sophisticated-creepy

[sophisticated-creepy]

Lola reminded herself that speeding tickets were a bad thing, and eased off the accelerator. Her heart thundered a million miles a minute, the rush of adrenaline making her whole body tremble. She needed to expel this heightened amount of energy safely, so hopping curbs and making hairpin turns was definitely not the answer. Sitting at a traffic light, gripping the steering wheel, she laughed. She looked to her broken purse resting on the passenger seat, the corner of Lillian’s grimoire poking out from its hiding place between her notebooks. 

          “I can’t believe I stole from the Northcott Manner House. What have I done? Who am I?!” she declared, delirious with adrenaline. “I’m such a bad girl. Naughty minx,” she chuckled, quoting her fiancé’s favorite term of endearment when he thought her mischievous. Thinking of Raphael, she knew, in that moment, exactly how she needed to expend her energy.

          She thanked her lucky stars when she spotted his car in the driveway. She parked next to him and then grabbed her things, racing to the front door. The keys fumbled in the lock, but eventually, she pushed her way through the threshold, and now stood in the foyer, panting as she secured the deadbolt with a shaky hand.

          Raphael entered the front entryway from the kitchen, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a ham and cheese sandwich in the other. He was also shirtless, having recently come home from training at the stables.

          “Dandelion, hi,” he greeted, taken aback by her sudden appearance. He tilted his head, noting the heavy breathing and feral look to her eyes. “I was on my way to take a shower. Everything okay?”

          “Everything is perfect,” she answered, laying her purse on the sitting bench as she kicked off her shoes. She unbuttoned her top, never breaking eye contact with Raphael. “How was training?”

          “Good,” he replied, fixated on Lola’s movements. He was perplexed, but also didn’t want to interrupt. “How was your lunch?”

          “Good,” she said, tossing aside the fabric of her blouse. “I saved room for dessert.”

          Ham and cheese forgotten, Raphael lunged at Lola the second her fingers worked at the fastener of her jeans. His lips were on hers, his hands lifting her backside so her legs wrapped around his waist. He lost balance, toppling forward, and slammed her up against the front door. He apologized through their passionate kisses, but she didn’t seem to mind, as her thighs squeezed tighter around his middle, her body pressing closer to him.

          She had to come up for air, and he took that opportunity to attack her neck with greedy kisses. Her head fell back, giving him more surface area to lavish and explore, and he deviously lingered on the extra sensitive spots that made her breath hitch and back arch in his hold. Nibbling her collarbone nearly did her in.

          “I need you,” she managed to work out through heated gasps, “to ravage me. Please!”

          He chuckled, sending vibrations through her body as his lips grazed her throat. “I have a needy Dandelion?” he asked. She nodded, voice robbed of her when his lips brushed her ear. “It will be my pleasure,” he purred.

He found her mouth again, and turning her from the door, the two managed somehow, in a tangle of teeth, tongues, and limbs, to tumbleweed themselves upstairs to their bedroom.

*        *        *        *        *

          The two woke up from their power-nap atop their bed stripped of its coverings, still tangled in each other’s arms. Sluggishly, they staggered into the adjoining bathroom, and showered together. Afterwards, Raphael was quick to dress himself, giving his beloved a tender kiss before departing to pick up dinner.

          Lola threw on one of Raphael’s T-shirts and her lounge-wear pants. Taking advantage of having the house to herself, she ventured downstairs to retrieve her purse. Whilst thoroughly lost in the moment with her lover at the time, there remained in the back of her mind a tiny space occupied with the image of a black leather book with shiny slips of paper sticking out of the aged and brittle pages. Now, she hugged her purse to her chest as she climbed up the stairs.

          “Hmm. Do I want to read the grimoire in the bedroom, or maybe in my craft room?”

          Lola stood in the doorway of the primary suite, turning back and forth from her craft room down the hallway to the naked mattress in her bedroom. The bed looked the most inviting. Perhaps the fresh memory of her and Raphael’s intimate romp upon the pillow-top swayed her decision, but with a giddy grin, she frolicked fully into the bedroom. She picked up the crumpled comforter and hastily threw the plush covering over the mattress, then, crawling onto the middle of the bed, sat herself cross-legged with her purse resting before her.

          “I can’t believe I have it,” she announced, pulling free Lillian’s grimoire. “I can’t believe I actually have you!” She held the book out with both hands, admiring the soft leather. “For being so old, you’re in relatively good condition,” she commented. “Now, let’s see what kind of secrets you store.”

          She opened the cover. A breath of air whispered across her face, and invisible fingers combed through her hair. The sensation crawled through the underside of her heavy tresses, starting from the nape of her neck to squiggle up the base of her skull, and she shivered. The temperature around her dropped, becoming unnaturally cold. She ignored the rising goosebumps pebbling her arms, too engrossed with the grimoire sprawled across her lap to take notice, as page by page she exposed the unfamiliar words to her hungry eyes.

          The handwriting was narrow and slanted, the script made with an elegant yet confident flair. She attributed the old-style cursive to be the reason why she couldn’t decipher most of the words. She picked out simple ones, like “the”, “darkness”, and “night”, but the more she read, the more she felt like the grimoire was written in an otherworldly language.

          “Igmus…zla-harsha…bah-nit? Is that Latin? What is this?” Lola asked aloud. She held the book close to her nose, squinting hard at the small, slanted letters written next to a drawing of a shape interwoven of circles and squares.

          “Igmus zla-harsha bahnit,” she repeated. The words felt weird in her mouth. She tried shaping the sounds slowly, yet the movement was awkward and clumsy. Instead of trying a third time, she shrugged, turning the page to find new words and symbols.

          “Maybe these will be easier to say,” she speculated, turning a few more pages. “Here we go. Ee-art-ma-law,” she drawled rather foolishly.

          Her bedside lamp turned on.

          “Whoa!” Lola gasped, flinching away from the lamp. “Was that…me? Ee-art-ma-law,” she said again, and stared expectantly at the lamp. It did nothing. “Ee-art-ma-law,” she declared, putting a little more confidence behind her tone. Again, the lamp did nothing.

          “Silly me,” she laughed. “The lamp is already on.” She leaned across the nightstand and turned off the light. “Eeartmalaw!” she bellowed.

          The lamp did nothing.

          She frowned, disappointed, and turned her focus back to the grimoire in her lap. “I guess it wasn’t me.”

          The bedside lamp turned on, and her head whipped up in excitement. The lamp then turned off, then on again, then off. It escalated into a sputter, as if malfunctioning. It flickered wildly, flashing sporadically in a dangerous short-circuiting lightshow, transforming Lola’s initial excitement into panic.

          She reached over to turn the lamp off, but it made a loud popping noise, scaring her. She fell back, terrified by the strobing light. The lamp on Raphael’s night table started flickering just as wildly, mirroring the other.

          “Okay, that’s enough! Thank you!” Lola called into the room, backing away from the lamps to scoot herself to the bottom of the bed against the footboard. “I don’t like this anymore. Please stop!”

          The bulbs exploded, and Lola screamed. She covered her head and shielded her face, reflexively curling into a ball to protect herself. She remained in that position, waiting, listening, and when all remained quiet and calm, she lifted her head from the shelter of her arms.

          “Well! I wasn’t expecting that,” she said, darting her eyes between the innocent-looking bedside lamps. She crawled up the mattress, inspecting for glass shards, but found none. “No glass in the bed. That’s nice,” she acknowledged, and crawling higher, inspected her side table. “And no glass on the nightstand?”

          She dipped her head to look under the lamp shade to find the bulb was perfectly whole and undamaged. Slowly, she reached her hand up, turning the switch. The lamp clicked on easily, lighting the space in a soft, comforting, warm glow. Raphael’s lamp was also perfectly intact and fully functional, she observed upon inspection.

          “Interesting,” she breathed, sitting in the middle of the bed.

          Lola looked at the grimoire resting inconspicuously near the bottom of the bed, and she frowned at it, her eyebrows lowering in a knitted furrow. “If that was a trick, it wasn’t a very nice one,” she admonished the book.

          Her heartbeat, still unsettled, and her nerves a little frazzled, she shifted her gaze to the piles of bed clothing strewn about the floor, and decided a good dose of laundry would calm her. She hopped off the bed, then turned to pick up the grimoire.

          A loud, singular knock at the bedroom door made her jump in place. She yelped, chucking the spell book under the bed for no other reason than spontaneous impulse.

          “Co---.” She stopped herself, slapping her hands over her mouth, sucking in her breath from saying the words “come in”.

A warning grip around her heart kept her from uttering that particular phrase. She stood frozen, and thankfully, no other noise from beyond the bedroom door was made. After what must have been an eternity of holding her breath, she released a heavy exhale, and half-collapsed herself against the side of the bed, her knees buckling as she sank to the floor.

          “If that was a trick, I didn’t care too much for it either,” she declared openly into the room.

Aggravated, she gave her head a shake, and pushed herself off the floor. If indeed the grimoire was the cause of such puckish activity, she was glad it was under the bed.

          “You can just stay under there and think about what you’ve done,” she said with a harrumph.

She gathered up the sheets and blankets, throwing them into an empty laundry basket. Balancing the hamper on her hip, she threw open the bedroom door and departed without a look back at the troublesome grimoire.

*        *        *        *        *

          “Maybe I read it incorrectly,” Lola mused while slipping on a clean pillowcase to Raphael’s pillow. “Or, maybe I read it too much, and that’s why everything went haywire.” She fluffed the pillow, adding it to the others resting atop the freshly made bed. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she then said with a chuckle as she continued the conversation with herself.

          She was right in knowing laundry would help settle her mind, and now with clearer thoughts, she pondered over the happenings from the first few pages of the spell book. Curiosity replaced trepidation, and Lola dropped to her hands and knees, peering under the bed for her new book. Fishing it out, she held the grimoire in her lap as she sat on the floor in contemplation.

