, patting her down for any indication of concealment of her desired treasured literature. Her shout of initial surprise morphed into hysterical squeals of laughter, his gestures of frisking her body turning into pure, unabashed tickling.

          “You have many places to hide a book, Lola my love, I must inspect these sleeves and your pockets,” Raphael enlightened while his fingers skated across her form. Even the thickness of her robe couldn’t protect her from her fiancé’s clever hands, and she couldn’t help but let out a full-bodied cackle when he made occasional contact with patches of bare skin throughout her twisting and flailing for escape. Despite the sounds of sweet laughter spilling freely from her lips, she was able to catch her breath long enough to defeat him with her most powerful magic incantation.

          “Peanut butter, you son of a bitch!”

          The tickling vanished, her safe word granting immediate respite, leaving her panting and spent, lying sprawled on the bed like a crumpled marionette whose strings had just been severed. Her breath caught in surprise as Raphael’s frame settled over her, but she relaxed into his surrounding warmth as he kissed her, and with each quick peck they shared, he spoke his closing argument on the matter of the coveted grimoire.

          “One mustn’t---*kiss*---take things---*kiss*---that do not---*kiss*---belong to them. Otherwise, I’ll have to subject you to more frequent and thorough pat downs, and you wouldn’t want me to do that, would you?”

          She looked up at him with a wide smile and blushing cheeks, her eyes shimmering from her laughter caused by his playful sneak attack, and she bit her bottom lip while nodding her head “yes” in a tiny up-and-down motion. He matched her smile and leaned down to kiss her once more, amorously, compelled by the siren song of her radiating soul, practically drowning in love for her.

          “My naughty minx,” he breathed. “What am I going to do with you?”

          “I love you, too.”

          “Now, it has been a very long night,” he announced, sitting fully upright while gently pulling at Lola’s hands to follow him, “and I think it’s time for burrito slugs.”  

          “Yes I need burrito slugs!” she exclaimed with joy.

          Raphael hopped off the mattress and found one of the bedcoverings laying nearby. Swooping it dramatically off the floor, he returned to the bed and spread the blanket out, to which Lola then laid down across the end nearest to him, and he proceeded to roll her forward, wrapping her up in his version of a loose, makeshift burrito. When he was done, he kissed her forehead, then stepped back to admire his beloved cocooned like a slug, her grin of satisfaction at being wrapped up snuggly in a blanket the only mental image he needed to conjure in granting him the stamina to survive inevitable future days of toil. Taking up the comforter, he crawled into bed behind her, cradling his burrito slug like the big spoon he was, and then pulled the thicker blanket up to cover them both.

          “Too hot?” he asked before tucking themselves in.

          “I’m perfect,” she answered, yawning. “You’re perfect,” she added, turning her head back to get one more kiss goodnight.

          “Pleasant dreams, Dandelion.”

          They fell asleep to the gentle pitter-patter of rainfall.

          Daylight filtered through the open spaces of the lace curtains as the sun climbed higher in the sky, signaling to the cloistered occupants of the lavish suite that it was time to rise and shine. Lola slept hard during what little of the night was left to her, so the chore of waking up was one of the hardest obstacles she had to overcome and navigate. With patient encouragement from Raphael, she was able to break free from her burrito, albeit sluggishly, and eventually roused enough life into her limbs to help gather and pack their belongings for their early check-out and subsequent journey home.

          Even though Modesta continued to repeatedly make sure the library was locked every chance she got once emerged from her chambers, she still demanded to inspect Lola’s bags to make sure she hadn’t, at some point, smuggled the grimoire out of its hidey-hole from the floorboards under Lillian’s writing desk. Raphael was able to proficiently assuage their sleep-deprived friend that Lola hadn’t the chance to try anything reckless, and with Jack’s help, they were able to convince her to drop the subject. Lola didn’t begrudge Modesta for her extra precautions, if anything, she wholly expected it, for if given the opportunity, she would have undeniably tried to sneak off with the secret book of recent focused attention and importance. After weaving in and out of the Manor House to load their cars of their personal bags and equipment, the five naturally wound up gathered in the main parlor room.

          “I don’t know about you all,” Lazare said, yawning while stretching his arms high above his head. “But I’m going home and going back to bed.”

          “That doesn’t sound half a bad idea,” Modesta agreed, mimicking his actions.

          “I’ve got a lot of recordings to comb through,” Jack shared, “and if anyone wants to help go over footage for potential evidence of paranormal activity, that’d be greatly appreciated.”

          “Hopefully we captured some pretty compelling things,” Lola said.

          “It might be a while for me to edit a cohesive birthday video for you, Lola, but I’ll get to working on that as soon as all the evidence has been gone through.”

          “Take your time, Jack, there’s no rush,” Lola said with a smile.

          “What are you two going to do for the rest of the day?” Lazare asked Raphael and Lola.

          “I’d like to take you to breakfast,” Raphael addressed to his fiancée, wrapping an arm around her waist, “if you’re feeling up to it, and afterwards, we can play it by ear.”

          “Aw, I’d like that,” Lola replied, hooking her arm around his waist in return. “We also need to come up with a game plan for this coming Saturday,” she added, speaking to the group as a whole. “It’s the opening weekend for the Newberry Renaissance Festival.”

          “That’s right. Are you ready to play knights and maidens, Raph?” Jack asked.

          “There are a few more dress rehearsals left to run before opening, but otherwise, yes. The faire should be rather exciting this year, as we’ve added more shows and spectacles, as well as characters to walk the grounds to interact with patrons.”

          “Gotta love an immersion experience,” Lola laughed. “Before we all go our separate ways, I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ again for making my birthday so special and spooky. This was a lot of fun, and I’m glad I could celebrate with all of you. Can we take a picture together over by the fireplace?”

          In agreement, the friends moved to pose by the elegant fixture, Jack setting up his phone on the edge of a dining table to take their photo, and after many shots snapped of being “normal”, followed by several poses of being “weird”, it was time to depart the Northcott Manor House. Lola dragged her feet, not wanting to leave the mystery house she loved so much, her mind trying to memorize every detail of wall sconce and fixture, her nose recording every scent of old tobacco and musty carpet. True, though she had pictures on her phone to help recall this extraordinary experience, she was desperate to bring a piece of the Manor House’s spirit home with her, and finally, after much procrastinating, the five were soon outside. Lazare and Jack placed their set of fancy keys in the designated lockbox where Annie had instructed the night before, Raphael being the last person out to lock the side exit door as they emerged from the basement.

          “Wait! Where’s Stanley?” Lola shouted, her outburst halting Raphael from depositing his set of keys. She was searching in her purse for her trusty friend, but was unable to locate the tape recorder. “I can’t find him!”

          “Did you pack him in one of your other bags?” Modesta asked.

          “No, I always keep him in my purse.” She started to panic as her search for Stanley became more frantic.

          “Are you sure he’s not in your purse?” Lazare asked.

          “No, he’s not here.”

          “Why don’t you check our bags in the car just to be certain, and I’ll double check our room,” Raphael said, passing over the car keys to Lola. She nodded, too aggrieved over the potential loss of her recorder to insist upon herself going back into the Manor House instead.

          “Don’t worry, Lo, he’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Jack comforted as he and the others walked with Lola to the parking lot.

          Seeing she was in capable hands with their friends, Raphael unlocked the side entrance and disappeared into the basement. He took the steps leading up to the main level two at a time, his mind thinking ahead of himself as he strategized where to look for Stanley first. Coming up from the basement stairwell, he meandered down the main foyer entryway, and before he rounded towards the grand staircase, casually glanced into the main parlor room only to be stopped dead in his tracks.

          “Oh!” he startled, taken by surprise. “Hello, there.”

          Standing in the parlor, nonchalantly leaning against the fireplace with his arm propped on the edge of the mantel with a lit cigarette in hand, was a man dressed as if he had stepped out of a movie set taking place at the turn of the early century. He wore a tweed cap and white buttoned dress shirt with suspenders holding up his navy blue wool slacks. The first word that popped into Raphael’s mind was “newspaper”, and he relaxed, smiling at the cast member who stared at him with a focused boredom.

          “My fiancée might have forgotten something upstairs,” Raphael informed, gesturing to the upper levels. “I’m going to take a look real quick to see if I find it, and then we’ll be out of your way.”

          The man brought the cigarette to his lips, but otherwise, made no reply.

          Returning to the objective at hand, Raphael took to the stairs, whistling a cheery tune to himself while walking towards the suite, and upon unlocking it, decided the first place to check for the chunky silver rectangle was under the bed, and sure enough, found Stanley innocently tucked away in a pocket of shadows. It was a bit of a stretch to retrieve, as it was sitting under the middle portion of the bed, yet after some mild grunting and slight contorting positions of his body, he rescued the prized tape recorder, and with a triumphant grin, rose from the floor to tell Lola the good news. He gave the room a final, cursory look-over, and satisfied nothing else was left behind, ventured out into the hallway, relocking the suite behind him.

          Coming up the stairs just as he was descending them, was newspaper man, and again, Raphael politely greeted him as they passed one another, whereas the cast member gave no reaction to the salutation, but continued on his intended journey. Raphael found his new friend’s attitude rather peculiar, and he stopped short on impulse, turning to look back over his shoulder in curiosity, and what he saw sent a chill colder than the dead of winter to slither up his spine, forcing him to retreat down the remainder of the stairs in a brisk canter, his limbs growing rigid as terror steadily seeped into his muscles, the once jovial bounce to his gait and song on his lips obliterated from thought. He made it through and out of the basement, and as he locked the door, fumbling with the keys, he could have sworn the sound of hard soled shoes advanced towards the door, following after him. He jumped back, nearly dropping the keys several times as he tried to rid himself of them in the lockbox, and once his task was complete, he turned around only to let out a gasp of fright.

          “Did you find him?” Lola’s face was inches from his own, the unexpected closeness sending him reeling a few steps, his shoulder blades pressed to the exit door he moments ago just locked, and with intuitive certainty, knew had someone standing on the other side.

          “What? Oh, yes, I found him,” Raphael replied, gaining his bearings. He held out Stanley and she took it from his hand, hugging the device to her cheek, brimming with love and smiles and relief.

          “Thank goodness! Where was he?”

          “Under the bed,” he answered.

          “That’s so weird, I always check under the bed before leaving hotels for this very reason. How could I have missed him?”

          “It was dark under the bed, and he was pushed in rather far.”

          Lola squinted up at him, her head tilting in a position that spoke of worry. “Are you okay? Did something happen when you were inside?”

          “I met newspaper man,” Raphael stated. He took Lola’s hand, the two moving around the side of the house to make their way towards their car, and as they approached the parking lot, noticed only their vehicle remained. “Where did everybody go?”

          “I said they could go home. After all, it didn’t make sense for them to wait around since it was my tape recorder holding us up. So tell me about newspaper man! I didn’t know cast members showed up this early to the Manor House.”

          “It was pretty shocking to see another person in there, especially when I thought the house was empty,” Raphael said as the two reached the car, climbing inside while continuing their conversation. “He was standing in the parlor at first, and then I met up with him again on the main staircase.” He backed the car out of the parking space, angling the automobile towards the road to their favorite diner for a breakfast date.

          “Are you sure that’s all that happened?” she teased. “Why does it look like you’ve seen a ghost?” she added with a light laugh.

          “I looked back,” he simply answered, his eyes remaining fixed on the road.

          “You looked back…and…?”

          “When we passed each other on the stairs, I looked back to see where he was going.”

          “Okay…is that a bad thing?” she was having a hard time connecting the thoughts left in between his ambiguous statements, but when he finally turned his eyes to look at her, she flinched back from the intensity he leveled her with, yet nothing could prepare her for what he told her next.

          “Lola, he went into the library.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Hiya, everyone!

Surprise! I was able to get another chapter out, and rather ahead of time, I might add! Happy Mabon/Equinox!

It's the first day of Fall, so it felt right to post a spooky chapter, haha! Hope everyone is doing well, and I look forward to sharing more soon!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

The sound of Raphael’s heartbeat thumping beneath her ear roused her from a warm and cozy sleep. Departing from the ephemeral realm of sweet dreams, Lola lifted her head from Raphael’s chest, noticing the small puddle of drool she left behind in the space between his pecs, and let slip a quiet, half-asleep chuckle.