          “I’m sorry I threw you under the bed,” she apologized, lightly rubbing her thumb along the book’s spine. “You’ve probably spent a lot of time hidden away in the dark. Well, I won’t let that happen to you anymore. I think it might even to you good to get some fresh air,” she said with a smile.

“To be fair,” she then drawled, her forehead furrowing, “you must have gotten plenty of fresh air at the Renaissance Faire.” A prickle of tingles tickled between her shoulder blades, and she shuddered.

“If you are the same grimoire the Dark Sorcerer used, then whatever hex he cast upon me, and Sir Richard’s horse with those scratches, must be in here somewhere.” Lola turned the book in her hands, her fingers gliding over the textured edges to flip through the pages.

          “Wait! What am I doing? Modesta said this was dark magic. I shouldn’t be reading this here,” and she gestured openly about the room. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to make some necessary precautions.”

          Lola stood from the floor, leaving her bedroom to walk down the stairs, venturing into the kitchen with Lillian’s grimoire tucked securely under her arm. She paused in front of the pantry, scanning its contents, and finding the item she wanted, plucked a canister of salt from its shelf. With a lighthearted hum to her jaunty steps, she descended into the basement.

          The basement was partially finished, with holiday storage and mechanical features like the furnace and water heater hidden away behind an ordinary door. The rest of the downstairs space was furnished as a recreational room for entertaining their friends during game nights.

Lola held her bottom lip between her teeth, gauging the best spot to read the grimoire. She needed a place that was unassuming and hidden away, so the wet-bar and pool table weren’t an option for her plans. She briefly considered the unfinished portion of the basement, but the idea of cobwebs and hairy spiders shut that thought down immediately.

          That left her with the guest suite; a cozy bedroom connected to a three-quarters bathroom. She entered the room, making sure to close the door behind her, and sat down at the writing desk pushed up against the wall.

          “Okay, here we go,” Lola announced, laying the grimoire in the center of the writing desk. “This should keep you in check for releasing any bad-spookies to wreak havoc in this house.”

          She flipped up the nozzle of her canister, and poured out a ring of salt, enclosing the grimoire within a large oblong shape. She drew the circle wide, making sure the span of pages, once fully opened, would lie within the protective boundary. Satisfied, she popped the nozzle down with a pleased thump of her palm, smiling broadly at her clever work.

          “There! That should do it. Now, show me what you got,” and Lola opened the grimoire.

She held her breath, pausing, evaluating her surroundings for any spectral activity. When the energies appeared calm and regular, she took a relaxed sigh, and proceeded to flip over the pages. The wording and images depicted in the spell book grew darker and heavier the deeper into the manuscript she perused. At one page turn, an image sketched in deep, black ink of a creature’s face popped out at her, and she jumped in her seat, taken by surprise at the creature’s gruesome, sinewy tendrils that formed its flesh.

          “Oh! He’s nasty,” she announced, horrified, but she couldn’t look away.

The lines forming the drawing gave the impression as being alive. Whenever she blinked to refocus her vision, some of the marks around the edges seemed to shift, pulsating as if it had its own heartbeat. Snapping out of the grisly hypnosis, she shook her head and turned to a new page.

          “I did not care for him,” she mumbled.

The table lamp next to her flickered.

“Hey! No.” Lola grabbed the can of salt, tracing a circle around the lamp base, and the flickering instantly stopped. “I’ll have none of that, thank you.”

          She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling to give her brain a chance to process all her eyes absorbed. Slanted words were unreadable, the haunting images were confusing, and in the back of her mind, she just couldn’t imagine Lillian as the one to pen such darkness.

This couldn’t be the same Lillian who tended to her gardens, the same Lillian who drank her tea in a library surrounded by her treasures, the Lillian who was a loving wife and mother. There was a disconnect, that much was certain, and somewhere, somehow, Lola was going to find the answers.

          Returning to the book, she continued scanning its pages. She flipped through a couple more when she saw it, sketched in the margins: an inky, humanoid creature, with gaping, hallowed, wide eye sockets, and long, gangly arms. At the end of monstrous, elongated hands were three gnarled, boney fingers. The residual tingles between her shoulder blades turned into pricks of tiny pins and needles, as if three fresh claw marks slowly raked down her back.

          Terror-stricken, she slammed the grimoire shut, and the sensations clawing at her back vanished. At that same moment, she heard footsteps above her, with the sound of Raphael calling her name. She pushed back from the writing table, grabbed the canister of salt, and fled from the guest suite. She booked it up the stairs, unsure exactly why she was running, but any reasonable speculations on the matter disappeared as she emerged from the basement to see Raphael at the kitchen island, setting bags of their takeaway on the marble countertop.

          “So, that’s where you have been. Why were you in the basement?” Raphael asked, giving her a curious look.

          “Research,” she responded, out of breath from her sprint up the stairs. She closed the basement door, resting her back against it, trying to regain her composure.

          “Sorry it took so long getting dinner, but now, at last, we can eat,” Raphael proclaimed, taking out the containers of food. “Fresh off the grill, your steak fajita taco bowl, my love,” he announced. “I wanted to make us some margaritas, but I can’t find…the salt.”

          Raphael trailed off his sentence, taking note that Lola had yet to move from her spot at the basement door and that she held the missing canister of salt. “Is there a particular reason you needed salt in the basement for your research?”

          “Salt? Oh! No, don’t worry about it,” she stammered, her thoughts trying to catch up to her head.

          “Don’t worry about it?” he repeated, quirking a singular eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest.

He smirked, leveling her a sultry look. He was still feeling mighty frisky from their spontaneous bout of passion, the lingering warmth of her body fitting around him invading his thoughts while he procured dinner, and he leaned into his talents of salacious teasing, confident he could instigate round two of their earlier wild, intimate activities.

          “Oh, Dandelion,” he lilted, gaining her attention as he took measured steps toward her. “You’re acting rather sneaky. Must I tickle your secrets out of you?”

          “Huh?” Her mind was still in the basement, until she fully registered Raphael’s words and calculated stalk in approaching her. “Wait, what? No!” she squeaked, clutching the can of salt close to her chest while flattening herself against the basement door.

          Usually the threat of play caused a pretty flush to brighten her cheeks and clever banter to fall from her lips before an inevitable chase ensued accompanied by her delightful squealing, but when Raphael saw panic fill her eyes, he immediately pulled back his seductive advances, concerned.

          “Lola,” he softly called, “please, look at me.” He was near enough to gently cup her shoulders, and he leaned down to meet her with an even gaze. “Are you in trouble?” he asked, searching her eyes.

          “No,” she said with a sigh, and relaxed under his touch.

          “Will you tell me before it gets that far?”

          “Yes,” she promised, a smile lifting her lips and lighting her eyes.

          “I’m here when you need me,” he declared, squeezing her shoulders.

          “Thank you,” she acknowledged with a nod, and kissed him. “Can I help you with the margaritas?”

          “I would welcome it,” he said, dusting her chin with his knuckle. He straightened, and Lola eased herself into a normal routine, setting the salt aside to grab the blender. Raphael smiled, watching her from the corner of his eye as he selected the tequila, margarita mix, and limes.

          His first instinct was to mend and problem solve when Lola displayed her distress. He learned rather quickly that Lola liked to gather the facts of a situation before coming to him with an issue. That way, if he asked questions, she had the knowledge to answer them instead of the conversation turning into a frustrated one-sided back-and-forth of dialog to try and “fix” a problem she knew nothing about. He knew when to give her time and space, and when to press for details. She was good at keeping communication open, not leaving him in the dark or treating his opinions as something unwanted.

          They were partners, and he trusted that whenever she was ready, she would approach him, and he would be there for her. For now, what she needed most, was a taco bowl, their favorite streaming service, and a circle of salt around a margarita glass. That, at least, for the moment, was something he could easily fix.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

I think this is two chapter in one month. WHO AM I?! Haha!

Anyway...things got kinda spooky here, and only more trouble can surely follow! Looking forward to getting more out to you lovely readers! Thanks for coming along on this journey!

Until next time! Happy reading!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

The question continued to linger in Lola’s mind, sinking its hooks into the deepest recesses of her thoughts.

Who else knows about Lillian’s grimoire?

          So overcome with the question, she knew the only way to calm the fuzzies ricocheting in her brain was to return to the Northcott Manor House. There could be no rest until she laid eyes on the spell book. She needed to physically hold the item and compare it with the one burned in her memory clutched in a pair of fingers ringed with glittering jewels. With Raphael being out of the house for longer stretches during the week, thanks to his new training schedule, and her friends tied to their jobs and obligations, this would have to be a mission she accomplished by herself, so she made a lunch reservation for Tuesday.

          Now all she needed was a plan.

          The days leading up to her lunch date were consumed with ideas on how to achieve getting the grimoire. One major roadblock she had to contend with was the fact the library remained locked and off limits to the public. She tried to formulate a believable ruse that she left one of her belongings in the upper rooms when she stayed the night and needed to retrieve it, but that had been two weeks ago. Anything the cleaners or staff found would have already been removed by now. Her mind continued to wander, even while driving to the Manor House, concocting any scheme or loophole that could get her in and out of the library without the police getting involved.

          “Maybe if I climb through a window,” she thought aloud, picturing herself scaling a rickety wooden ladder left out by a careless groundskeeper. She laughed, the idea obviously ridiculous. Though, she considered, it held better merit than some of her other ideas. Before long, she parked her car in the lot next to the Manor House, her steps taking her up the magnificent stoop, to present, standing in the rich foyer of mahogany, crystal, and candlelight.

          The house sang to her. The walls whispered their old charm and elegance, the woodwork, of poise and grandeur, while a thrum of warmth circulated through the space as a quiet veil of mystery. The house, though at times stoic and pretentious, welcomed her with its embrace of secrets. She glanced around the small entryway, seeing the front parlor room was empty, though appeared as if a big party was about to arrive, as staff members had maneuvered the long, linen covered tables to accommodate for space. The formal dining room resonated with a healthy amount of chatter and levity, lunch running as usual for the clusters of diners.

          Looking to the grand staircase, Lola saw a thick velvet rope spanning the width of the steps from railing to railing. A heavy gold placard hung from the barricade with blocky, bold letters reading: NO ENTRY.

          Lola bit her bottom lip, annoyed at being thwarted by a sign. She flicked her eyes up the stairwell, peeking a sliver of the library’s doorframe, and for a brief second, debated if she could bolt up the stairs without anyone the wiser.

          “Thank you for your patience,” the hostess greeted, appearing from the bar area. She approached the podium, and beamed a brilliant smile. “Are you joining us for lunch?” she asked.

          “Yes, I am. I have a reservation,” Lola said, tearing her focus away from the upper floors.

After giving her name, the hostess walked her to one of the rooms near the back of the house. What used to be Cornelius’s den had since been transformed into a dining room of five linen covered tables. She was sat at a small table in front of a marble fireplace, given a menu, and then left alone to her own devices.

          Serenading melodies of easy listening jazz warmed the underlying coldness that seeped from the shadowed corners of the room, and combined with the turn of the century opulence that practically dripped down the walls, the ambience created a pocket of suspended existence. If Lola wasn’t careful, she could easily find herself captured by the elegant charms of the House. Shaking off the hypnotizing spell, she held up her menu, reading the dishes just as a waiter approached her table.

          “How are we doing today?” he asked, filling Lola’s water glass as he flashed a cheery smile.

          “I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking up at him. She guessed him to be of college age, not quite yet grown out of his youthful face, with close cropped sandy hair and brown eyes. Not Newspaper Man, she concluded, slightly disappointed. “How are you?” she asked in turn.

          “Can’t complain,” he laughed. “My name is Grant, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I get started for you?”

          Lola mentally shrugged, figuring she might as well take advantage of a good lunch considering it appeared gaining entry to the library was a bust. “I would love the fish and chips with a glass of the house Sauvignon Blanc, please.”

          “Excellent choice. I’ll put that order in and will be back momentarily with your wine,” Grant declared.

          She thanked him, and he retreated for the kitchen. Breathing a sigh, she took another look around the room. There was one couple mid-meal in the corner talking quietly to themselves. Aside from them, Lola had the dining room to herself. Since her library reconnaissance mission was a failure, it only made sense to make the drive and her lunch worthwhile by using this time to get some writing done. She pulled out a notebook and pen from her purse, opening to her notes for “The Toe Box” just as Grant came around the corner with her glass of wine.

          Lunch was brought out soon after. She found a steady rhythm between relaxing in the enjoyment of fancy-casual fine dining and making great strides in her work. She leaned back from the table with a contented sigh, having just finished a crucial plot point in her key twist ending, as well as the last bite on her plate. With a grin, she looked at her outline, rather impressed with all that she accomplished. The waiter Grant appeared as she set her fork down.

          “Can I interest you in some dessert? We have a lovely double berry mascarpone cobbler with brambleberries and blueberries,” he said with his pleasant smile, clearing her table.

          “No, thank you, I am stuffed. That was delicious,” Lola boasted.

          “May I get you another glass of wine?”

          “Thanks, but the one was enough for me,” she said, packing up her things. “Just the check, please.”

Lola handed Grant her bankcard and he disappeared to grab her receipt. She once again observed the small room while waiting for Grant to return. She took her phone out to snag a couple of pictures, adding to the album from her birthday weekend. From the entryway, a trickle of laughter caught her ear, the sound increasing as more voices joined in the merriment.

          That party must have arrived, she thought to herself, the sounds of their gleeful enjoyment making her smile. Grant returned, thanking her for joining the Manor House for lunch, and was gone. She signed for the meal and stood, albeit reluctantly, even going so far as to take her time putting away her bankcard in its correct place in her wallet. She didn’t want to leave the House. She hemmed and hawed, picking invisible lint off her table, saddened at having no reason to keep herself at the House. Lola looked to the ceiling, appreciating the preserved mural spanning the surface, yet longed to go beyond it. Lillian’s library sat right above her.

          As did the grimoire.

          It was so close, and yet so far. She yearned to reach up, stick her hand through the rafters, and pluck out the grimoire, satiating her desire to have it in her possession. Alas, the book remained untouched. Part of the fuzzies in her brain managed to calm down, knowing she was near the grimoire, at least, and that was good enough for now to pacify her curiosity. Throwing her large purse over her shoulder, there was nothing left to do but to go home.

          “Bye, House,” she mumbled into the old den, shuffling her feet toward the front entryway. The sounds of laughter grew louder as she approached the hostess podium, and again, she smiled, happy for the party that seemed to be enjoying themselves. Upon reaching the front parlor, she noticed an easel outside the room displaying a large foam board sign. Lola paused to read it, as the purple bats, witches’ hats, and spider web cartoons in the upper corners caught her attention.

          “The Stitch ‘n Witch retreat?” she read aloud, tilting her head in question. She turned fully toward the room, shocked to find the party consisted of people sitting at the banquet tables working away at their needlework projects. Some had contraptions made of wooden stretcher bars that held their fabric taut to help easily weave their needle and thread. Others held embroidery hoops of varied shapes and sizes, while a few simply sat with fabric and needle in hand, making stitches at a pleasant pace. The tables were also littered with the comforting evidence of snacks, wine, and comradery.

          “---And so, it was in this very room, where Lillian was murdered in cold blood, her killer, never to be found,” proclaimed a man in a sweater vest and wide gold framed glasses. “The End.” The room cheered, some even applauding, and he gave a proud bow over his needlework.

          “That’s my favorite story,” declared a woman with light up magnifying glasses at the end of her nose.

          “You always tell it so well,” said a man with salt and pepper hair around his temples sitting next to the storyteller.

          “Thank you, thank you,” said the first man. “Lillian’s story has always been my favorite.”

          “Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve caught a curious fly in our web,” said a woman with purple, pixie-short hair who sat at the table in front of the fireplace. She spotted Lola standing in the threshold of the parlor room, clearly intrigued by the people gathered.

          All eyes turned to Lola, and she flinched back a step in surprise, having been caught staring.

          “I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered, embarrassed for trespassing on their private conversations. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

          “We’ll forgive you…if…you can tell us something spooky about this house,” said the man in the sweater vest and glasses, giving her a crafty smirk. The collective eyes of the room swiveled back to her, eager to know what this newcomer would say.

          “Um…well…uh, did you know the turret on the upper level was supposed to be a widow’s walk?” Lola said. Her mind initially went blank when put on the spot, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.

          “That’s interesting, but not very spooky,” said the man with salt and pepper hair.

          “Well, did you know it was Lillian who had it decommissioned?” Lola asked.

          “Why?” the woman in the purple pixie hair questioned.

          “She didn’t want Cornelius to know about her secret love affair,” Lola answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if what she said was public knowledge. Collectively, the room gasped.

          “She was having an affair?” asked the woman with the light up magnifying glasses on the end of her nose.

          “A secret affair,” Lola reiterated, “with a sailor that may or may not have been the one to murder her, since her lover was evil.”

          “Whoa, whoa, whoa! How do you know all of this? Or if it’s even true?” asked the man in the sweater vest.

          “Lillian told me herself---through tarot cards.”

          The room erupted in a flurry of activity, and Lola found herself being ushered inside, bombarded with questions to know more. She was given a chair at one of the tables, the crafters setting aside their needlework projects to give her their full, undivided attention as she regaled them with the tarot reading from the night of her birthday party.

          “All in favor of making this little monkey an honorary Stitch ‘n Witch, say ‘Aye’,” the man in the sweater vest announced once Lola wrapped her tale. The room resounded in one booming “Aye��, and she laughed.

          “So, what exactly is a stitch ‘n witch?” Lola asked.

          “The Stitch ‘n Witches are a group of cross stitchers, who gather together at the Northcott Manor House once a month to tell scary ghost stories while working on our projects. My name is Robert-Paul,” introduced the man in the sweater vest, “and this is my husband Johnathan,” he next introduced, laying a hand on the shoulder of the man with the salt and pepper hair.

          “We launched our group on social media, and formed our community of misfit crafters. We’re basically a family now,” Johnathan shared.

          “Tell us your name, little monkey,” requested Robert-Paul.

          “I’m Lola.”

          “Well, good to meet you, Lola. That’s Denise, Margaret, Juan, Julie, Linda-Joy, Claudia, and Mark,” Robert-Paul introduced, pointing to everyone he named. “Don’t worry about memorizing their names, I promise there won’t be a quiz at the end of this,” he added with a laugh.

          “So, do you cross stitch, Lola?” Denise, the lady with the purple hair asked. Some of the crafters had gone back to their stitching, relaxing into their hobby again now that the excitement of the newcomer had settled.

          “Not as often as I’d like,” Lola answered. “My mom taught me. She’s the real stitcher. She’s working on a squirrel right now named Dweezil.”

          “Have her join our online group, and if she’s local, she’s more than welcome to participate in our Stitch ‘n Witch retreats,” Claudia said, adjusting the magnifiers on the tip of her nose. “Hopefully she likes ghost stories.”

          “You don’t have to worry about her, she’s more than capable handling her own,” Lola replied with a chuckle. “But, speaking of ghost stories, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about Lillian.”

          “She’s my favorite ghost,” Robert-Paul sighed. “Absolutely tragic how she passed,” he said, pulling a needle through his fabric, returning to his stitching.

          “It was a horrible accident,” Lola agreed.

          “Accident? I meant what I said about her being murdered in cold blood,” Robert-Paul said, shifting his gaze back to Lola. “I’m not buying into the whole ‘stray bullet’ theory. That incident had premeditation written all over it.”

          “How so?”

          “She was lighting her third light,” Johnathan said.

          A shiver touched her skin, raising the small hairs on her arms. “What do you mean her ‘third light’?”

          “If you really want to deep-dive into the Northcott rabbit hole, you’ll quickly learn appearances didn’t match what went on behind closed doors,” Robert-Paul said, lowering his voice to a mysterious level.