          “Blech, that’s so gross. Sorry about that,” she whispered so as not to wake her unconscious lover. She took her time sitting up, her body stiff and groaning with every stretch of muscle, protesting the unwelcomed movement, her tired limbs demanding more time for rest and recovery. “Honoring my birthday indeed,” she mumbled to herself, rolling the kinks out of her neck while grabbing some tissues from the box on her nightstand. “I’ll have to make sure I repay him the favor for his birthday,” she said with a smile, mopping up her puddle of drool.

The contact from the soft tissue caressing his chest caused Raphael to breathe a pleasant sigh while still in slumber, a half-grin twitching at his lips, and he rolled over onto his side, positioning himself closer towards her, his free arm falling across her lap to squeeze her firmly to him. She paused to watch him sleep, observing the gentleness of his features, a considerable contrast to the otherwise sharper lines of his jaw when awake. Normally a man of poise and polish, in sleep, he was raw, beautiful, radiating an aura of innocence and vulnerability that cushioned her heart in a pillow of tender warmth. Lola lovingly moved wayward pieces of his hair away from his forehead, the golden strands in full, wild abandon, and she could have sworn he started to purr. She held back her laughter, not wanting to spoil his peace, and moved her attention to other less humorous distractions about the quiet room.

          Upon first observations, she took note of the bedclothes in their disarray and shambles, the comforter and other blankets strewn haphazardly across the floor, leaving only the top sheet crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed. Both terrycloth robes had been long since abandoned earlier in their escapades of debauchery, Lola having a difficult time locating them at the present moment, but she shrugged, content with using Raphael’s body heat to keep her snuggly, figuring there was no pressing need to shield her body. Rain continued falling, though the intensity of the storm had lessened in severity, the rumbling thunder in the distance a comforting exodus of a soothing lullaby. Lola balled up the tissue she had been holding, tossing it to the nightstand to discard later, and reached for her phone to check the time. It was three o’clock in the morning.

          “Three more hours of sleep,” she announced aloud, counting the hours until her alarm went off. “I can live with that.” Returning her phone to the nightstand, she shimmied in Raphael’s hold to cozy down next to him, and closed her eyes, preparing herself for sleep, but the thumping of his heartbeat, however, kept her from completely drifting off. She shifted, turning to her side, her back pressed to his chest, yet his heartbeat continued to sound in her ear, the cadence slow, odd, methodical, and apparently emanating from the ceiling.

          “Footsteps!” Lola gasped, her eyes flying open as she turned her head to stare at the ceiling. She wasn’t hearing Raphael’s heartbeat, but footsteps walking along the third floor above her. “What did Annie say about the servants’ quarters? Is the third floor supposed to be haunted? Who’s walking upstairs?” Lola was wide awake, the idea of sleep entirely out of the question.

          “Raph,” she whispered, her ear trained on the footsteps casually traveling across the ceiling, her head tracking the changing directions of the languorous promenade. “Raph, there are footsteps. Raph.” He was out like a light. Lola didn’t want to risk raising the volume of her voice, alerting whomever, or whatever, was creating those footsteps that she was aware of their presence and scare away the activity. She wanted to get up and investigate, but was trapped under the deadweight of Raphael’s arm still draped over her, and feared if she stayed stuck in bed for too much longer, she might miss her chance to capture evidence. She noticed Stanley poking out of the front pocket of her purse, mocking her, the handbag resting in a chair next to the bedroom door in perfect position to get a clear recording of the paranormal experience.

          “Have to…get…evidence,” Lola huffed, and grabbed the edge of the bed to pull herself out of Raphael’s heavy embrace. Even in sleep, he was stubbornly affectionate, and Lola sighed in annoyance as his arm tightened around her body, hugging her close as if she were a childhood security blanket, and while adorable, her progress towards freedom had been erased, and the footsteps had begun traveling, the sound of hard soled shoes receding to a far corner of the ceiling.

          “I am going to be so pissed if you make me miss capturing this activity,” she threatened, and tried wriggling again while pulling herself forward, knowing full well she resembled a drunken inchworm, but at last, she emerged from his hold and crouched to the floor, listening for the heavy clomps pacing above her. Raphael’s arm flopped about the mattress, in search of something, the movement gaining Lola’s attention, and when she looked back at her fiancé, saw that a frown was plastered to his face with his forehead in deep furrows. He looked devastated, on the brink of whimpering, and her heart broke at the forlorn way he sought for her in sleep. Thinking quickly, she took her pillow and slid it under his searching hand, whereupon he snatched it up, curled the object against his body, and deeply breathed in her lingering scent mingled with the softer thread count.

          “Squishy,” he murmured sleepily on the exhale, his expression relaxing once more into being pleased and content.

          Lola filed that bit of precious information to the back of her mind for processing later, as she needed to get to Stanley before it was too late. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate with her plan to reach her tape recorder, her knees weak and buckling under her, the activities of the evening’s special celebrations having taken a bigger toll on her body than expected, the awareness of the fact hitting her hard as she baby-fawned her way towards the bedroom door at an alarming forty-five degree angle. By the grace of God, she made it to her purse without injury, and fumbled Stanley like a hot potato as she wrestled it free from its home in the side pocket, miraculously switching on the recording feature to then hold the device high in the air towards the ceiling, only to realize, however, that the footsteps above, had stopped.

          “You have got to be kidding me.” Lowering Stanley, she shut off the device and tossed the tape recorder into her purse, defeated. “I can’t believe I missed it. And it happened for such a long time, too.” She ran her hands through her hair, frustrated, and now, too riled up to even think about trying to go back to sleep. With a sigh wrought from the deepest depths of her soul, she leaned her back against the bedroom door. Her eyes landed on Raphael, unconscious, blissfully unaware of the missed opportunities for spookies, and seeing him on the bed as he was, naked and oblivious, his chest rising and falling from the steady rhythm of his slumbered breathing, a smile turned her lips, and she became grounded.

          “Maybe I’ll play a game of cards to help tire me out,” she said, and turned back to her purse, intending to retrieve the deck of playing cards she kept on hand for times of emergency, or in this case, to induce drowsiness. She stopped short when the sound of footsteps crossed the hallway on the other side of the bedroom door. She froze, too scared to move or breathe as goosebumps covered her body and raised the small hairs of her arms and back of her neck. Her hand, still in her purse, brushed over Stanley, and she pressed down the recording feature as quietly as possible, lifting the microphone portion into open air to capture the eerie sound. The footsteps walked a path slowly down the hallway towards the grand staircase, but instead of dissipating to the main level as Lola expected, she heard the rattling of a doorknob, followed by the tiniest creak of hinges.

          All was then quiet.

          “This calls for further investigation,” she declared, adrenaline coursing through her. She reached for the fancy key resting in the bedroom lock, and turning the filigreed metal, threw open the door to explore the hallway. A cool breeze of air washed over her skin, and she immediately retreated back into the bedroom, closing the door in a state of panic. “Whoops! Forgot I’m naked!”

          Searching the room, she located one of the bathrobes that had been flung onto the davenport, and yanking it up, laced her arms through the sleeves, tying the sash around her waist while stepping out into the hallway once more, closing the bedroom door behind her so as not to wake Raphael. A rumble of thunder echoed down the corridor, signaling the next wave of approaching storms, and it was here, magnified by the deep, dark shadows, standing alone on old, worn out, dusty carpets of decades gone by, that the weight of the house, its history, what it witnessed, and what it symbolized, seemed to center in on that particular hallway. Half of her wanted to retreat, and she moved back a pace subconsciously, fear and doubt creeping into her mind that she was about to make a horrible mistake if she loitered any longer. However, steeling her nerves, she decided on at least attempting a quick EVP session before hightailing it back to the safety of her bed.

          “Hello? Is anyone out here?” she whispered, her tone barely reaching above audible levels. She waited for a response, Stanley faithfully recording in her shaking hand. “Lillian? Was that you walking around just now?” Again, she paused, and the hallway continued to remain silent. “If you’re not Lillian, can you please tell me your name?” Lola took in her surroundings for anything out of the ordinary, when she noticed a glimmer of silver light coming from one room in particular at the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs.

          “The library,” she stated. Drawn to the room as if hypnotized, Lola tiptoed towards the forbidden room. “It’s…open,” she gasped, and leaning forward, peeked through the available crack of space between the doorframe, only able to decipher blocks of towering shadows. She straightened, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she contemplated her next move. No one could fault her for breaking any rules, for after all, the library was, at that moment, technically unlocked, which meant she was free to explore this part of the Manor House without fear of consequences. Her mind made up on the matter, she rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin with determined moxie, and took a step forward.

          “Hello? May I come in?” Lola politely rapped her knuckle on the door as she pushed the barrier fully open. “Is anyone in here?” and taking a deep breath to calm her heart beating out of her chest, she crossed the threshold and entered Lillian’s library.

          It was unnaturally cold.

          Inside the relatively spacious room were wall to wall bookcases, the tops merging with the crown molding in a seamless, elegant chestnut finish, the shelves fully stocked with books in varying thickness, their spines dulled and dusty from years spent locked away from the world. The permeating scent of old ash and charred wood wafted in from the fireplace, the cobwebs dangling from the mantel drifting lazily from the unseen force of wind funneling down the flue, and a tattered swath of carpet protected a patch of the hardwood floors under the hearth, the tongue and groove pattern otherwise spanning the large surface area. White sheets covered the few pieces of furniture placed around the room, the canvas tarps creating somber lumps of ghosts in the forms of chairs, lamps, and an old secretary.

          One singular window was set in the wall between a set of bookcases overlooking the back gardens, a glimpse of the Dead Forest sidling into view. The curtains were drawn, but they were sheer, allowing a choked glimmer of silver moonlight to enter the room despite the thick shadows threatening to extinguish the celestial light source.

          “This is incredible,” Lola whispered, her eyes taking in every detail of the room’s character, no corner going unnoticed by her wandering gaze. Her head tilted back, observing the stamped, brass paneled ceiling and hardy iron chandelier dripping with antique cut crystals. The floors creaked beneath her bare feet, the sound one of embracing nostalgia than sad timbers of neglect, and with every step she took, life awakened the room from its prolonged stagnation. “Lillian, your library,” Lola breathed, her mind whirling from the elegant grandeur as she continued to take in the room, “is stunning.”

          She reached the slim window and pulled back the curtains to open the room to more moonlight, and she sighed, a thousand daydreams flitting off her imagination into wondrous, cozy stories woven of a lady’s day in her library above a sunny field of meadow.

          “I knew it!”

          Lola jumped in place with a frightened scream, whipping around to face the source of alerting accusation coming from the library doorway behind her. She clutched at her chest, breathing out a heavy exhale of relief when she saw it was Modesta standing in the threshold, and she slumped against the window frame, the life nearly startled out of her.

          “I wanted to believe you wouldn’t stoop yourself to this kind of level. I wanted to trust you’d actually behave for once, but somehow, in my gut, I just knew you’d do something stupid. I told Jack we should have taken shifts. How could you, Lola? How could you break into the library?” Modesta fumed, verbally berating Lola while still remaining firmly outside the off-limits room.

          “I didn’t break in, Modesta,” Lola tried to reassure in a calm that belied the racing of her heart.

          Modesta threw her hands out, her stiff arms gesturing around the room as evidence to contradict Lola’s statement. “How---how can you say that, when you are clearly standing in the middle of the room that has one, been locked all night, and two, was specifically instructed not to enter?”

          “Mo, I didn’t break in,” Lola repeated. “Why are you up at this time of night anyway?”

          “I heard footsteps in the hallway, and when I came out to investigate, I saw a white figure disappear inside here. Now I know it was your robe I saw, and not a ghost.” Modesta rubbed the temples at the sides of her head in an attempt to alleviate the spawning migraine.

          “Well, I heard footsteps, too. They started above me in the servants’ quarters, and by the time I grabbed Stanley, I heard them outside my door. When I came out to investigate, the library was open.”

          “You expect me to believe a ‘ghost’ unlocked this door?” Modesta asked, folding her arms and cocking her hip, not buying Lola’s explanation.