          Subconsciously, Lola leaned forward, wanting to learn more. “It wasn’t a happy marriage?”

          “Rarely are ones made in convenience,” Johnathan said, matching his husband’s tone.

          “Lillian was rather…eccentric, and Cornelius was more straight laced,” Robert-Paul shared. “It was noted that she always lit the candles by three.”

          “Why?”

          “Eccentric,” Johnathan reminded while threading a needle.

          “When they found Lillian, the butler made a casual remark in his testimony to the police that only two lanterns were lit on the fireplace mantle,” Robert-Paul continued. It couldn’t be helped, the three briefly turned their attention to the antique oil lamps at the corners of the fireplace mantle. “So why wasn’t there a third lantern lit?”

          “She had died before lighting the third one,” Lola answered, reading between the lines of Robert-Paul’s question.

          “Exactly! And who better to know when to pull the trigger than someone on the inside.”

          “Someone who knew her eccentricities,” Johnathan purred.

          “Wait, but her husband was out of town,” Lola said, pulling on her memory of all the details surrounding the infamous case. “And all the staff had been sent from the house.”

          “Yes, and if what you said about her secret love affair was true---,” Robert-Paul began.

          “---Then her lover was the one who killed her,” she finished, eyes widening in shock. “That’s mind blowing!”

          “And that’s why Lillian doesn’t like it when you try to light three lights. It reminds her of her death,” Robert-Paul said. “It happens without fail.” He rummaged in a tote bag on the floor next to him, pulling out a booklet of matches. “Follow me.” He stood, as did Johnathan.

          Lola followed suit despite being at a loss of the movement around her. She glanced around at the other stitchers sitting at the tables. Some watched her with a knowing smile while others continued stitching, relaxed and uninterested at the scene before them. She was instructed by Robert-Paul to stand in the middle of the room, he and Johnathan placing themselves in front of her.

          “Hold this, please,” Robert-Paul said. He broke off a matchstick from the bifold and handed it to Lola. Then, he broke off another to give to Johnathan, followed by breaking one off for himself. “Lillian is going to stop you from lighting your match.”

          “She will?” Lola asked, her eyebrows raising high.

          “You have the third light,” Johnathan said.

          “It’s like clockwork. Watch,” Robert-Paul scratched his matchhead across the prickly strip on the back of the matchbook. “The first light,” he said, and passed the booklet to Johnathan.

          “The second light,” and Johnathan struck his match. He handed over the booklet to Lola.

          She stared at the two men, noting their gleeful, expectant expressions while holding actively burning matchsticks. An eerie trepidation had cloaked itself around her, settling into her lungs as she watched the two take turns striking their matches. A warning sense of dread made her hands tremble as she took the proffered matchbook. She licked her dry lips, sucking in the lower one, and set her matchhead to the striker.

          “The third light,” Lola said, her voice a hushed whisper.

          “Hello, Stitch ‘n Witches! How’s everybody doing today?”

          Lola yelped. She dropped her unlit match and the booklet as a staff member appeared in the threshold of the parlor room. She crouched down, picking up the fallen items, and looked up to see the Head of Hospitality Annie standing in the room.

          “Hi, Annie, always a pleasure,” Robert-Paul greeted. He shook out the flame from his match to give air kisses to the pleasant lead hostess. “What brings you into our little corner?”

          “How would you all like a special treat?” Annie asked, addressing the room of crafters, to which, they “ooh-ed” in curiosity. “As you know, the Manor House will be undergoing some renovations. One of the rooms about to start renovations first is Lillian’s library. Before construction begins…do you want to see it?”

          If Lola hadn’t already been on the ground, she would have surely fallen over, as she could have been knocked over with a feather upon hearing Annie’s treat.

          “You’re going to take us into the library?” Robert-Paul asked. “I’ve only ever dreamed of seeing her library.”

          “Well, it looks like your dreams are about to come true,” Annie said, and turned to leave the room with a wave of her arm for everyone to follow her.

          Light commotion moved all around Lola as the crafters rose from their tables, happily sharing their excitement and hopeful expectations of what they’ll find in Lillian’s library. She stood up, momentarily at a loss for what to do, but the gentle prodding from Claudia moved her feet to walk with the others gathering around the bottom of the grand staircase. She waited in the middle of the pack as Annie removed the velvet rope barring the people from venturing to the upper levels. Her heartrate picked up several beats as the excitement and disbelief of being allowed free access to the library registered in her mind.

          Lola followed as Annie continued to guide the way up the stairs. Her eyes fixated on the oak door, her anticipation building as each step brought her closer to her coveted destination.

          “Okay, my Stitch ‘n Witches, here we are,” Annie called out in a sing-song lilt. She produced a ring of fancy keys from her jacket pocket. “Get your cameras ready.” She slid one of the keys into the lock and twisted. An audible “click” echoed in the small space as the key released the tumblers inside the hardware. “I present to you Lillian Northcott’s library.” Annie pushed open the door and then stepped to the side, gesturing for the group to walk in.

          Again, Lola felt herself prodded to move forward, and she complied, accepting the invitation to enter the library. The room was unnaturally cold. She shivered, bringing her hands to rub up and down her arms for warmth. The room was just as it was that fateful night she stumbled upon it, though, in the daylight hours, Lillian’s library had a soft glow emanating from the gilded furnishings, as if this space was frequently loved instead of closed off and forgotten. She stepped all the way inside, observing the room in its full beauty.

          “Are you all right?” Annie asked.

          Lola blinked, taken out of her daydreams as the hostess approached her. “Yes, thank you. It’s just a little cold in here,” she said, smiling politely and rubbing her arms again to emphasize her comment.

          “You look familiar,” Annie said, her eyes squinting as she tried to recollect who Lola was. “Have you visited the Manor House recently?”

          “Actually, I have. A few weeks ago, in fact. A group of us rented the House for my birthday.”

          “Oh! How lovely. Yes, I think I do remember your party. I hope you enjoyed your stay,” Annie said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t know you were also a member of the Stitch ‘n Witches. I haven’t seen you in the group before.”

          “She’s our newest inductee,” Denise said over her shoulder as she stepped back to take pictures of the intimate space with her phone.

          “Annie, you said the library was about to undergo some construction,” Johnathan said from the fireplace. “What is the Manor House intending to do? This space looks in relatively great condition.”

          “This room is going to be converted and redesigned into a modern day home office,” Annie answered.

          “A what?!” Lola nearly shouted, the information acting like a hard slap in the face. “You can’t be serious!”

          “Yes, the owner wants an office space on site to conduct business, and the library was chosen as the optimal location,” Annie explained.

          “But…what about the books?” Lola demanded, throwing her arms out to indicate the hardback, dusty treasures.

          “Most will go into storage, and some will be donated to the museums, but the rest will be given to the surviving Northcott family members.”

          “Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” Lola laughed incredulously. “That’s not right. That’s not fair. These are Lillian’s books!” She started pacing, her indignation at the thought of boxing up Lillian’s treasure trove of sanctum artifacts absurd and out of the question. “Aside from her son, this is her legacy.”

          “Well…I’m sorry…but there’s really not a whole lot to be done about it,” Annie tried to appease. “The books will be handled with care and respect---.”

          “It’s not just about the books,” Lola stressed. “Lillian lived here.” She laid hands on a white, canvas tarp covered chair. “She read these books,” she continued, going next to touch a bookcase. “She ran her household from this very spot, and---oh!”

          The strap on her purse snapped, falling off her shoulder, and landed on the ground. Lola looked at her spilled bag, sighing as she crouched down to gather her scattered belongings. As she scooped her things back into her purse, her fingers brushed over a loose floorboard. It slid out from under her hand, opening a secret compartment. It dawned on her she was behind Lillian’s sheet-covered writing desk, hidden from the Stitch ‘n Witches and Annie. Laying before her, shrouded in a pocket of shadows, was Lillian’s grimoire.

          “Do you need some help, dearie?” Denise asked.

          “No! No, sorry! I’ve got it! Silly me, it’s okay!” Lola stammered. “Don’t worry about me!” Her hand was in and out of the hole faster than her brain could process the movement. She put the floorboard back into place with her foot as she stood, clutching the broken purse to her chest.

          “Sorry for getting so worked up,” Lola apologized. “I just really love books, and the news caught me by surprise.”

          “It’s understandable,” Annie said with a nod, accepting Lola’s apology. “Why don’t you take some pictures, so you can look back on this little piece of history?”

          Lola agreed, and grabbed her phone from the outside pocket of the purse still clutched to her chest. She fumbled with the device, her hands shaking almost too much to take a decent photo from her trembling. Eventually, it was time to depart and head back downstairs. Before Annie could close and lock the door, Lola hovered in the doorway, giving the library a farewell look-over. She snagged one more picture, the last of the group to leave the sacred room. Lagging behind, she waited for Annie to lock up as the others descended the stairs to return to their crafting.

          “Again, I’m sorry for being overly passionate in there, and thank you for showing us the library. That was a really special treat,” Lola said as she and Annie walked down the stairs together.

          “You’re very welcome. And no more apologizing, please. I think it’s very sweet you wanted to protect the books and Lillian’s library,” Annie said with a heartfelt smile.

          “By any chance, do you know when the construction is going to happen?”

          “Soon, I believe, but I don’t know the exact date. I know it will start before the next time the Stitch ‘n Witches meet, which is why I wanted to show you the library.”

          “I just wish---oof!” Lola ran into something hard and solid that had turned the corner to come up the stairs just as she was coming down them. She fell over, landing hard and flat on her bottom upon the carpeted steps.

          “My gracious, I am so sorry,” a man declared, startled himself by the surprise impact. “Are you all right, my dear?”

          Lola looked up from her place on the steps to see a tall, broad shouldered man in a three piece navy suit standing before her. At first glance, he reminded her of a robin’s coloring, with his red double-breasted vest and slicked back brown hair with shoes and belt to match. His eyes were a striking clear gray, and he had massive hands, she noted, as one was reached out to help her stand. She slipped her palm against his, accepting his assistance, and shivered at the contact, the skin unnaturally cold. She thanked him for his help, but when trying to take her hand back, he held on tighter.

          “Forgive me for saying this, but, I have the strangest feeling we’ve bumped into each other before,” he said.

          “I can’t say that we have,” Lola said. Part of her wondered why her insides were internally panicking, but the longer he stared at her with his hauntingly glassy eyes, the more she wanted to flee.

          “You’re probably right. I’d be a fool not to remember you,” he said. “May I have your name?”

          Something deep in her spirit told her not to give it to him. She floundered, flustered in coming up with a response that didn’t involve disclosing her name. She became more nervous the longer he stared and the wider his smile grew. Thankfully, Annie came to her rescue.

          “CJ, what a pleasant surprise,” Annie greeted, genuinely cheerful. “It’s been a while since we’ve last seen you.”

          “Just making the rounds, Annie,” the man, CJ, said, matching Annie’s smile.

          “CJ, this young woman stayed the night at the Manor House a few weeks ago for her birthday,” Annie continued to share.

          “Really?” His attention and smile turned back to Lola whose hand he still clasped. “Well, happy belated. Tell me, did you notice any peculiar, otherworldly things during the night? Any wails or rattling of chains, perchance?”

          “Just some footsteps on the third floor,” Lola said. Again she tried to pull her hand free and again he held strong. The cold sensation of his palm made hers turn clammy, her discomfort increasing the longer her hand remained trapped.

          “Ah! Then you must sign the haunted guest book,” CJ proclaimed. He let go of her hand, turning to a side table by the entryway of the front doors, and picked up a rectangular object.

          “What’s the haunted guest book?” Lola asked.

          “It’s a regular guest book, but, if you have a personal ‘ghostly’ experience during your stay through the night, you get to share it in the haunted guest book with all the other claims,” Annie explained.

          “Oh! That’s a fun idea,” Lola said, a lightness returning to her disposition.

          “Here you are,” CJ announced, returning to the women. He held out the haunted guest book, opened to a blank page. “I insist you record your experience. And, if you share your address, you’ll receive the exclusive newsletter detailing all of the Manor House’s paranormal events.”

          “Maybe another time, I have some errands---.”

          “Nonsense,” CJ stressed, dismissing her rejection with a scoff and click of his tongue. “I’m sure your errands can wait. Please?” He held out the book closer to her. “I won’t let you leave until you sign it.”

          Lola was positive he meant every word of that statement. Her purse weighed heavy in her arms like a lead brick the longer she stood in the foyer. If signing the haunted guest book meant she was free to leave, she’d acquiesce. “Do you have a pen?”

          “Certainly,” and CJ produced a gold plated pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

          Taking the item, Lola wrote in the book while he continued to hold it out for her.

Stayed the night for my birthday and heard footsteps on the third floor.

          Finished, she held the pen out for CJ to take back.

          “And your address?” he reminded, tapping a column in the margins where guests could leave their information.

          “All right, there you go,” Lola declared, biting back her sigh of impatience as CJ refused to let her leave. She tried to give him his pen back, but he ignored her, turning the book around to double check her work instead.

          “Glenbrook?” he asked, his eyebrows lowering as he thought upon the surname. “Glenbrook. Hmm. Why do I know that name?”

          “It’s fairly common,” Lola was sharp to reply, and he laughed.

          “We obviously have two very different definitions for when it comes to being ‘common’, Mrs. Glenbrook. Rest assured, it is a name I shall not soon forget.”

          Lola involuntarily trembled, his promise reading more as a threat. Her legs begged her to run away, even if that meant sprinting back up the stairs, her feet itching to put as much distance between herself and this slick man. “I hate to write and run, but I need to get to those errands---.”

          Again, he interrupted her. “You know, if you submit three addresses, the House enters you into a drawing to win a voucher for a free one night stay. Know anyone else who might enjoy a newsletter?” he asked, turning the haunted guest book back around to Lola.

          “CJ! My goodness you’re being particularly pushy,” Annie said with a laugh.

          “I’m allowed to be pushy, I’m eccentric,” CJ rejoined with a played up haughty scoff and raise of his shoulders. “Two more addresses and then I promise you’ll be on your way,” he said, tapping the empty space on the column below her name. “You have my word.”

          It was easy writing her home address, putting down her soon-to-be married name, and so used the same loophole of anonymity for her friends by only listing their places of business. She finished writing down the address for Curios and Oddities, and as she went to scribe Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, the gold plated pen flew out of her hand. It landed on the floor in front of the hostess podium, where Annie bent down to retrieve it.

          “Sorry about that,” Lola said while laughing. “That was weird.” She tried to write Pyrite’s Pawn Shop’s address for the second time, and as before, the pen flew out of her hand. “Well, you know what they say; if it happens a third time, then I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

          CJ acted as if she physically attacked him. He bristled and blustered, offended by the very idea that she couldn’t write down the third address. He grabbed the pen from Annie, who, for the second time, had retrieved it.

          “Why don’t you tell me the address, please? That way, we’ll have no other interferences, and you can be on your way,” CJ said, turning the haunted guest book toward himself, poised to copy down her dictation.

          Eccentric is an understatement, Lola thought, eyeing CJ warily. At least he was quick to recover himself, the mask of poise having slipped only briefly. She gave the pawn shop’s address and he sighed, relaxing tense shoulders as he put his pen away in his suit jacket pocket.

          “Well, now that that’s all settled, I have no reason to hold you hostage from your errands any longer,” CJ said with a chuckle. “I appreciate you indulging my pushy behavior,” he added, the charm and smarm back in full swing.

          “It’s a good thing I like newsletters,” Lola said. “Have a nice day. Thanks again for showing me the library, Annie.” She slipped past CJ and Annie, her purse burning against her chest. Without a look back, she pushed open the main doors, and was gone.

          “You took her to the library?” CJ asked, a curious look in his eye as he watched after Lola’s retreating form.

          “I did, I hope that was all right,” Annie apologized. “The Stitch ‘n Witches adore this house so much, I wanted to treat them to the library before the renovations began.”

          “No harm, no foul,” CJ said, giving Annie his signature smile. He closed the haunted guest book, passing it over to the lead of hospitality. “Great minds think alike. I, too, was on my way to visit the library.” With a nod, he departed, his light steps carrying him up the stairs.

          Annie resumed her business. She checked over paperwork at the hostess podium, humming blissfully to herself and enjoying the laughter coming from the front parlor room filled with the needlework crafters. She moved to return the haunted guest book back to its place on the side table, when from behind her, a clattering sound of footsteps came running down the stairs. Startled, she whirled around to discover CJ barreling toward her. He pushed past her, bursting through the front doors.

          He took the stoop steps three at a time, nearly flying down them to reach the front walkway. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw a car pulling out from the Manor House side parking lot to glide along the quiet street across from him. He noted the woman behind the wheel, her distinct red hair billowing behind her as she sped away. CJ took a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He ran his hands through his hair to help him gain his composure, watching the little black car morph into a speck down the road before disappearing around a corner.

          Turning on his heel, he slowly climbed back up the stoop, entering the Manor House. He found Annie in the entryway, still discombobulated from his brusque departure. She recovered enough to stare at him, wide-eyed and stammering around her questions. His eyes flicked down to the haunted guest book she clutched in her hands, and wicked inspiration flared to life in his mind. He plucked the book from Annie’s grasp, a thin grin splitting his face.

          “I think I’ll take over the newsletter this month,” he said, and without another word, tucked the haunted guest book under his arm. He turned from Annie, waltzing up the grand staircase. He whistled a happy tune, the notes eerily complementing the cold shadows lingering in the corners of the entryway, his song creeping down the stairwell as he vanished into the lonely solitude of Lillian’s library.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hiya, friends! It's been awhile! I'm in love with this chapter for so many reasons! I hope you all liked it too! And now...mayhem! See you all next time, and happy reading!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

          Lola sat in the middle of the couch, head bent and eyes narrowed as she typed away at the document pulled up on her laptop. The French doors leading to the backyard had been thrown open, allowing the balmy breezes of early summer to drift in around the parlor room, the lilting birdsong from the nearby dense crowding of trees the perfect ambient white noise for her creative endeavors. More often than not, she had logs burning in the fireplace to further solidify the atmosphere of intimate coziness, but considering the already warmer weather, she settled for a scented candle of brown sugar and lavender instead.

          The events at the Renaissance Faire over the weekend were chaotic, to be sure, but also inspiring. The spark for her mystery novel “The Toe Box” continued to fuel her imagination, the evidence of her wild inklings scattered about the couch in open notebooks and loose leaf papers filled with her writings of bullet points, outlines, and intricate webbings. A small twinge in the muscles at her back signaled she had been hunched over for too long, so she straightened her spine while rolling her shoulders back. She rocked her head side-to-side, releasing the tension in her neck with a satisfying “pop”, and sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back to relax against the plush embrace of the couch.

          She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh air that hinted at a touch of sweetness. She detected the distinguishing murmur of a distant lawnmower as a soft breeze brushed through the wind chimes hanging outside the kitchen window, the warming ping-pong notes playing the quintessential melody of summer. She smiled, releasing her breath in a rushing exhale, melting into her surroundings.

          “Feet, my love?”

          The sudden, resonating baritone of Raphael above her head made Lola scream in surprise, clearly taken unaware of his presence from when he entered the room. She fumbled with her laptop, realizing the tab for an image search of human toes was splayed across the screen, and her face grew hot, burning from initial shock and embarrassment as he chuckled above her.

          “I had no idea. Far be it for me to kink shame. You know I’m at least open to a conversation, especially when it comes to pleasing my dandelion,” he continued to tease, loving how the blooming flush of her cheeks matched the shade of her hair.

          “Raph! When did you get home? How long have you been there? I can explain! This is for research!” Lola declared, shutting the lid of her computer. She frantically collected herself, refusing to allow the all-too-pleased smug expression plastered across his face to further rattle her flustered nerves. She took in a breath, trying to recover from her startled, racing heart, and moved the attention onto himself rather than what was on her computer screen.