          “You can listen to Stanley if you don’t believe me. He recorded everything,” Lola said, and she held out the silver tape recorder before safely tucking it into her robe pocket. “But the mechanics of how the library became to be unlocked are irrelevant. Mo, it’s the library. The library.” Lola’s wide grin returned to her face, her eyes sparkling in wonder as she spread her arms to encompass the room. “Now, quit lurking in the hallway and get in here. You can’t possibly think to pass up on an opportunity like this.”

          “I can, and I am. We’re not supposed to be in the library. It’s for our own safety, remember?”

          “Psh! You worry too much, it’s not like we’re going to get in trouble. Plus, if you keep standing out there, you can’t stop me from reading one of these highly rare and highly vintage old books,” Lola teased, slowly reaching a hand over the nearest bookshelf, threatening to pluck one of the aged books from its resting place.

          “Lola, leave those books alone, you have no right to touch them,” Modesta scolded, taking a compulsory step into the room, then hesitated before accidentally taking another.

          “Come in here and stop me then. Ooh! This title looks interesting.” Lola’s fingers danced over a random book spine, and before she could pull the tome free, Modesta had crossed into the room, swatting her hand away.

          “Happy?” Modesta grumbled. She shivered, running her hands up and down her arms to rid herself of the uncomfortable gooseflesh threatening to overtake her body. “Why is it so cold in here?”

          Lola shrugged, walking away from her friend to inspect the bookcases closest to the fireplace. “Maybe they don’t heat it to save on energy costs.”

          “Why would they need to heat the room, it’s summer.”

          “Look at all of these books,” Lola breathed, romanced by the gilded literature. “I wonder if Lillian had a chance to read them all, you know, before she died.”

          “It is rather impressive,” agreed Modesta, exploring the opposite bookcase. “You know, the room seems to be pretty well intact. What kind of renovations do you think the Manor House are intending to make?” She meandered around the sheet protecting Lillian’s old writing desk, and the floorboards let out a wail of protest, the squeal of wood on the weakened joist startling the friends. “I’m thinking, possibly, re-doing the floors,” she said once the shrill died down, answering her own question.

          “Oh, yeah, these floorboards are really loose over here,” Modesta continued. “Look, I can basically slide this chunk of wood back and forth with just my foot, and…oops.”

          “And you were worried about me getting us in trouble?” Lola laughed, sauntering back to Modesta who had crouched to the floor behind Lillian’s desk. “What did you break?”

          “Nothing, this section of floor popped up,” Modesta informed. “Help me get it back in place so we can get out of here and go to bed.”

          Lola lowered herself to help Modesta slide the dislodged portion of wood back into place, but a glint of something colorful and shiny caught her eye in the darkened hollow of the floorboards. “Wait, I think there’s something in there,” she said, halting Modesta’s attempts to close up the slot of open floor.

          “It’s probably a pipe, or electrical work,” Modesta rationalized.

          “I don’t think so.” Lola dipped her hand into the well of shadows, searching for the source of the mysterious glint. “Got something,” she declared, her fingers curling around a rather soft yet textured item. “Oh, my God, if it’s a dead rat, I’m going to die.”

          Modesta made an involuntary, dry heave, gagging noise. “Please don’t make me barf,” she said, turning her head and shutting her eyes to protect herself from a potentially gruesome sight.

          Lola fished out the object, and extracted from the floorboards an old, leather bound journal, the pages brittle and crumbling around their edges. Slips of paper jutted from the top as makeshift bookmarks, the little tabs reflecting glints of moonlight.

          “Is that…a book?” Modesta asked. “Why would Lillian have a book buried in the floorboards?”

          “I think it’s a journal of some kind.” Lola gently cracked open the surprisingly pliable cover, and spread before her were pages scrawled with elegant, handwritten script combined with symbols, markings, and etchings of strange and questionable depictions, the scribbles and drawings looking foreboding, borderline menacing, and dark.

          “It’s a grimoire!”

          “A what?” Lola asked, her friend’s gasp of shock snapping her out of her thoughts.

          “A grimoire, a spell book,” Modesta said. “It’s Lillian’s personal book of shadows, essentially. That’s why she hid it in the floorboards.”

          “She was keeping the book a secret from the household…from her husband,” Lola said, filling in the blanks. “Lillian was a practicing witch.”

          “Seems she was,” Modesta said, taking the old journal from Lola to flip through the worn and yellowed pages. “And, it looks like she favored dark magic. These symbols over here are used for hexes,” she said, pointing to a drawing of a wheel made up of twisting shapes. “And this incantation is a summoning for nasty entities.” A sketch of an inky creature hovered next to a row of strange words Lola could not read.

          “No, I can’t believe this,” Lola drawled, her skin squirming the longer she stared at the unsettling images recorded in the distressed pages. “Lillian? Practicing dark magic?”

          “Well, think about it. This is her library, with a journal in her handwriting, hidden under the floorboards of her writing desk.”

          “It just doesn’t make sense.”

          “Fact is fact, and the evidence proves as such,” Modesta said with a shrug. She closed the book and began to lower it back into the hole under the desk.

          “What are you doing?” Lola demanded, reaching out and snatching the grimoire from Modesta’s hands.

          “I was putting the book back.”

          “Okay, hear me out. Here’s an idea, what if…we keep it?”

          “Are you insane?!” Modesta’s jaw fell open as if unhinged.

          “What? No one knew it was here in the first place, which means no one will know that it has a new home,” Lola theorized. “And if they are re-doing the floors, there’s a chance this book could be destroyed. If anything, we’re heroes for saving it.”

          “Or, they find it, preserve it, and add it to the historical archives of the Northcott family. We can’t and are not going to keep---don’t you dare!” Too little too late, she watched Lola hug the grimoire.

          “We can’t put it back now,” Lola said, the book clutched to her chest. “This is a huge discovery.”

          “As if hugging the grimoire automatically makes it yours,” Modesta huffed in frustration at Lola’s bizarre way of “imprinting” on inanimate objects. “The Manor House needs to be notified.”

          “Ah! But we can’t inform them of this discovery,” Lola said with a wicked grin. “We’re in an ‘off-limits’ room, you said so yourself. How would we explain where the book came from without incriminating ourselves?”

          Modesta pressed her lips together in a firm line, glaring hard at Lola, unable to give an answer to refute the argument and apparent victory in the perceived loophole her friend exploited.

          “See? All the more reasons for us to keep it.” Lola pretended to polish her nails on the lapels of her bathrobe, obnoxiously confident she won the debate of technicalities over property and rightful ownership.

          Modesta glowered hard at the smug redhead sitting across from her. There was only one way to make her see reason, and although possibly considered an underhanded tactic, it was her ace in the hole, one she reserved for times when Lola was at her most brattiness. “I don’t want to have to do this, Lola, but you leave me no other option. I’m telling Raph.”

          Lola gasped, eyes wide with surprise before narrowing into slits of defiance. “You wouldn’t. That’s punching low, and you know it.”

          “Then put the grimoire back.”

          “No. Finders keepers,” she childishly professed.

          “Suit yourself. I’m telling Raph.” Modesta got up from her place on the floor, turned on her heel, and made a B-line for the door.

          “Oh, shit, you’re serious,” Lola declared in horror. “Don’t be hasty, Mo, look! I put it back! Wait! You don’t have to tell Raph!” Lola practically chucked the grimoire back into the hollow space, sliding the floorboards over the secret compartment, and then jumped to her feet, trailing after the retreating form of Modesta. By the time she exited the library, her friend was already hammering her fist against the bedroom door of the grand suite.

          “Raphael! Wake up! Lola’s in trouble and she’s breaking all the rules!” Modesta shouted.

          “Fuck, Mo, stop! I told you I already put it back!” Lola exclaimed, trying to stop Modesta from waking the whole house.

          “Raphael! Get up!”

          “What’s all the commotion out here?” Lazare sleepily questioned, peeking his head out of his room while rubbing tired eyes.

          “Mo? Lola?” Jack asked with a large yawn, opening the door of his suite. “Why is everyone in the hallway?”

          “Raph!” Modesta’s fist fell through the air, missing pummeling Raphael by inches as he opened the door. He had a bedsheet wrapped around his waist while blinking rapidly, still half-asleep yet growing more alert by the second, especially when he noticed Lola wasn’t next to him in bed as he was awakened to the sounds of someone banging on the bedroom door.

          “Modesta? Is everything all right?” Raphael asked, the sound of his voice husky, deepened from sleep. “Where’s Lola?”

          “She’s right here.” Modesta shoved her friend into Raphael’s arms, Lola giving a squeak as she landed firmly against his chest. “Pay attention,” she then ordered, pointing a finger at Raphael to hold his full focus. “Lola is not allowed to leave that bed until sunrise.” Her finger gestured to the stripped mattress behind him.

          “Oh? My little dandelion has been causing trouble in the night, has she?”

          “I can explain!” Lola began babbling, trying to defend herself.

          “She’s been very, very naughty,” Modesta tattled.

          “I see. Perhaps another round of birthday spankings are in order.” Raphael swooped down, locking his arms around Lola’s knees, and in one fluid motion, stood to lift her over his shoulder. “No need for your camera, Jack,” he added, spying Jack’s ever-rolling camcorder filming the kerfuffle in the hallway. “Mine will do just fine.”

          “I swear to God, Mo, I’ll get you for this!” Lola cursed.

          “This is for your own good, Lola,” she replied, ignoring the threat.

          Raphael turned, Lola continuing to scream her vows of vengeance while balancing on top of his shoulder even as he kicked the door closed behind him, the sheet around his waist falling loose, giving the group of friends a brief glimpse of his bare backside before the door to the bedroom suite shut completely, muffled sounds of gleeful shouts and laughter filling the hallway soon after.

Modesta stood outside the active chamber, rubbing the bridge of her nose as her headache blossomed full force behind her eyes.

          “I take it they don’t know how thin these walls are,” Lazare grumpily commented.

          “Just…everyone go back to bed,” she said, refusing to go further into the issue. Lazare shuffled off first with a “good night” over his shoulder, his door closing behind him.

          “Everything okay?” Jack asked, coming to stand next to his girlfriend. “You pulled the Raph card. Usually we save that for extreme cases when it comes to protecting Lola from herself,” he chuckled.

          “I know, and believe me, it was absolutely necessary. It was either this,” she gestured towards their friends’ bedroom door, “or face potential charges on accounts of larceny.”

          “I guess it’s a good thing Lola enjoys Raph’s particular styles of unique punishments?”

          “It is far too early in the morning for this conversation,” Modesta stated, raising her hand to stop Jack from speaking.

          “Come back to bed. There’s still a few hours of sleep left,” he suggested sympathetically.

          Modesta cast her eyes to the library before agreeing to go with Jack, noticing the door was closed. “Hang on a second, I need to double check something first.” Retracing her steps, she came to stand before the paneled oak door of the room that caused the random stint of excited chaos, and reached a steady hand towards the crystal doorknob. It refused to budge beneath her grasp, locked, and exhaling a tired sigh of relief, she released the hardware.

          Ice prickled the back of her neck, and her skull began to tingle as if being tickled by tiny spiders. If she turned around at that moment, she would bet her life something was at the bottom of the stairs, leering up at her. Ignoring every internal alarm bell to run, she suppressed the urge to shudder, took in a deep breath, and turned instead towards Jack, refusing to acknowledge the dark energy dwelling down below. Jack met her halfway, tucking her under his arm, and guided her back to their room with the hopes of spending the remainder of their pre-dawn hours of the morning in peace.              

*~*~*~*~*~*

Hello, hello, hello, friends! Happy full harvest moon!

Just wanted to pop in and surprise everyone with a little treat today. I know I need to update "The Skeleton Keeper" for you guys, and I'll get on that here soon. In the meantime, enjoy some time with this cast of weirdos!

Love you all, and will chat more soon!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

          The friends spent the next several moments cleaning up the parlor before continuing on their quest of exploring the Manor House for ghosts. With all that had transpired during the attempted séance with Lazare, and Modesta’s tarot reading, they approached the remainder of their investigation with caution. The energy in the house wasn’t threatening, per se, but the air seemed to crackle with a pent up need to release a burst of paranormal activity. It just needed a catalyst to give it the spark and ignite. As a group, they traversed into the underground rooms of the basement, exploring the reserved private party space, trying their best to capture disembodied voices and dancing skeletons. Eventually, their steps brought them outside, where they took advantage of roaming the grounds under the protective gaze of the silver moon peeking out between billowing thunderclouds. A summer’s storm brewed in the distance, the occasional glimmers of lightning leap frogging from cloud to cloud as the cooler air of the storm front fueled a steady breeze to finger through the treetops with a hint of rain scenting the wind.