          “How did it go with the board of directors? Are you still able to joust this season?” While she asked her questions, she cleared a spot for him to sit on the couch with her. She scooched to one end, turning inward as she set her laptop on the ottoman to then pick up her coffee mug, and patted the empty cushion across from her to signal the open invitation. She was eager to hear all the details from the Faire’s emergency meeting regarding the messy events during the joust over opening weekend.

          “It’s complicated,” Raphael began with a sigh, rounding the furniture to sit with Lola. “Our horses have been recovered, and luckily, they seem relatively healthy.”

          “I’m glad the horses are safe,” Lola said, relieved to learn the animals were well.

          “However, they’re too spooked to ride,” he informed. “The Committee are bringing in replacement horses from a nearby circuit that haven’t started their season yet.”

          “That seems like a good solution.”

          “In theory, yes, but it’ll take a couple of weeks to get them acclimated to their new riders, which means Tony, Richard, and I have to squeeze in extra rehearsal times to train with the new horses before the joust can resume its full performance.” Raphael slouched down in the crook of the couch, his legs sprawled out and head fallen back. His hand covered his eyes, rubbing at his forehead, annoyed at the thought of extra rehearsals, but also resigned to the circumstances of the situation. It couldn’t be helped, so he accepted his fate.

          “I’m sorry, Honey Love. Does this mean you can’t joust until the horses are ready?” Lola asked, placing a hand on his knee for comforting support.

          “On the contrary,” Raphael laughed. “The Committee find the joust too profitable to want to shortchange the experience of the Faire, so I am still obligated to joust.”

          “But, you don’t have a horse.”

          “They gave me a temporary one. Would you like to meet my new steed?”

          Lola watched as Raphael sat up, his tone and gestures dripping with snark and sarcasm. “You have a picture of him?” she asked, leery of his response.

          “Actually, I brought him home.”

          Before Lola could put two sentences together, confusion muddling her thoughts, Raphael rose from the couch, disappearing into the foyer. She turned in her seat, setting her coffee mug aside, and followed after him with her eyes as he left, yet he returned soon enough, galloping into the room with a stick horse between his legs.

          “Lola, meet Buttercup,” Raphael introduced, prancing onto the scene while holding the brittle, plastic reins attached to the muzzle of the stuffed horse’s head. The dusty black yarn of its mane stuck out in dangerous angles along the old, chocolate fur of the child’s hobby horse, with large glassy buttons for eyes awkwardly pushed too far to one side of its face, giving the illusion its gaze could follow one’s self around the room.

          Lola burst into laughter, quite literally falling off the couch, unable to control her hysterics as the love of her life, her pristine history Professor, her knight in shining armor stood in a gallant pose before her with one foot raised on the hearth, and a fist perched on his hip while the other hand clutched the reins in a tight grip.

          “No way!” she cackled. “You can’t be serious!” She peeked over the ottoman at him, doubling over once more at the sight of him glowering at Buttercup.

          “Yes, it is quite…dignifying, isn’t it?” he sneered.

          “You have to joust,” she gasped between breaths, “with that?”

          “Not only me, but Sir Tony and Richard as well.”

          “Sir Richard?!” she screeched, holding her sides, tears streaming down her face. “It’s too much!” she bellowed.

          “Another thing, which I’m sure you’ll find amusing, is when we joust, we were instructed to have one of our serfs behind us to clap coconut shells together to mimic the sound of horses’ hooves as we ‘ride’ down the line.”

          Lola begged for mercy, her sides splitting at the mental imagery of the surly Green Knight skipping down the tiltyard with one of his cronies clacking away with a set of coconuts behind him.

          “I’m glad you’re finding this so funny,” Raphael droned, deadpan, petting the mane of Buttercup while Lola continued to laugh as she rolled around on the floor. "Richard blames you for this, by the way.”

          “What? Why is he blaming me?” Lola finally gained control of herself, sitting up while wiping tears from her eyes. “What’d I do?”

          “Nothing, as far as I know, but he’s been grumbling about your supposed involvement to our new situation ever since we were told to joust like this,” and he motioned to Buttercup. He sighed, dropping his arm, letting the toy fall to the floor. “He thinks the whole catastrophe was somehow your doing.”

          “What a jerk face,” Lola swore.

          “Don’t worry, I set him straight.”

          Lola had sharp eyes, and noticed him subtly flex his right hand. “Raph, did you punch him?”

          He avoided eye contact. “It’s possible his jaw happened to be in the spot where I placed my fist.”

          “Thank you for defending me,” Lola said, crawling onto the ottoman. She reached out her arms for Raphael to join her. “But, please, no more hitting, okay?” She held his hands as he sat down with her. “I’m also sorry for laughing as hard as I did. It must be very demeaning for a noble knight of your expertise to be reduced to such a state as to have your trusty steed replaced by a child’s plaything.”

          “The sting of humiliation will soften over time, I’m sure. I think I’m most dreading over how Richard will react for when the time comes he is to face the crowds,” Raphael said, admitting his concerns.

          “That’s a valid worry, he’s a bit of a hothead.”

          “And thank you for your apology, but I don’t blame you for laughing. It is a ridiculous predicament,” he said, cracking a genuine smile.

          “Well, I’ll help you doll up Buttercup into the prettiest pony on that jousting field anyone has ever seen. You’ll be the envy of every knight out there.”

          “With your flair for costuming, how could I fail?” he laughed, and they shared a kiss. “Now, I seem to have walked in on some important---*a-hem*--- ‘research’,” he continued, raising his hands to make air-quotes, to which, she rolled her eyes. “What has your mind buzzing about on this fine afternoon?”

          “I’m trying to get the terminology correct when it comes to my new villain,” Lola answered. “He’s a serial dismemberist.”

          “Dismemberist isn’t a word…nor a profession.”

          “That’s beside the point,” she said, waving off his comment with a scoff. “What I really want, is to capture the essence of a mysterious, creepy aura for my villain, like what the Plague Doctor exudes.”

          “You think Karl is creepy?” Raphael asked, stunned by the descriptions made of his fellow cast member.

          “His name is Karl?”

          “He’s a pretty decent guy. He’s actually the Conductor for the University’s chamber orchestra. I see him from time to time on campus.”

          Lola’s jaw dropped, having her turn to feel the shock of hearing the descriptions made of the character. “Don’t tell me his backstory, that completely ruins the whole illusion.”

          He laughed. “Sorry to dispel the smoke and mirrors.”

          “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m basing my villain off vibes, anyway, not ‘real’ people, per se,” she said with a sigh. She then straightened her spine, angling her shoulder blades to dislodge a tiny patch of itches prickling over the skin along her back.

          “Are those scratches still bothering you?” Raphael asked, concern turning down the corners of his mouth and knitting together his eyebrows. He gently turned Lola’s shoulder to place a warm palm over the spot where three claw lines had marked her tender flesh. He was initially worried she had injured herself at some point during the Faire to receive such nasty marks, but his vision bled red when she told him of the coincidence between those scratches to that of the clawing gesture made by a supposed Dark Sorcerer skulking about the grounds.

          He vowed vengeance, but cursed his unfortunate, ill-luck, for the Faire employed no such character. Whoever attacked Lola got away without consequences to his actions, and the cruel guilt at being unable to bring the ne’er-do-well to justice gnawed relentlessly at his heart. Thankfully, at the very least, the scratches cleared up the following morning, leaving no trace behind of their menacing existence.

          “No, I think it’s just an itch,” she replied, wiggling a touch under his hand. She heard the smile in his relaxed breath, his fingers moving to take care of her itch, and she shivered, a rush of goosebumps erupting over her body from the pleasant, caring contact.

          “Speaking of scratches,” Raphael said, dropping his hand once she turned to thank him, “the handlers who recovered our horses from the forest noticed something…unique…upon examining them for injury.”

          “Oh? What did they find?”

          “Tony’s and my horse were relatively unharmed, but they found three long scratches on the haunch of Richard’s horse. They only made note of it because it seemed weirdly out of place.”

          Lola knew the color drained from her face as a chill whispered its caress to raise the small hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms.

          “They said it was probable an animal could have made those marks, but there are no harmful wildlife like that on the grounds, especially ones that would attack horses, nor is there anything big enough to leave only three scratches in that particular way.”

          The air hung thick between them, their eyes conveying the words of speculation they dared not speak aloud. The tension broke when Lola’s phone chirped a text notification, and after one more shared moment of lingering eye contact, she reached for her device.

          “Oh! It’s a text from Jack,” she said, unlocking her phone screen to read the full message. “He says he sent me an email he thinks I’d find interesting regarding my birthday.” She reached for her laptop as Raphael shifted off the ottoman to the floor next to her. Perching the computer over her crossed legs, she opened the lid, ignoring his resonating chuckle at the image search of toes being the first thing to pop up on the screen. She minimized the page, and then accessed her emails in a matter of seconds.

          “Here we are. Looks like he sent a video. ‘Hey, Lola’,” she said, reading aloud the message. “’This was too good not to share right away. Happy hauntings’.” After checking to make sure the audio wasn’t muted, she clicked on the video clip Jack sent her, sizing the viewfinder to fill the screen. Hitting “play”, the two watched the scene unfold. The clip began with the fateful incident in the hallway outside the row of suites in the Northcott Manor House, chaos encompassing the screen at the image of Raphael hoisting Lola over his shoulder. He had leaned toward Jack’s camera lens, the eye recording the close up of his profile complete with disheveled bedhead and sultry eyes.

          “No need for your camera, Jack. Mine will do just fine.”

          “You actually said that?” Lola gasped, turning her head to see her fiancé mirroring the same grinning smirk with the one he made towards the camera. “You’re impossible,” she breathed, going back to watching her computer.

          “I think you mean ‘passionate’,” Raphael corrected, his hand coming along side of her to pull her close as he cupped her hip.