          They congregated under the old, wooden gazeebo, where a spontaneous play broke out amongst them to perform an impromptu rendition of an amalgamation of fairytales both traditional and newly made up before the watchful eye of Jack’s camcorder lens. He balanced the device on the railing so he, too, could participate in the drama-filled shenanigans of playacting. He jumped into the role of bard, sing-songing his lines effortlessly, Raphael obviously playing the hero knight in shining armor, while Modesta adopted the role of town baker, Lazare, the dastardly woodsman-thief, and Lola donning the guise of duchess. Laughing almost the entire time, they muddled through their “plot” of rescuing the town baker, who had been kidnapped by the woodsman-thief to thwart the duchess’s birthday, for without a baker, there would be no cake, the play then culminating in a swordfight to the death between knight and thief with some sticks they found lying around, whereupon the duchess’s birthday was saved thanks to the power of teamwork and creative ingenuity of the silliest kind.

          Lightning flashed more frequently, and a low growl of thunder was their cue to pack up and head indoors for the remainder of the night. Despite being a haunted house in the path of an oncoming thunderstorm, the rooms felt peaceful, the previous underlying thickness of energy having abated, and the close-knit cluster of friends agreed it was time for bed. Once everyone said their goodnights, they headed towards the grand staircase, but Lola lagged behind to lean in the doorway of the main parlor, observing in the stillness the stately room where the Gray Lady met her passing. A warm arm encircled her shoulders, Raphael’s presence comforting and unhurried, patiently waiting until Lola was ready to retire upstairs. After a heavy sigh, she waved goodnight into the empty room, and hooking her arm around Raphael’s waist, the two of them walked in step towards their bedchamber.

          They showered, the two squeezing into the intimate glass cubicle to quickly wash the day’s events off of each other before the storm grew closer, but it was inevitable to start sharing sweet kisses, each press of their lips lingering longer and longer as the shower continued. Eventually, Lola darted out first, wrapping herself in one of the white, fluffy spa robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door provided by the Manor House, and tossed Raphael his own robe as he stepped out of the shower enclosure after her. The two went about their nighttime routines, Lola finishing first to wait for her love in bed. She stretched herself out on top of the plush, gilded comforter with a pleasant sigh. Absentmindedly, she held out her left hand, admiring her engagement ring around her finger, the other hand twisting the band side to side, catching sparkles in the dim room lighting.

          The jewelry was a fourteen karat white gold vintage inspired twisted band set with diamond accent stones, brandishing a cushion cut amethyst at its center. The ring was stunning, to say the least, and an unexpected surprise when Raphael proposed to her with it, the item far more beautiful than she had ever dreamed of receiving. It was too beautiful, too precious to remove from its black velvet box, but the amount of love emanating from the ring, as well as the man offering it to her, eclipsed the imagined tender fragility of the thin metal, and when Raphael placed the ring upon her finger, it felt as if the jewelry had always belonged there from the start.

          “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

          Lola turned her head at Raphael’s voice to see him leaning against the threshold doorframe of the bathroom, the terrycloth of his robe tied at his waist barely containing his broader form. He was smiling, his expression one of contentment as he had been observing her upon the bed. “Perish the thought,” she scoffed, going back to admire her ring.

          “What has you in such deep contemplations?” he asked, walking over to the bed. He sat down at the end on Lola’s side, picking up her legs so her feet rested across his lap, and began to massage one foot, feeling her body melt as he worked the muscles along her arch.

          “Did you notice what Annie called us while giving the tour?” Lola asked. When Raphael shook his head, she continued. “She called us Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook. That’s the first time anyone has called me that, and we’re not even married yet.”

          “And how does it make you feel to be called my wife?” he asked, a smile slanting his mouth in a handsome grin.

          “Excited,” she replied easily. “Terrified,” she added after a pause. “Happy,” she continued. “Delighted…but nauseous, like I’m going to throw up a bucket full of butterflies.”

          “I didn’t know the idea of becoming my wife had your stomach in such knots,” he laughed, the sound warm and intoxicating.

          “In a good way,” she stressed, laughing with him. “I think I’m just feeling all the feels, and I know it’s technically only a ‘title’, but it’s a pretty big title. What if…I’m not…good enough?”

          “You are more than enough,” he punctuated, leveling her with a look that meant she should know better than to say something so ridiculous.

          “I’m serious. What if we get married, and it turns out I’m horrible?”

          “You have nothing to worry about, as you are already an excellent wife.”

          “We’re not married, you can’t know that,” she countered.

          “Dandelion, how would you describe the role of a wife?” Raphael asked, switching to massage her other foot.

          “Someone who’s loving, attentive, a good partner and communicator, as well as listener,” she answered, ticking off her mental checklist on her fingers.

          “You’re already all of those things and more. Firstly, you have my absolute trust. You’re kind and generous with your mind and heart. You challenge me to be the best version of myself without me feeling judged or belittled, and that’s not even beginning to scratch the surface of your many bewitching attributes in how we work together in this partnership. I have, with every confidence, no doubt that you will not only fit the ‘title’ of wife, but flourish as the already exquisite woman that you are.”

          Lola wiped unshed tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, his loving words reassuring her heart and soothing her soul. “Thank you for believing in me, Honey Love. I will be a good wife for you, and for the record, you’ll make for a pretty spectacular husband yourself, even with your cheesy albeit endearing one-liners.”

          “Naturally,” he preened, “for what good is a husband if he’s not filled with cheese? Now, no more frowns.” He lightly waggled his fingers against the sole of the foot he held, and the appendage was gone before he had the chance to acknowledge the force of her pillow smacking him across his face, the blow sending him sprawling flat on his back over the mattress. His wrists were pinned next by the sides of his head as Lola’s weight settled on top of him as she straddled his waist. Turnabout was fair play, in her mind, and if he was going to be cruel and attack her weakest spot, then she had every right to go after one of his.

          “Thou art a wretched, saucy fellow,” Lola growled as she hovered above Raphael. “Prepare for a taste of thine own medicine.” Her words were all the more satisfying as she watched the expression of his smug, cocksure arrogance shift into terror.

          “Now, Lola, wait just a minute---.”

          But she didn’t wait, she lunged, and buried her nose to snuffle and snarfle like a pig hunting for truffles against his ear. Her tufts of breath and light nibbles around the soft skin sent Raphael into a laughing frenzy, unable to control the dam of his mirthful outburst as the unbearably ticklish sensations of her lips short circuited his senses.

          “Lola!” he guffawed heartily. “Dammit I yield! I yield!”

          She relented in her attack, pulling away from his ear to plant a loving kiss upon his cheek before settling back on his hips, victorious. She released his wrists, resting her hands on the broad plane of his chest that was flushed and slightly heaving from the recent bout of play. He laid beneath her, catching his breath, his hair disheveled and robe splayed open. His eyes sparkled from his laughter, his smile wide and relaxed, and Lola’s heart cocooned in warmth as she remained observing the man with whom even the stars themselves could not compare. A glint of light twinkled in the corner of her left eye, and she reflexively flicked her eyes towards her engagement ring.

          “Are we going to change?” she asked, her voice quiet and tender.

          “Probably,” he answered, equally soft to match her tone.

          “I mean, is this going to change?” Her fingers lightly traced the edge of his chest exposed from the loosened robe. “When we’re married, are we going to eventually drift away from these games and affections?”

          Raphael’s hands came to rest on Lola’s thighs, his thumbs disappearing under the hem of terrycloth bunched up around her legs. “We are going to change,” he said, “but not in the way you’re thinking. If anything, we’re going to find even more ways to be weird. Our relationship is going to grow and evolve the more we grow and evolve to accommodate all the new ways you’ll cause mischief and mayhem and loopholes and schemes.”

          “I’m not all trouble,” she laughed.

          “It’s one of the many reasons why I want you to be my wife, because of your troublemaking talents.”

          “You’re not so innocent yourself, mister. I’ve known you to be a scallywag on occasion,” she teased, prodding his chest playfully.

          “A ‘scallywag’,” he repeated. “I wasn’t aware I had such a devious reputation." His hands moved higher up her legs, completely, now, disappearing under the folds of her robe. She gasped, shifting forward as his palms filled with the roundness of her backside. “However, you are correct. I have plenty of schemes hidden up my sleeves.” He moved his palms in soothing circles on each cheek, and she shivered.

          “Yes, but your schemes involve me more often than not usually underneath you,” she said with a roll of her eyes, the back of her mind having trouble deciding if the sensual attention to her butt was threatening or promising based on his statement.

          “And I plan on spending the rest of our lives crafting more clever and mischievous ways to find you so,” he pledged. His hands stilled when she reached behind her, stopping his ministrations, and he quirked an eyebrow in question.

          “Thank you,” she said, and leaned down, kissing him soundly.

          “I love you,” he announced as their lips parted. “Past, Present, and Future, I love you.”

          “I love you,” she declared against his lips, falling forward to kiss him again. Their mouths worked against each other’s passionately, Lola giving appreciative little moans of encouragement as his hands resumed to knead her ass before trailing his fingers in tingling, heated tracks up and down the backs of her thighs. She had to brace herself against the mattress as he yanked the sash of her robe open, pushing herself up with her hands falling to either side of his head, breaking their kiss and creating a curtain around him of her hair and now fully opened robe. She was completely exposed to him, and he savored every angle and curve and dip of her body, his eyes drinking in her supple form. He swallowed; hard.

          “You’re going to want to grab onto the headboard,” he spoke, his voice laced with gravelly lust, eyes deepening into a darkened sapphire the longer he stared at her hovering above him on all fours.

          Lost in a fog-cloud of hazy, amorous feelings, she soon found herself clutching the top of the sturdy, decorative wooden headboard, her knees still straddling Raphael’s waist, his own body sitting propped up against the soft plethora of satin pillows. She wasn’t sure how he moved them into this new position so quickly, but she didn’t care, as once again his distracting lips landed on her mouth. She moved her hands to grasp his shoulders, wanting to feel him, but he stopped her, guiding her hands back to the headboard.

          “Keep them there,” he said, his lips brushing along her jaw and neck. She nodded in understanding, and he purred. “That’s my girl.”

          “Oh, Jesus,” she gasped as his praise caressed her heart. He commanded in a way that wasn’t commanding, his guiding confidence unraveling her into a sopping puddle of pure bliss. Her head fell back, exposing the vulnerable surface of her neck, and he descended upon her, making sure to favor the fluttering pulse point in feathery kisses, his hands, all the while, exploring, teasing, whispering over tender places. He took his time, treasuring every sound and shivering tremble he coaxed out of her, savoring each pleasurable jolt of electricity that caused her breath to hitch. Her arms began to shake, and he rubbed her elbows as a subtle reminder to keep them from locking up, and she sighed, relaxing when his lips returned to hers.

          The weight of the terrycloth combined with the mingling of their tongues was causing her body to overheat, and she huffed out her frustrations, gruffly mumbling “too hot” as she released the headboard to rid her body of the too cloying fabric, never breaking stride with Raphael as he helped to remove the affronting material. A deluge of rain could be heard pattering the roof as the storm unleashed its fury, the hard staccato of water hitting the windowpanes matching the timing of her wildly beating heart, a crack of thunder rattling her bones as well as the timbers and framework of the house. She embraced him, her hands diving into his hair, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, flushing herself against him with every plane and curve molding harmoniously together of their bodies.

          “Hands, Dandelion, hands,” Raphael reminded, breaking their kiss to utter his request as he unraveled her arms, again guiding her hands towards the headboard.

          “You’re killing me, Honey Love,” she groaned, taking hold of the bedroom furniture. She shrewdly lowered her hips, slinking down his body to make contact with what she craved, but a light tweak on her backside caused her spine to straighten, a startled yelp of surprise escaping as she reared up high onto her knees.

          “Patience,” he chuckled. “I’m not done honoring your birthday.” Before she could retort, he placed his hands on her waist, holding her steady, and leaned forward to move his lips against her throat. “Happy birthday to you,” he began to softly sing. His heated breath fell over her neck, the vibrations to the low acoustics of his song creating goosebumps to explode and pebble over her skin, her mind frizzling when the kisses at her neck shifted to touch her collar bones to then graze in a devoted, revered gentleness over the tops of her breasts. His nose trailed down her sternum, inhaling her natural scent as he scooted down the mattress, following an imaginary line leading straight to her bellybutton.

          “Happy birthday to you,” he continued the song. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her navel and she nearly fainted from the touch, a strangled, rattling noise of pleasure sounding from the back of her throat as her head fell back from the sensations dancing along the tender skin. Her fingers ached with how hard she clutched the headboard, her body flinching from each delicate swipe of his tongue.

          “Happy birthday, my sweet, delicious Lola,” he sang, descending lower. Teeth nibbled her hip bone, and she could have leapt out of her skin. She was delirious, her head swimming as tiny, electric tickles skittered over every nerve ending, her body hyper aware of her lover’s intended final destination. He lingered too long at her hips, and although the attention wasn’t unappreciated, she feared she was going to collapse if he didn’t proceed.

          “Raphael…please,” she begged, the torturous anticipation of when his lips would move next leaving her breathless, teetering on the verge of her wit’s end.

          He grinned, unable to deny his love of anything. He dragged his fingers down the sides of her waist to grasp her firmly at her hips while peppering her panty line with tantalizing, breathy kisses, easing himself farther down the mattress, concluding his song.

          “Happy birthday to you.”

          All at once, she was flying, surrendering to the dreamy, euphoric weightlessness her soul yearned for, disconnecting from all earthly attachments, her body singing the ancient and sacred song of the angels. A warmth familiar as home bloomed from her chest, crawling up her neck to flush prettily upon her upturned face as every fiber of her body thrummed and pulsated with the language of the universe. Stars erupted behind her eyes in a multitude of cosmic colors as she skyrocketed higher and higher, leaving the world behind, and upon shattering through the clouds of an ethereal dimension, realized heaven had never looked so beautiful.

~*~*~*~*~*~

H-eeey, everybody! Hope you all enjoyed a glimpse into these two lovers' world. Normally, I write closed door/fade to black scenes when it comes to mutually consenting adult special fun time activities, at least, for the public, but I wanted to prop the door open just a little bit.

Plus, we've had a lot of spooky chapters back-to-back, so it was fun breaking up the pace a little bit. More spooky happenings are on the way, so keep an eye out for more of this tale!

Thanks as always for being awesome, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

The ghosts of last night's royal ball are following her home...not that she has a problem with that, haha!

Hope everyone is well! And remember, you can keep reading via link above, so check it out, and as always, until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday.

[sophisticated-creepy]

The sound of running footsteps thundered overhead, starting from one end of the house and racing towards the opposite side, the pounding vibrations traveling across the hallway from above. A door slamming violently shut was heard next as if the upstairs runner found escape in one of the many bedrooms, the force of the door hitting its frame hard enough to rattle the crystal on the fireplace mantle behind the startled group of friends who sat in a circle in the middle of the floor. Lola was the first who shot to her feet, giving chase as she sprinted out of the main parlor room, Raphael close at her heels, and Jack taking up the rear, halting briefly to look back at Modesta.

          “Go!” she ordered, waving him off while steadying a swaying Lazare. “I’ll look after him.”

          By the time Jack made it out of the room, the other couple was halfway up the main staircase.

          “Lola, why are you running?” Raphael asked, catching up to her.

          “Someone’s up there,” she replied, giving the clear and obvious answer.

          “If there is someone running around up there, at least let me go first.” Raphael overtook Lola on the stairs as they reached the landing of the second story level, putting his beloved at his back to protect her from any potential attack made by an intruder, if one, in fact, had entered the Manor House.

          “It sounded like those footsteps came this way,” Lola said, pointing in the direction of the hallway towards the back of the house where young Edgar’s room and Lillian’s library was situated.

          “There’s nowhere for an intruder to go,” Raphael said, looking up and down the eerily abandoned corridor.

          “We heard a door slam shut,” Jack said, reaching the landing to congregate with the others. “But I could have sworn we’ve had our rooms locked the whole time since the tour.”

          Raphael checked the imposing paneled doors along the stretch of hallway, rattling their doorknobs to confirm all the rooms were indeed locked.

          “It doesn’t make any sense. We all heard a door slam shut up here,” Lola stated as she tapped her bottom lip in thought.

          “Weird timing hearing those running footsteps after Lazare specifically told us to run,” Jack commented.

          Lola gasped, her eyes growing large with realization. “That’s right! He did tell us to run.”

          “Let’s regroup downstairs and check in with Modesta and Lazare. Maybe he gleaned something while in his trance to help make sense of it all,” Raphael said. In agreement, the three departed, but Lola lagged behind, curiosity taking control as she loitered near the library, and before descending the stairs after the men, touched the crystal doorknob to the forbidden and tantalizing room. She let out a harsh gasp, recoiling back in shock, holding her hand close to her chest.

          “Lola, what happened?” Raphael asked, instantly at her side upon hearing her outcry.

          “Touch the doorknob,” she said while stepping into his comforting arms.

          “I’m not falling for that again,” Jack quipped, also returning up the stairs.

          “It’s cold as ice,” Lola finished, ignoring the wisecrack.

          Raphael reached out with tentative fingers, brushing the doorknob’s surface, and he pulled his hand back in surprise once he felt the drastic cold. “It does feel like ice. Why does this doorknob have such a significant temperature difference?” he asked as everyone took turns touching the multifaceted antique hardware.

          “It’s the runner-ghost!” Lola exclaimed. “We heard them run down the hallway and slam a door, right? Maybe this was the room they ran into.”

          “It’s locked, though,” Jack said.

          “So are the other rooms,” Lola reiterated. “However, this doorknob feels unnaturally cold.”

          “I don’t think this runner-ghost has a key to get into the library,” Jack started, “let alone the proper time to unlock, open, slam, and then relock the door in the span of the thirty seconds it took for us to get up here to investigate.”

          “We don’t know that for sure,” Lola countered back as the three of them attempted to leave the landing again. By the time the group reentered the front parlor room, Lazare had removed his blindfold and headphones, adjusting his gold, wired rimmed glasses on his nose as he and Modesta talked softly to one another, and as the others walked into the room, the two looked up at their friends with expectant expressions.

          “Well?” Modesta asked. “What did you find?”

          “Nothing,” Lola said with a sigh, sitting down in her place amongst the circle on the floor.

          “We checked all the rooms to locate whomever was running upstairs, but all of the doors are locked,” Raphael said next, joining Lola on the floor.

          “Even though we heard that door slam?” Modesta asked.

          Lola nodded. “The only thing out of the ordinary we found was that the doorknob to the library was freezing cold.”

          “That’s peculiar,” Lazare commented.

          “Lola thinks a runner-ghost ran down the hallway and went into the library,” Raphael shared, “which explains why the doorknob was so cold.”

          “And the library is still locked, yes?” Modesta asked, giving Lola a stern glower.

          “I didn’t break into the library if that’s what you’re asking me,” Lola defended herself. “Now, how about you two? Anything interesting happen down here?”

          “All I have to say,” Lazare began, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “is that was probably one of the deepest trances I’ve ever experienced. But what is really the most strange, is I feel there are warring energies running throughout this house.”

          “Warring energies?” Jack repeated. “I thought only the Gray Lady haunted the Manor.”

          “She has the most legend surrounding her spirit,” Lazare agreed, “and is the most commonly known ghost, but there’s an undercurrent flying just beneath the radar of this main, dominant energy. At times, I could feel it bubbling to the surface, but then that one dominant energy of the house came in to squash it back down. It happened multiple times while I was channeling.”

          “How many spirits did you hear talking to you?” Raphael asked.

          “Just the one.”

          “I don’t know if that’s good,” Lola said. “Before we heard the runner-ghost, you sounded…gnarly is the only word I can think of to describe it.”

          “It wasn’t the most pleasant sounding voice,” Modesta agreed. “If this one spirit is portraying to be sweet and innocent, only to switch to that kind of ghastly growl, then which is the true face of this entity?”

          “It could be lying, lulling us into a false sense of security, acting all sweet and nice, but is actually really rather unsavory,” Lola speculated. After a brief moment of thought, she sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. “Well, the séance didn’t go quite as planned and all the flashlights are dead. What do we want to do now?”

          “If you’re up for trying again, there’s still one other way we can connect with Lillian,” Modesta said.

          “How?”

          “By tapping into her energy using my tarot cards. She can communicate to us through the cards, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to perform some old school ghost hunting techniques to experience a Northcott haunting.”

          “That sounds like a fun idea,” Lola exclaimed, perking up at hearing Modesta’s plan of using tarot cards. “Do you want us to light some candles?” The room groaned, Lola’s attempt at making a joke falling flat amongst her friends. “Too soon?”

          “The ambient lighting is perfectly acceptable,” Modesta assured while she retrieved her tarot deck from her purse mixed in with the party supplies. Once situated back into the circle on the floor, she shuffled the well-worn, loved deck of cards, then fanned them out face down in a line in front of her, and after taking a steady breath, she hovered her left hand above the spread of mystical rectangles. 

          “Okay, Lillian, what do you have to say?” Modesta felt a small patch of skin tingle on her palm under her pinky finger, and moved her hand towards the left half of the row of cards, stopping over the one that made her fingertips prickle. She flipped the card over, revealing the Ace of Cups. “Oh! That’s nice, albeit a little unexpected.”

          “Which card is that?” Jack asked, squinting at the tarot deck to see better in the near darkness.

          “It’s the Ace of Cups, which means big love,” Modesta answered.

          “From what I’ve gathered in my research, it wasn’t a secret that Lillian loved this house,” Lola said. “She prided herself on her gardens, and had many high-society luncheons on the grounds as part of her social clubs.”

          “What else do you have to say, Lillian?” Modesta asked, holding out her hand over the line of cards once more. She moved her hand over towards the right this time, and flipped over the second card. “The Nine of Swords? What were you so stressed about?” She felt the pull of her hand move back towards the left and turned over another card. “Three of Wands,” she announced, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Why were you stressed over your ships coming in?”

          Raphael leaned inward to get a good look at the card Modesta held up for everyone to see. “If the person in the card is watching for the ships on the horizon to come in, then here’s a bit of interesting information that could shed some light. Originally, this house was blueprinted to have a widow’s walk,” he said, “but at some point during construction, the design was scrapped, and now a turret is in the place where the widow’s walk would have been.”

          “I didn’t know that,” Lola said, wildly impressed by the information her fiancé delivered.

          “I have access to untold amounts of resources as a board member of the Historical Society.”

          “Wait, do we know if Mr. Northcott was a sailor?” Jack asked. “I know he founded the cannery, but did he ever actually go out to sea?”

          “A widow’s walk would explain why she was stressed over watching the ships come in,” Lazare began, “and if Cornelius was a sailor, I can understand her worry. I mean, I’d be stressed out too if my husband was at sea, and all I could do was watch for him to have a safe return home.”

          “But the widow’s walk was decommissioned. So, if her husband wasn’t a sailor, why initially build a widow’s walk to begin with?” Lola asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Modesta’s hand moving again over the tarot, flipping over a new card, and as the image was revealed, her friend gave a startled gasp. “What card did you pull?”

          “It’s the Lovers,” Modesta said, holding up the card. As she picked the object up, the one next to it jumped out of line and flipped over, and Modesta couldn’t help but let out another startled gasp of surprise. “The Devil.” A collective chill ran through the group of friends as she held up both cards together.

          “Lillian, what does all of this mean?” Lola beseeched the room, the drama of the tarot reading almost too much to bear.

          “Okay, okay, okay, now hold on a minute,” Modesta spoke, trying her best to rein in the beginning stirrings of chaos. “Let’s all take a nice, calming breath before jumping off the deep end. The Lovers doesn’t always mean romantic partnerships, nor does the Devil literally mean Satan. They’re a mirror to one another. Remember, we need to look at the big picture behind the cards’ symbolisms and depictions. I think it’s safe to say Lillian was not in love with a demon.”

          “Unless!” Lola scream-gasped, her imagination already sprinting ahead with reckless abandon. “She was having an affair!”