          The camera angle shifted downward and off to the side, glimpsing the retreating form of Raphael carrying Lola into their suite as the sheet around his waist unraveled. Jack must have edited this part of the video, for the clip began to play in slow motion when the camera tipped to its side, eventually freezing on a frame of a tilted image of the library at the end of the hallway. Lola squinted at the screen, she and Raphael leaning forward at the same time to focus on what it was Jack apparently wanted them to notice. Jack had superimposed a white ring around the half ajar doorway into the library, indicating the spot he wanted to draw attention. The ring faded, and the footage returned to its regular recorded speed. A few more seconds in, the upper half of a gray figure leaned around the door as if to peek into the hallway, and then just as quickly, darted back behind it. The heavy barricade closed itself soon after with what looked to be a pretty hefty push, as if slamming shut, but never making a sound. The video ended there.

          “What the hell?!” Lola screamed with excitement and surprise. “Was that the Gray Lady?! Oh, my God, did Jack get actual footage of the Gray Lady?!”

          “Play it again,” Raphael said, his excitement as equally palpable to that of his beloved, the two glued to the laptop screen.

          Lola scooched back the slider bar to locate the spot where the camera focused on the library door, and watched as a gray figure lurked out from behind the door, retreated, and then shut the door closed.

          “That was the Gray Lady,” she exclaimed, rewinding the footage again. “I have literal chills. Holy heavens, we captured evidence of the Gray Lady.”

          “This is nothing short of compelling,” Raphael agreed.

          “Lillian---we found you.”

          “Are you crying?” Raphael detected a slight snuffle, and he turned his head to catch Lola wiping at her eyes. “Dandelion, what’s the matter?” His hand at her hip moved to rub up and down her arm for comfort.

          “These are happy tears,” she assured, laughing as she fanned her face to dry her eyes. “Do you have any idea how incredible this is? That’s Lillian, and she’s in her library. Even in death, it’s nice to see she still visits her favorite spot.”

          “It is rather poetic,” Raphael said.

          “That’s not the only thing poetic. I forgot to show you something. Look at what I just found.” Lola moved her laptop aside and disengaged from Raphael’s embrace, unfurling her legs from under her to retrieve a cardboard box sitting on the floor with her stacks of notebooks and papers. “I was going through that old box of stories Mom gave me, looking for inspiration and ideas, when I found this envelope of pictures. Take a look at this.” She rummaged through her box, finding the envelope of topic, and returned to the ottoman, handing him one of the photos.

          He took the photo with a drawn out “aww”, smiling at it, his heart warming at the young image of his bride-to-be looking back at him in all her preteen glory: braces, newly experimenting with makeup, and maybe having the slightest chance of a brush touch her hair. Her eyes sparkled, much to the same as her present self, alerting those who knew her best that mischief was at play, and he loved her all the more for it.

          “Do you see it?” Lola asked.

          “You’re not an ‘it’, but a ‘you’,” Raphael said, admiring the wild, untamed image of his future wife.

          “No, not me. There, in the window. I never noticed it before.” Lola had given him the snapshot of the first time her parents took her to the Northcott Manor House. At the time, the three of them had finished lunch and were exploring the grounds. Her father asked to have their picture taken with the large house in the background, the moment forever captured on film as well as in her memory. What she didn’t remember, however, was where specifically on the grounds the picture was taken, and its significance.

          “Are you talking about this grayish blob in this window?” he asked, pointing to the bank of windows along the second floor of the house.

          “I am talking about that grayish blob,” Lola answered. “Do you notice anything special about that particular window?”

          “Only that it’s in the back of the house.”

          “Right, and what specific room has windows facing the backyard of the grounds?”

          “The bedrooms. Oh! Wait! These windows are from---.”

          “---From the library,” they finished together. “It’s the Gray Lady in her library, Honey Love, and I’ve had proof, this whole time, that she’s been in that house looking after her books. How’s that for poetry?” She sighed with a dreamy smile, caught up in the charmingly endearing romance of a ghost in her library, living out her eternal peace amongst her books. “It feels like a full circle moment.”

          “Maybe that’s why we caught her peeking around the corner. She was making sure you didn’t walk off with any of her books. Or her grimoire.”

          “That damn grimoire,” Lola cursed, her daydream broken at the mention of the spell book. “I still don’t understand how the Dark Sorcerer had it to begin with.”

          “If it even was her grimoire. I hate to say it, but I doubt it was the same,” Raphael said, handing her the photograph.

          “It had to be the same, it even had the little bits of paper sticking out of it, and the Dark Sorcerer didn’t retaliate until after I named the book out loud,” Lola reiterated as she took back the photo. She stared at the glossy image in her hands, her eyes not focusing on the imprint of her past in the foreground, but of the solitary gray blob framed in the upper windows. She chewed her bottom lip, her mind crowding with unanswered thoughts and speculations.

          “It does beg the question, though,” she said, her thumb gently moving over the library windows. “Who else knows about Lillian’s grimoire?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Who else knows about the grimoire indeed???? Only time will tell, but it might be sooner rather than you think! Mwha-ha-ha-ha! We're heading back to the Manor House, folks! Buckle up! Next chapter is going to be one for the books!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

Lola ran straight to Jack and Lazare who were waiting under an oak tree for the two friends to return, filling them in on the events of the Labyrinth once she and Modesta exited the attraction.

          “We were calling your name from out here, hoping you could hear us and find the exit before Mo went in looking for you,” Lazare shared, “but if you were too busy being cursed at the time, I don’t blame you for not hearing us.”

          “She wasn’t cursed,” Modesta corrected. “Please refrain from feeding wild imaginations.”

          “That’s right,” Jack added. “She was hexed.”

          “Whether cursed or hexed, I’ll feel more at ease once we talk with the Elven Lord,” Lola declared. “Maybe he can shed some light on this mysterious Dark Sorcerer, if, in fact, he is a new character.” The friends began walking as they continued to share ideas and opinions on the possibilities surrounding this Dark Sorcerer, their journey taking them in the direction of the inner Fairy Village located in the middle of the Enchanted Forest.

          “Is the Elven Lord allowed to tell us such specifics?” Lazare asked. “I mean, Raph wouldn’t even share who the new additions are, let alone how many, and he’s your fiancé. What are the chances the Elven Lord will shoot straight with us?”

          “If the Dark Sorcerer is a new cast member, then surely the Lord of the most powerful magical abilities in the Realm would have heard of him,” Lola said.

          “Unless…he’s not a cast member,” Jack supplied.

          “We’ve never had random patrons try to curse us before,” Lola countered. “It could be some of the cast is kept secret from one another, to create drama and excitement.”

          “Or, maybe, he didn’t like the fact you ran into him, and as his own character, decided to curse you,” Modesta suggested.

          Lola shuddered. “I hope not. The energy around us felt heavy, like a change in the air’s pressure dropped, and the menace radiating all around him---.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, chilled at mentally reliving the encounter. “I’m confident the Elven Lord will have all the answers I need.” And with a determined lift of her chin, Lola took the lead of their group, guiding them into the forest where the Elven Lord dwelled.

*****

          “I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you need,” the Elven Lord said, lowering his cup of tea to the large tree stump acting as a table to host company. He listened to all of Lola’s tale, intrigued and concerned by what she encountered at the graveyard in the center of the King’s Labyrinth. Unfortunately, he had no knowledge to impart that would ease this young woman’s troubled heart.

          “What?! No! You were my only hope,” Lola wailed, nearly falling off her spot atop an upturned log set with others like it around the wooden table for intimate seating.

          “However, being threatened by dark magic, regardless of employment status, is a serious affront to the King’s people,” the Elven Lord stated. “What style of magic was the individual performing? Incantations? Use of a wand?”

          “Nothing like that,” Lola said. “He held up three fingers and clawed the air like a bear. Then, he made a bunch of other weird gestures, but I ran away before anything could happen to me.”

          “You were wise to flee. I will ask my spies and allies about this potential Dark Sorcerer, and should he cause you or other people harm, he will be dealt with…accordingly.”

          “Banishment?” Lola asked. “Or stardust?”

          The Elven Lord smirked, his use of wielding stardust far more potent than any curse or hex, real or otherwise. “It shall be handled,” he cryptically promised. “In the meantime, child of the moon, please at least accept this token of protection.” Out from one of his many pockets, the Elven Lord produced a large, shining crystal pendant dangling from a loop of thin leather, and placed the necklace into Lola’s hands.

          “It’s beautiful,” Lola breathed. “Oh, hey! This crystal looks just like the ones I bought at the lapidary.”

          “If they are one in the same, then you have been protected all along,” the Elven Lord stated. “Whatever ill-intent was sent your way has no hold on you. You are safe.”

          Lola let out a sigh of relief, holding the crystal to her heart. “Thank you, my Lord. You have given me back my peace.”

          “It was never mine to return. You found your strength. Now, friends, go. Enjoy all the Faire has to offer, and please, give my regards to the privateers.” The Elven Lord stood and escorted the group to the edge of his forest, where he turned after bidding them farewell to disappear into the cool and pleasant shadows.

          “Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Jack declared as they all trudged along the forest path towards the main grounds.

          “Half-solved,” Lola amended. “I’m not cursed, but we still don’t fully know what role the Dark Sorcerer plays.”

          “If he has a role,” Modesta stated.

          “Precisely. Thus, half-solved.”

          “I think the best thing we can do, is enjoy the rest of the day,” Lazare said. “There are a lot of people here at the Faire, so what are the chances we’ll run into the Dark Sorcerer again? I say let’s kick back, do some more shopping, say ‘Hi’ to the pirates, get a turkey leg, and watch the joust.”

          “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Lola agreed with a laugh, and emerging from the tree line, the friends renewed their journey of leisure shopping and entertainment. Lola was able to find her sought after incense, as well as a plushy, handmade mushroom forest sprite she named Frederick, while Modesta found some miniature antique glass perfume bottles. Lazare obtained a blue velvet pouch with gold inlay for his set of runes, and Jack found a booth selling handcrafted wooden roses. He purchased a bundle for Modesta, the two holding hands all the while as they journeyed to the stage designed like a pirate ship located by the lake’s edge to hear some jaunty, nautical melodies.