          “What?” the others collectively questioned.

          “Think about it. She’s stressed about a widow’s walk because her secret lover was a sailor,” Lola explained.

          “Then, how does the Devil play into this scenario?” Modesta asked.

          “Her secret tryst was evil,” the extemporaneous author answered, gesturing with her hands by the sides of her head that her mind was blown.

          “I don’t think any of that is true,” Raphael said at length.

          “It makes for a great story,” Lola defended with a shrug of her shoulders while folding her arms, unbothered that no one seemed to be catching onto her idea.

          “But it’s not Lillian’s story,” Modesta stressed. “I’m going to flip over one more card, and hopefully it will tie this all together.” Modesta took in a large breath and closed her eyes, her hand for the last time hovering over the tarot cards, and selected the one that made her palm burn, regretting turning it over the instant the image was revealed.

          “The Death card!” Lola shrieked. “Oh, my God, Lillian was murdered by her lover the Devil!”

          “Lola,” Modesta chastised. “I know I’ve taught you better than this. In tarot, Death does not mean ‘literal dying’, nor the Devil being something evil.”

          “I know, but, at first glance, doesn’t it just seem to…fit?”

          “No. What ‘fits’ is that Lillian’s love for this house brought in opportunities that may have been overly stressful,” Modesta began to explain. She picked up each card one by one, sharing the insights the images made in a cohesive storyline. “She had lots of choices to make in running this house as well as keeping up with high society, and that clearly had some kind of pressure on her, which was cause for a critical transformation.”

          “But what about the widow’s walk?” Lola asked, challenging the new narrative Modesta presented.

          “Simply a pearl of wisdom courtesy of the Newberry Historical Society,” Modesta said. “Now, thank you, Lillian for trying to communicate, if this was you,” she said next into the room, making to gather the cards.

          “Wait!” Lola shouted, stopping her friend. “One last card. Please. As my birthday wish. What does Lillian want us to know?”

          A tense moment passed between the two women as they locked eyes, until Modesta relented, and waved her hand over the row of rectangles, turning over the last card.

          “Of course it is,” Modesta scoffed with a half-hearted laugh, tossing the card into the middle of the circle. It landed face up, and the friends waited anxiously for her to explain the meaning behind the gruesome image of a bleeding heart. “Three of Swords. Heartbreak.”   

~*~*~*~*~*~

Happy Lion's gate portal day!!

I figured this chapter's timing was apt in posting, what with tarot being involved. I gotta say, I had so much fun writing this chapter specifically because it dealt with a tarot reading! As a reader myself, it was a delight to poke fun at the stereotypical reactions to pulling the "scary cards" like death and the devil. No, the devil card does not literally mean Satan! haha!

Also, why is it that every ghost Lola deals with has a broken heart?

Anyway, hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! I will see you all next time! Take care!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

Ta-da! We're off on a new adventure, folks! It's the start of Book 2! We're on chapter 4 now, which is super exciting! Who's ready to get started? I know I am!

There's so much to learn and share in this chapter, and I'm super pumped for you all to experience it all! Get ready, friends, it's going to be a lot of fun!

Much love to you all, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday

[sophisticated-creepy]

Well, that's a wrap on Book 1, and I almost can't believe we've made it this far! Book 2 starts next week, and I tell you what, you're in store for a treat! New characters, new locations, new worlds, you're not going to want to miss it!

Thank you for continuing to be on this journey with me, or, if you're brand new, thank you for coming along! Next up, Book 2, and again, you're going to want to stick around for what's to come!

You all are the best, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday

[sophisticated-creepy]

Why would the King of Shadows invite Eleison to his castle, indeed??? More will be revealed, friends, so stay tuned for more shocking shenanigans and mayhem!

As always, thank you so much for all the continued support! It means the world to me that y'all have stuck through this story for this long of time, haha! You all are the best, and I treasure you!

Thanks again, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday.

[sophisticated-creepy]

Happy Friday, y'all!

Eleison is quite literally head over heels, and the King of Shadows looks to have walked away with some sparks of his own!

Only time will tell what happens next with these two, and I can't wait to show it to you! Or, consider following the link above to find out what happens next when subscribing to a membership!

Thank you, as always, for the continued support and love, and until next time, friends, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday.

[sophisticated-creepy]

As ten o’clock rolled around, true to Annie’s words, the front doors to the Northcott Manor House were shut and locked, the creaky hinges a certain precursor surely to setting the scene for the evening’s future and anticipated spookies. While the staff doted about their closing duties, the overnight birthday party agreed upon using that time to cart in their luggage and supplies, which included small suitcases, presents, a cake, video cameras, digital recorders, duffle bags filled with a random assortment of ghost hunting necessities, and a sack full of pillar candles with strange and unusual symbols carved into their wax. After watching Annie descend the front stoop of the building, the last staff member to vacate the premises, the friends stood in the silence of the foyer, alone with the old ghosts of the infamous mansion.

          “It’s actually happened,” Lola stated. “We’re here, spending the night, at the Northcott Manor House. I can’t believe it. I never dreamed this could be possible.”

          “Well, don’t waste your time waxing poetic about it,” Modesta laughed, steering her dazzled friend into the front parlor room. “You have the whole night and run of the place, but right now, you have presents to open and a party to get started.”  

          Lola watched on in a state of contented bliss as her friends scurried about arranging a table for the birthday celebration setup. Since the parlor had also been converted into a dining space like many of the other rooms on the main level by the Manor House restaurant, it wasn’t difficult placing a linen covered table in front of the room’s magnificent fireplace, and while Modesta, Jack, and Lazare busied themselves with ambiance such as dimming the lights, Raphael retrieved the chilled bottle of champagne from their room as well as extra glasses. The pleasant pop of the cork had Lola blinking herself back into reality just as Raphael handed her a champagne flute full of her favorite sparkling bubbles.

          “You should see the cake Modesta made,” Raphael said as he clinked his glass edge with hers. “There isn’t a cake to be made in all the world that will ever suit you quite like this one.”

          “Mo? You made the cake?” Lola asked, excited to taste her best friend’s masterpiece of baked goods.

          “Naturally,” Modesta retorted, flipping her hair over her shoulder in pride for her confectionary work. “I created a three layered, elderberry and lavender genoise sponge cake with a light blueberry compote and white chocolate frosting.”

          “Oh, my God, when are you going to open a bakery? That sounds absolutely divine, I’m already drooling.”

          “Take a look at the top,” Jack added, pointing at the cake over his rolling camcorder. “I think you’ll appreciate that, too.”

          Lola squealed delightedly as she approached her cake, and laughed with pure joy behind the sound as she saw the little sheet ghost Modesta drew with icing chocolate garnished with edible eyeballs for extra drama and pizazz. “I love how you’ve written ‘Happy Boo-thday’.”

          “I know it reads like ‘booth-day’, but, hey, there’s only so much I can word pun,” Modesta said with a shrug of her shoulders.

          “It’s perfect, and I love it. Thank you,” and Lola gave her friend a hug.

          “You’re welcome. Now, let’s open some presents so we can cut into that thing,” Modesta said, laughing. Lola agreed heartily, and while Raphael and Lazare doled out the rest of the champagne, passing a glass to everyone, Lola situated herself at the head of the table, and once all the friends were comfortably seated, Modesta handed over the first present. “Since we’ve been fawning all over my cake,” she started, “you might as well open my present first,” and she handed Lola the gift bag adorned with pretty paper.

          Rummaging through the layers of glittery, colorful tissue, Lola uncovered a tabletop woolen crow with coiled wire legs for balance and a checkered burlap scarf for fashion. “Look at the baby!” Lola cooed, holding up the figuring for her friends to see. “He’s so cute!” and she held it to her bosom in a loving squeeze. “I love him.”

          “What are you going to name him?” Lazare asked.

          Lola held the crow out before her, turning it over to observe every angle before answering. “Aloysius.”

          “A dashing name for a dapper crow,” Raphael chuckled.

          “He’s fancy,” Lola agreed.

          “Like I said, as soon as I unboxed them at the store, I had to give you one for your birthday,” Modesta said. “I’m glad you like him.”

          “I love him. Thank you.” Lola kissed the end of Aloysius’s beak and gave him another tender embrace.

          “My turn! Open mine next,” Lazare said, holding out the wrapped parcel. Lola accepted the rectangular box with a “thank you”, and tore into the shiny paper. “This came from the pawn shop,” he began to explain, “and there’s a solid chance it might be haunted.”

          “You’re gifting me a haunted object?” Lola asked, pausing midway through peeling back the wrapping paper to stare at him with wide eyes.

          “It’s a possibility. I haven’t personally experienced any activity centered around the object itself specifically, but it does give off some pretty spooky vibes, and who doesn’t love haunted objects?”

          Without further delay, Lola tore off the remaining wrappings, unveiling an unassuming black box, and upon opening the lid, she gasped in surprise. “It’s a fountain pen,” she announced, and taking gentle fingers, plucked the ornate pen from its velvet cushion, showing off the green enameled writing implement with marble detailing and polished gold metal hardware with a wide, sturdy nib.

          “It’s in perfect working condition, too, and I filled the chamber with fresh ink for you, so you are good to start writing whenever you want,” Lazare shared.

          “What do you think, Modesta? Is it haunted?” Lola held the pen towards her friend, who spontaneously gave a jolt and violent shudder once the object entered her personal space. “Yep. Haunted,” Lola laughed, the others joining in.

          “It’s giving off some major residual energy for sure,” Modesta agreed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to dispel the march of goosebumps crawling over her flesh. “But I don’t know if an actual spirit is attached to it or not.”

          “Only time will tell,” Lola declared, tucking the pen away back into its soft casing. “Thank you, Lazare, I love it. You all are seriously the best people I could ever ask for to be my family. I cannot express how much I love each and every one of you, nor can I thank you enough for making today feel so special. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to cut into that cake.”

          In agreement, the friends once more bustled about the room, gathering paper plates and cutlery or topping off champagne glasses while Lola moved her newly gifted treasures to a safe place out of the way to later take upstairs. Returning to her spot at the table, Lazare finished putting three birthday candles into the cake, and when everyone was settled, he took out a book of matches and struck the first light. The friends began to sing the traditional “Happy Birthday” tune as the first candle was lit, Lola’s smile wide and joyous with love and warmth filling her heart, and she reached out to hold Raphael’s hand as the second candle was lit. The song was culminating to its end as Lazare was getting ready to light the third candle, but as he lowered the flame to the wick, the matchstick extinguished itself.

          “Sorry about that,” Lazare nonchalantly apologized, striking up a second match to light the remaining candle. Again, he repeated his actions of lowering the match to the wick, and before he could make contact, the flame, once more, extinguished itself.

          “Got some faulty matches there, Lazare?” Jack asked.

          “Apparently,” he replied, striking up a third match, only to have it extinguished before he even lowered it to the candle. “This calls for some advanced critical thinking.” He set aside the box of matches, taking up the unlit candle from the cake, and tipped it over to light it from one of the other existing flames, yet as the wick was about to catch fire, all the birthday candles, at once, blew themselves out.

          “It would appear someone doesn’t want you having a birthday wish,” Jack quipped.

          “That’s rather unfortunate,” Lola scoffed. “Well, joke’s on them, I already have everything I could wish for this birthday.”

          “At least blow out one candle,” Raphael suggested. “Otherwise, your birthday doesn’t count.”

          “Oh? Are those the rules of birthday candles?” Lola asked, her tone teasing and playful.

          “Yes, now be a good girl and blow.” Raphael deftly struck up a match, relighting one of the birthday candles, and pulled the cake closer towards her so she could make her wish. After a few seconds of theatrical over dramatic thinking, Lola blew out the candle, and everyone cheered.

          Modesta took charge of portioning out slices of cake while picking up the conversation. “Lazare and I have another surprise for you, Lola.”

          “Another surprise?” Lola asked. “I’ve had so many pleasant ones today, I don’t know how there could possibly be any more.”

          “We all know how much you love the Gray Lady, so how would you like it if we tried to communicate with her?” Lazare asked.

          “Are you saying, what I think you’re saying?” Lola questioned, anticipation beginning to bubble up inside her chest.

          “That’s right. We’re going to have a séance and try to make contact with your favorite ghost,” Modesta announced. “Respectfully, of course. We’re not provoking her into responding to our ‘demands’ to show herself or perform some kind of ‘ghost-trick’, we’re merely asking some simple questions to try and start a conversation. So, what do you think?”

          “I love that idea! What are we doing sitting around eating cake? Let’s get this séance started!”

          “Relax,” Modesta said with a laugh. “We have plenty of time to summon ghosts. Finish your cake and then we can get started.”

          It was rather impressive, albeit alarming, to watch Lola finish eating her entire piece of cake in three whole bites, but the declared séance had everyone’s eagerness rising the longer they sat and talked, and with excited expectation overpowering the energy around the intimate group of weird friends, Lazare finally broke the tension first by standing from the table to gather his special candles of summoning. Their table was cluttered with evidence of birthday celebrations, so they moved it off to the side, creating space to hold the séance on the floor in front of the fireplace. Lazare sat with his back towards the hearth, the rest flanking him in a circle, the pillar candles placed in proper accordance to speak with the dead. Lola had retrieved her pen and notepad, with Stanley at the ready as well to capture every word and sound.

          “I’m going to go into a trance,” Lazare began. “I’ll be wearing the noise canceling headphones and blindfold, which means I won’t be influenced by your questions, and will only speak on what I intuitively hear. Modesta is going to lead the circle of protection, and then hopefully, the Gray Lady will come through.” Lazare gave a wave to the lens of Jack’s camcorder, then removed his glasses, slipping on the blindfold and securing the headphones. He sat peacefully, taking steady breaths, grounding himself in preparation to begin connecting with the mistress of the house.

          “As I light these candles, I ask that you all imagine a dome of protective white light covering this space. Only those who are of the light may enter this dome. Here, we are safe and protected,” Modesta began. There were five candles in total, the largest one, as well as the one carved with the most symbols, sat in the middle of their circle, with the other four marking a type of compass for north, south, east, and west. Modesta gathered the matchbook from earlier in the night, and struck a match, leaning forward to light the center candle, yet the flame, as before, extinguished itself before making contact with the wick.

          “Damnit, what is wrong with these matches?” Modesta asked in a frustrated huff, striking a second matchstick only to have the same outcome.

          “Surely the Manor House have extra matches stashed around here somewhere. Want me to go look?” Jack asked.

          “No, I saw Lazare had a lighter in that bag he used to bring the candles. Let’s try using that first. I like us to use lit candles when doing a séance, as they help ward off unwanteds, but we don’t have to use them,” Modesta explained as she stood to look for Lazare’s lighter. “Here it is. Okay, let’s try this again.” Striking the metal wheel, a healthy flame appeared from the small pocket lighter, and Modesta was able to light the wick of the center candle.

          “Don’t do it.” Lazare’s drawl was eerily musical, a command while also a coax to continue in lighting the candles, the lilt a taunting sing-song of foreboding.

          “That didn’t sound like a friendly ghost,” Lola whispered, her breath practically stilled from Lazare’s creepy warning.

          “Is there someone already here with us?” Modesta asked, her attention fully on Lazare even as her hand hovered over the candle in the north position. “Can you tell us your name?” All eyes were fixated on Lazare, yet he remained silent and unmoving. Modesta tentatively sparked the lighter over the second candle, watching as Lazare took in a deep breath, but said nor did anything further while she lit the second candle.

          “We just want to speak with the lady of the house,” Modesta continued. “Is she here with us?” Her arm moved to the third candle, but the lighter jumped from her hand, appearing to be smacked out of her grasp, and she yelped, shaking her fingers to dispel the searing charge of energy that shocked her. As the lighter clattered to the ground, the wicks that had been burning, sputtered, and went out.

          “Maybe we should stop,” Jack said, filling the silence that began to border on awkward. “It’s starting to feel like we’re playing with fire…no pun, or irony, intended.”

          “But it is rather interesting, however,” Lola said, “that we can’t seem to light more than two candles at a time. Something clearly doesn’t want a third candle lit. But why?”

          “Do we need all the candles lit?” Raphael asked. “Similar to Lola’s birthday candles, can we conduct a séance with only one?”

          “Light them all,” Lazare spoke, his tone remaining playful yet taunting.

          “That sounded like a challenge,” Jack said on a nervous chuckle.

          “Too bad I didn’t bring my battery operated candles,” Lola said, her sigh tinged with the regret of oversight.

          “That’s it!” Modesta shouted, her outburst startling the group. “If we can’t have traditional flames for a séance, we can always make do with contemporary fire.” She shot up from her place on the floor, continuing to speak her idea aloud while rummaging through the bags holding their ghost hunting equipment. “I’m taking a page out of your book, Lola.”

          “And that would be…?” Lola asked, drawing out the question.

          “The power of loopholes.” Modesta turned from her foraging to face the others still sitting on the floor. “Nowhere has it been said we can’t use modern day torches for a séance,” and she held up five small flashlights, the devices perfect sizes for travel or emergency kits. She handed out a flashlight to everyone as she rejoined the circle, keeping two for herself, as Lazare was oblivious in his current condition to notice the activity scuttling before him.

          “On the count of three, everyone turn on your flashlight,” Modesta instructed. “One. Two. Three.”

          The room ignited in a glow of warm illuminations from the flashlights, their beams pointing towards the ceiling, and like moths to a flame, the friends subconsciously huddled closer into the soft realm of intimate space the torches created. Whatever appeared to dislike the notion of tangible flame seemed to be okay with the crafty makeshift workaround of their lighted protective circle, and when Lazare continued to sit motionless as the flashlights were all turned on, the friends collectively relaxed, eager once more for the séance to officially begin.

          “All right, let’s get started,” Modesta said, rubbing her hands together. “Whomever is---?” She stopped mid-question, as all five flashlights began to simultaneously flicker, the lights dimming as if the batteries were being drained.

          “Get. Out.”

          Lazare’s voice had taken on a gravelly, guttural sneer, the abrupt contrast to his usual cadence eliciting tiny gasps of fright from Lola, the others flinching back at the hatred dripping from Lazare’s command. The flickering bulbs of the flashlights burst into a surge of powerful light, far brighter than what the circuitry was capable before plunging the parlor into complete and utter pitch darkness. Light, as well as temperature, was sucked out of the room, the shadows growing cold as ice, the act of breathing becoming a daunting chore, for akin to the dying flame of a candle, oxygen was pulled from the hauntingly quiet room. The increasingly deep, wet breaths of Lazare saturated the air in an uncomfortable heaviness, the thick vocalization of his next command spreading chills through the hearts of those sitting in the protective circle.

          “Run.”     

~*~*~*~*~*~

Super spooky!

Another new chapter here for "The Third Light", and I hope you all enjoyed it! And yes, it is perfectly acceptable to go out and get yourself a cake now, or any other baked good of your choosing.

More spookies are on their way, so keep an eye out, friends! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next time!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

The 4th of July might be over, but I think there are still some fireworks happening between these two characters.

Hiya, friends! This chapter is starting to wind down, and there's still so much more to read about this adventure, so hop on over to the link above, subscribe to a tier level of your choice, and find out what happens next! Otherwise, I'll see you next week!

Hope everyone is well! Take care, thanks for stopping by, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday

[sophisticated-creepy]

Hello, dear hearts and gentle people!

It feels good to be posting again, and my apologies for the impromptu hiatus. I'm back again, and so are these cast of kooky characters! This chapter is starting to wind down, but there are plenty of moments to come with these goofballs, and I can't wait to show you more!

Thanks for being patient with me, I really, REALLY appreciate it! You all are the best!! Until next time, friends, be kind, and happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday

[sophisticated-creepy]

Dessert was brought out to the diners of a rich tiramisu paired with the house version of a Goodnight Kiss cocktail (or mocktail), the specialty nightcap’s colored liqueur glinting almost sinisterly of ruby bloodstone in the tall, fluted glasses. The dining room was filled once more with conversation and laughter, as crooner’s music of days gone by lilted sweet serenades to round out the intimate atmosphere of opulence. Having been served, Lola reached for Stanley, turning off the tape recording feature, and stuffed it with her pen and notepad away back into her purse to fully enjoy the company of her friends.

“Well, no newspaper man,” she said with a slight shrug as she spooned into her dessert. “But still a good play nonetheless. For a moment there, they had me believing the chef was the one who committed the crime.”

          “That would have been a neat twist if two people attempted to plot against Fernsby in the same night,” Modesta said with a laugh.

          “What if all of them had tried to murder Fernsby?” Jack asked, the group responding in more laughter at the convoluted thought.

          “Although I am slightly disappointed none of you got to see Mr. Newspaper Man, maybe Jack got a shot of him at some point during the play,” Lola said, motioning with her spoon at the camcorder.

          “I’ll keep an eye out for him when I review the footage for editing,” Jack said, making a mental note of the idea. As the friends continued in their conversation, a woman with soft brown hair and eyes, wearing a gold nameplate secured to her black jacket lapel, approached their table.

          “Pardon me for intruding, but who among you is Mr. Glenbrook?” she asked, her smile sweet and charming.

          “I am. How may I help you?” Raphael asked.

          “My name is Annie, and I’m the Director of Hospitality. There’s no need to rush dessert, but when your party is ready, I’ll be guiding you on your stay tonight at the Manor House,” Annie said. “That includes a tour of the upper levels where you’ll be lodging.”

          “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Annie,” Raphael said.

          “My pleasure. Whenever you all are ready, come find me at the hostess stand located where you first walked in.” Annie gave another brilliant smile to the group and then departed.

          “Ooh! My stomach just got filled with so many butterflies,” Lola announced with a shiver. “I still can’t believe we’re all staying the night. This is honestly the best thing you guys could have ever done for me. Thank you.”

          “The night’s only just getting started,” Modesta reminded.

          “Plenty of time and opportunities for you to get your spooky on,” Lazare added.

          “I can’t wait!” Lola exclaimed, nearly vibrating in her chair with excitement to explore the old Manor House and its potential spookies. The friends enjoyed the remainder of dessert relaxed in one another’s conversation and company whereupon gathering themselves, agreed it was time to meet up with the Director of Hospitality at the hostess station, eager to get the rest of their night underway. Annie greeted them with her award winning smile as the cluster of five congregated in the main foyer outside the dining room.

          “All right, is everyone ready to get started?” she asked, collecting a clipboard of papers and a packet full of specialty room keys from the hostess podium. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

          “Everything has been terrific,” Lola said. “We also really enjoyed the play. It was so much fun and so clever. Real quick, could you tell us who the director is? I’d like to tell them how much I enjoyed the show, if I could.”

          “Certainly. He’s right over there.” Annie raised her hand to flag down the play’s director who lingered somewhere behind the group of friends. Lola turned, expecting to see Mr. Newspaper Man walk in their direction, however, it was instead Detective Babcock who swaggered forward.

          “Oh! Detective Babcock is the director?” Lola asked, her jaw dropping open from surprise.

          “He is, as well as the writer of the play,” Annie replied. “Detective Babcock, these guests wished to congratulate you on tonight’s performance,” she said once the actor reached the podium.

          “Ah! That’s always nice to hear. Thank you,” Detective Babcock beamed, his eyes bright and smile cheerful as he faced the others.

          “Yes,” Lola stammered, recovering from her initial shock. “As I told Annie, it was indeed quite the clever show.”

          “I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Detective Babcock said with a slight bow of appreciation.

          “I have just one quick question,” Lola began, ignoring the confused stares from eyes she felt penetrating the back of her head from her friends. “All the cast members were in the play tonight, yes?”

          “They were,” Babcock answered, a small wrinkle of question forming between his eyebrows as his head canted to the side.

          “I mean, not their characters, but the actual actors themselves? How many actors are normally in your plays?”

          “We’re a small troupe,” Babcock said. “There’s only just the five of us.”

          “So, then, who was the actor waiting in the---.”

          “Sweetie, I think you’re confusing your murder mysteries,” Raphael interrupted, placing his hands on Lola’s shoulders. “Remember? There were characters staged in the wings at the show we saw last weekend.”

          Lola looked up into her fiancé’s face, his eyes silently pleading for her to read his unspoken thoughts. “Oh…that’s right,” she drawled. “You’re right,” she said again, adding more confidence to her tone as she nodded along with Raphael. “Silly me, last week must have slipped my mind. Sorry, Detective, for getting confused.”

          “No need to apologize,” Babcock said. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Have a good rest of your night,” and he tipped the brim of his hat in farewell before departing.

          “Let’s get started, shall we?” Annie asked, stepping out from behind the podium. “Let me first show you to your rooms. Follow me, please.” With a beckoning wave, Annie led the group to a set of thickly carpeted stairs inside the foyer that ascended towards the upper levels, but as Lola took her place first in line, she felt her arm tugged backwards, and turned to find Modesta holding her sleeve.

          “Is there a particular reason why you felt the need to make that man uncomfortable?” Modesta asked, her voice a whisper so their tour guide didn’t overhear.

          “He wasn’t uncomfortable,” Lola said, matching her friend’s whisper. “I was trying to find out more information about newspaper man.”

          “I’m beginning to think there is no ‘newspaper man’.”

          “So am I,” Lola agreed, oblivious to the dripping sarcasm of Modesta’s comment. A gentle tug at her hand had Lola turning once more to the front of the line as Raphael led her up the stairs with him, at which point the friends gathered close on the second level landing so Annie could begin her official tour.

          “These rooms were once the dwelling spaces of the Northcott family members. Each room has been curated and furnished to personify each individual’s personality, based on what we know of their lives. Here, is young Edgar’s room, the only child of Cornelius and Lillian.” Annie stopped at a large paneled door of oak halfway down the long hallway as she rounded the banister, using one of the fancy keys from the packet at her clipboard to unlock the room, and swinging the door wide open, she gestured for everyone to enter. Edgar’s room was painted a soft, butter yellow with plush carpet covering the floor, while a full bed plumped with blue brocade and golden damask accents drew the focus as the main focal point of the splendid room. Decorating the walls were oil paintings depicting ocean scenes of large ships in calm seas. A fireplace of white painted brick boasted a sturdy mantle with vintage children’s toys resting on its top, and a toy chest with its contents spilling out of even more toys, was tucked against one side of the hearth. A bookcase displaying child-like trinkets was centered on the opposite wall of the fireplace next to a thick clothes closet and a small en suite.

          “Although Edgar followed in his father’s footsteps of the cannery business, we wanted to give his room that essence of youthful wonder, given he was the founders’ only child,” Annie explained as she watched the group “ooh” and “aw” over the space. “Now, this room will be Lazare Pyrite’s for the night,” Annie said, looking at her clipboard to find the guest’s name.

          “That’s me,” Lazare spoke, raising his hand, and Annie smiled as she passed along the room keys to him.

          “Let’s move on to the next room, shall we?” Annie said, continuing the tour. She led them next to the end of the hallway, where a cozy sitting area was furnished and staged with leather wingback chairs and a table set with items for teatime in the nook of bay windows overlooking the front of the grounds. A door was to the left and right of the setting, and Annie took them to the left, unlocking the paneled oak door with another ring of fancy keys from her clipboard packet.

          “This is Mr. Northcott’s room,” Annie declared as the door swung open on silent hinges. The chamber was a vast contrast to that of his son Edgar’s dwellings, for this room had painted walls of deep, hunter green, adorned with cherry accented furniture upholstered in vibrant tapestries. The bed was much larger as well, also dressed in deep, hunter green to match the walls, and dangling overhead was a gold, three-armed chandelier. Three pillows were propped against the sturdy headboard, as well as only three chairs placed in front of the fireplace between a large closet and en suite, and three paintings of hunting scenes decorated the walls. The room was grand, to be sure, and carried a weighty presence despite its minimalistic aesthetic.

          “Mr. Northcott was a studious, no nonsense man, especially in his business affairs, so this room reflects the dedication he had for the cannery,” Annie informed. “This will be Jack and Modesta’s room for the night.”

          “That’s us, thank you,” Jack said, taking the offered keys.

          “Perfect. That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook’s room next. This way please,” and Annie ushered the group to the last bedroom available across from Mr. Northcott’s room. “I present to you, Lillian’s Suite,” and Annie held the door open for Lola and Raphael. Lillian Eleanor Northcott’s room was the personified breath of fresh air, with lilac painted walls decorated smartly with gilded framed paintings of delicate ladies with mischief behind their eyes, while antique lace hung from the windows in floor to ceiling curtains. The furnishings were sleek and polished, every detail executed down to the finest touch, including a vase of freshly cut roses sitting in the middle of a table between two chairs in front of the white brick fireplace. The large bed, dressed in a dusty rose duvet and mauve linen sheets, had a chandelier above it, dripping in clear cut crystal and glass beads. A massive armoire, vanity, and chest of drawers lined the walls appropriately, as well as several fully stocked bookcases, the slender tomes locked behind glass panels to preserve the brittle spines and pages. A special detail to the impressive suite, one that did not go unnoticed, was a silver tray on the davenport at the end of the bed with an ice bucket chilling a bottle of champagne, two fluted glasses, and a notecard in gold filigree which read “Happy Birthday” attached to a single long stemmed rose.

          “Lillian exemplified love and femininity, which we tried to recreate when furnishing her room. There’s also a claw footed soaker tub in the en suite, original to the home, as well as a delicacy ahead of its time,” Annie shared. “What do you think?”

          The moment Lola first walked into the room, she instantly fell in love. It was as if Lillian’s spirit still lingered in the lavish bedchamber, living her days in the routine of her life before tragedy ended too soon her existence. Lola could easily imagine the lady of the house going from one piece of furniture to the next, perhaps humming to herself while pinning her hair at the vanity, or spending countless nights reading while in front of a cozy fire. Little fragments of Lillian’s essence filled the space with warmth and life despite her being cold and dead.

          “Well, Lola?” Raphael asked, coming to stand by her side. “Is the room to your liking?”

          “It’s absolutely perfect,” Lola breathed. Her eyes continued to roam the walls and tables, unable to stay focused on one particular thing for too long before darting to the next enticing, pretty object, until eventually landing on the amused and handsome face of her beloved. “It’s perfect,” she repeated. “Thank you.”

          “Happy Birthday,” and Raphael leaned down to kiss her sweetly.

          “Now that everyone has had a chance to see the upper rooms, let’s continue on our tour,” Annie said, and the group of friends assembled in the hallway as the pleasant guide led the party towards the staircase.

          “Can you tell us what kinds of spooky things happen up here?” Lola asked. “It’s no secret this place is haunted. Surely there’s some type of paranormal activity happening up here, right?”

          “You are correct. From what I’ve learned based off the haunted guided tours, not much ‘ghostly activity’ happens specifically in the bedrooms,” Annie answered, “however, guests do tend to hear footsteps walking above them on the third floor at all ends of the night.”

          “What’s on the third floor?” Modesta asked.

          “That would be the old servants’ quarters,” Annie replied.

          “Are we able to tour the servant quarters?” Lazare asked.

          “Unfortunately, no, access to that area is closed to the public at the moment while renovations are taking place.”

          “What’s behind this door?” Lola asked, stopping at the top of the landing before following Annie down the stairs.

          “Oh, that’s Lillian’s library,” she said.

          “A library? Can we go in?” Lola grabbed for the crystal doorknob on instinct, but the knob wouldn’t budge beneath her hand.

          “I’m sorry, but the library is closed as well due to renovations, and not open to the public at this time.”

          “Come along, Lola, all that means is we have more reasons to come back at a later time,” Raphael said, his tone laced with humor while he twined their fingers together with one of his large hands to gently coax her down the stairs with the rest of the group. She gave a small pout, turning over her shoulder only to watch the door grow further out of reach, not that she was able to enter the library anyway, but thoughts of being free to investigate the door later that night chased away her frown, replacing the downturn of her lips into an upturned quirked smirk, no doubt wrought with mischief, and, consequently, trouble.

          “Have you had any personal experiences dealing with the ghosts while working here?” Jack asked.

          “I’ve heard the classic knocks and occasional banging every now and again, but I’ve grown so accustomed to it, I hardly even realize it’s happening,” Annie replied with a light laugh. “Though, one time, I believe I saw the Gray Lady.”

          “You’ve seen Lillian?” Lola all but shouted in excitement. “Where?”

          “I was in the basement getting the event space ready for a large dinner party. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and when I turned to see who it was, I saw what looked like a gray cloud move from the bottom step go into the kitchen. It was only brief, but I could distinctly make out a high-neck collared dress, with hair styled in the period of Lillian’s time, and just the briefest glimpse of her profile.”

          “That’s so wild,” Lola stated, in awe of Annie’s story.

          “What makes it even more startling, is that I was the only one in the Manor House at that time, and no one was due to the house for another three hours. So…do you folks want to see the basement?” A resounding “yes” was made by all, Annie laughing at the obvious exuberance and delight of the group, and took them to the lower level that housed the restaurant’s kitchen as well as the private event space, where a side door led partiers to the outer grounds, opening to the gazebo and carriage house as well as the sprawling landscape of the backyard edged by the Dead Forest.

          “Since you all are staying the night, let me go ahead and give you some basic rules,” Annie said, her statement gaining everyone’s attention. “This space, as well as the main level, are open for you to explore. I must insist that you please refrain from taking any bottles from the bars, and if a room is locked, that means it is unavailable to the public, so please don’t force your way into any secured space.”

          Lola felt the tingle of eyes turning to her at Annie’s last comment, but she ignored the feeling, contributing the sensation to her zealous imagination and halfway guilty conscience at plotting to revisit the off-limits library.

          “An hour after closing time, myself and the rest of the Manor House staff will depart. We will lock the front doors, but you are more than welcome to explore the grounds using this side entrance. Your room keys have an extra key that go to this lock. In the morning, simply lock the door on your way out and drop your keys in the return box against this outer wall.”

          “What time is check out?” Raphael asked.

          “The cleaning crew comes in at 8:00, so we advise guests to be gone by 7:30,” Annie said. “Are there any questions?” When none were spoken, Annie smiled. “Great! I hope you all enjoy your evening.” She looked to her watch, then back to the others. “It’s closing time now. Happy slumbers, everyone.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It's my birthday today!!

What a better way to celebrate a birthday than by getting a new chapter? It's my birthday treat to you all! This story is unfolding in so many new layers I hadn't expected, so get ready for a wild ride!

Hopefully everyone is enjoying the story so far, even if there has been quite a bit of a lag in posting. I appreciate everyone out there reading this, so thank you from the bottom of my heart! You're the best!

Have a great day, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

But, wait, why the King of Shadows gotta give side eye like that??

Well, for reasons...obviously! But, if you'd like the keep the story going, follow the above link and find out what happens next! More to come, so hang on tight! And as always, thanks for reading! Until next time, friends!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday

[sophisticated-creepy]

Hello, all my friends!

Clearly, I've missed a few updates over here, but I'm back at it again, and with a photo dump, as well! Hopefully everyone has been living their best life while waiting for these pages to post. I know upper tiers on patreon are a bit behind as well, and I'm working on getting those up and posted as quick as I can!

I can only thank you all so much for your patience with me while I went a little MIA for the time being. But, I'm here now, so let's keep at it, shall we? You all are the absolute best, and I look forward to showing you more of this story!

Take care and be kind, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday!

[sophisticated-creepy]

Hey, everyone! I'm still here, I promise!

How about this double post, am I right? I love how weird and playful the two of these people are together. One, the King of Shadows feels comfortable to play around, and two, Eleison is just being herself, which can be arresting and charming.

I appreciate everyone's patience with me while I try to remember what day it is...and was...

Some of the upper tiers are a little behind as well, but if you'd like to check them out, click on that link above to keep reading all the fun! You all are amazing, and I cannot tell you enough how much it means to me that you're enjoying this story! Seriously...big love to you all!

Thanks for reading, and as always, be kind and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday

[sophisticated-creepy]

Sounds like a challenge...as well as some playful teasing. Maybe the King of Shadows isn't so stiff and stuffy as he appeared to be in the ballroom.

Hope everyone enjoyed the extra page post today! If you want to keep reading, consider joining a tier membership via link above! As always, thank you all so much for your continued support with this story! It means everything to me that you care for these characters and their journey! You're the best!

Until next time, friends, happy reading!

~Melissa

"The Skeleton Keeper" updates every Friday