          The musical pirates, a trio plus their captain, were a saucy group, encouraging crowd participation by singing and dancing up and down the aisles of the audience who clapped along with the music, cheering with pleasant laughter. Jack got pulled up on stage to play an extra hand drum, while Modesta and other select maidens were chosen to dance with the pirates in a small circle as they sang about clever mermaids. The pirate captain, the scandalous Captain James Vladimir Winthrop, wandered the area, observing the people and his crew, participating in calls and responses during songs or bantering back and forth between each number.

          Presently, he moved near the back of the seating area, where Lola and Lazare sat, clapping along to the beat of the mermaid song.

          “It is good to see ye at the Faire, intended of the White Knight,” Captain Winthrop greeted, coming to sit in the row with Lola and Lazare.

          “As if I would miss opening weekend,” Lola returned. “It’s good to see you, too. The Elven Lord says ‘Hi’, by the way.”

          “Ah, it is good to have friends,” he said, spinning his long mustache while reflecting on his alliance with the magical Lord of the forest. “Ahoy there, lad,” he then added, nodding over in Lazare’s direction.

          “Ahoy, Captain,” Lazare greeted in turn.

          “Oh! Captain, this is our friend Lazare Pyrite. Lazare, meet Captain James Vladimir Winthrop,” Lola introduced, and the two shook hands.

          “Tell me, new friend, are ye as much trouble as this one?” the captain asked, jutting a thumb at Lola.

          Lazare laughed. “I have my fair share, but Lola’s talents far surpass my own.”

          “You talk as if I’m not sitting right here,” Lola said, though she wasn’t offended, pleased, in fact, that the two were already getting along.

          “I’m not the one getting cursed,” Lazare joked, proving his point with a leveled look.

          “Attempted cursed, and it was a hex,” Lola said.

          “Is there a difference?”

          “Curse?” The jollity of Captain Winthrop dissipated, his good humor replaced by confusion, and then concern. “Someone is trying to curse ye?” he asked Lola, his thick and bushy eyebrows knitting together as he looked at her with worry.

          “It’s a long story, but it’s a possibility. I don’t suppose you know anything about a Dark Sorcerer roaming around, do you?” Lola asked.

          Winthrop shook his head after giving some thought while rubbing his chin. “Nay. But, if the King has a secret Dark Sorcerer under his employ, that is rather alarming information, especially if he’s walking around cursing people, let alone a betrothed to one of his knights.”

          “And…if he’s not employed by the King?” Lola asked.

          “Then he is a problem that needs to be dealt with.”

          “The Elven Lord said the same thing,” Lazare commented.

          “I should be expecting a missive from one of his spies soon enough,” Winthrop said with a half-smile. “It’s not even noon and already trouble travels fast,” he then teased, elbowing Lola gently.

          “It’s not like I planned this,” Lola defended herself. “Plus, the Elven Lord said I was probably not cursed, and gave me this necklace to keep me safe,” and she held out the sparkling gem for the captain.

          “Ah! He is generous. That is moon crystal. It’s concentrated stardust. With that, no one can touch ye,” he informed upon observing Lola’s necklace.

          Applause filled the air, the song on stage coming close to an end, and as the crowd settled, Lola heard the distant symphony of a melancholy violin. Turning over her shoulder, she glanced the top of a wide-brimmed black hat bobbing between the crowds of peasants shopping before it disappeared over a hill in the direction of the armory.

          “What are your thoughts regarding the Plague Doctor?” she asked, looking at the space where the character in question vanished.

          “He be odd, that one is, but rather harmless,” Winthrop easily answered with a shrug of his shoulders, unconcerned with the man. “If ye want to earn his good opinion, give him this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gold doubloon, passing the coin to Lola, who held it out while turning it in her fingers to look at both sides with a careful eye.

          “It has your crest,” she said, noting the wind rose and sails of a ship embossed on one half, a crude coat of arms belonging to some forgotten ruler on the flipside.

          “Aye. The Doctor has no allegiance. He is his own master, and makes no waves with either party, be it royalty, the fairy folk, or the privateers,” Winthrop shared. “However, should ye desire a friendship, or truce, if things around here get…adventurous,” he added, landing Lola a look, “then give him that coin, and ye shall have his loyalty if lines be drawn.”

          “Captain!” came Modesta’s voice as she rejoined the friends. “Please tell me you didn’t just give her a quest.” The performance completed, the crowds began to disperse, onwards to the next show or activity.

          “Nay, m’lady. Only advice,” the captain said with a friendly smile, standing to meet Modesta as she approached.

          “I swear, if we wind up on the news….”

          “Captain Winthrop, a lively show as always,” Jack said, cutting off her half-hearted grumblings, reaching over to shake hands with the pirate.

          “Thank ye, lad. Always a pleasure to entertain the landlubbers,” he chuckled. “My crew appreciate eager participation.”

          “We also appreciate lunch!” shouted the piper of the musical trio from the stage, beckoning his captain with a large wave of his arm.

          “Aye, midday meal it is. Would ye care to partake in some nourishment and ale, friends?”

          “What are you having?” Jack asked.

          “Squid eyes and chum,” proclaimed the drummer.

          “Caught it fresh this morning. I left it in the sun to gather all kinds of extra flavor,” joked the accordion player. The three waved and blew kisses in the group’s direction, then disappeared into the Captain’s quarters for their lunch break.

          “I think I’ll pass,” Jack said with a queasy grimace.

          “Suit yer self,” Captain Winthrop shrugged, making his way towards the stage. “Oh, and one more thing, Little Lark,” he added, using Lola’s old nickname amongst the cast. He turned back to deliver his next line. “Remember, ye and yer friends always have safe passage with us…should ye need it.” With that, he gave a low bow, and then continued up the gang plank into his quarters.

          “That was a touch ominous,” Modesta said, giving a slight shudder. “So, what ‘advice’ did our dear Captain bestow upon you?” she asked as they all moved from the pirate venue to travel towards the armory. It was nearing the lunch hour, and if they wanted to make it to the Bookbinders and find decent seats for the joust in time, they needed to pick up the pace.

          “He suggested I give this coin to the Plague Doctor,” Lola said, handing the golden item to Modesta for her to get a better look. “If I want his good opinion, or loyalty, I can give him that doubloon.”

          “And then what?” Jack asked, taking his turn observing the pirate treasure. “What will the Doctor do in return if you give him this?”

          “I don’t really know,” Lola answered, slipping the old money into her satchel as Jack passed it back to her. “I just, give him the coin and I guess we become friends if things get hairy.”

          “Are you going to do it?” Lazare asked. “Will you give him the coin?”

          Lola released a heavy breath. “I haven’t quite made up my mind yet. I’m not going to go looking for him though, so if we happen to run into each other, I’ll just go by what my gut tells me in the moment.”

          “Well, my gut is telling me we need to find us some turkey legs, stat,” Jack said, rubbing his belly. “I’ll stand in line and get us food if you guys want to check out the Bookbinders.”

          “Are you okay with waiting by yourself?” Modesta asked.

          “I don’t mind. Besides, there’s already a decent line forming at the canteen, so better get in while the meat’s still hot,” Jack declared.

          “You’ll be missed.”

          “Buy me something pretty.” The two shared a kiss before the group split up, Jack going to stand in line for lunch while Modesta, Lazare, and Lola headed for the Royal Bookbinders and Printing Press.

          They discovered the location to be an old barn converted into a gift shop of sorts, with some items brandished with the Renaissance Faire’s logo amongst random trinkets or souvenirs, numerous books about local history of the Faire and National forest preserves and parks around Newberry sprinkled around the knickknacks and bric-a-bracs as well. Lola stood in front of a cabinet filled with stationary supplies, looking at the variety of leather notebooks, quills, bottles of ink, and wax seals and stamps. She selected a travel-size tube of colored pencils as Modesta came up alongside of her.

          “Hey, Lazare is going to wait with Jack to help with food, and I need to find a restroom,” she informed. “Can you find us seats for the joust when you’re done here?”

          “Sure! No problem,” Lola answered. A sudden twinge at her back had her flinch in surprise, her nose scrunching up in discomfort, and she reached behind herself to swat away at the irritant.

          “You okay?”

          “Yeah, I think so,” Lola said, continuing to fidget with the back of her outfit. “Can you check to see if a bug or something fell in my shirt? I think something bit me, and it’s starting to sting a little.” Lola turned so Modesta could pull back her shirt to inspect it for any unwanted creepy crawlies.

          “Whoa!”

          “’Whoa’? Why whoa? What’s in there? Get it out!”

          “Calm down, Lo, it’s not a bug. You’ve got scratch marks on your back, and they look relatively fresh,” Modesta said. “Here, I’ll take a picture to show you.”

          “Scratches? That’s weird.”

          “Did you accidentally brush up against a tree, or run into something sharp today? Maybe from when we collided into each other in the Labyrinth?” Modesta took out her phone, snapping a pic of three red lines forming between Lola’s shoulder blades, then turned the screen over so Lola could see the markings.

          “I don’t think I ran into anything that would cause scratches, or leaned on anything to cause it. Whoa,” Lola breathed, looking at Modesta’s phone. “Are they starting to welt up?”

          “A little. It’s like three claw marks are going down your back. Luckily, they’re not deep enough to draw blood.”

          A chill rippled up Lola’s spine, replacing the burning sting, and she shivered, as if eyes were watching her. She unconsciously reached a hand up to her chest, clutching the moon crystal pendant, her stare fixed on the image of her back. She blinked in surprise when Modesta placed a hand on her shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze.

          “I’m sure it’s fine,” Modesta said, putting away her phone. “Do you want me to stay with you while you buy your pencils?” She tried to change subjects so Lola’s mind wouldn’t tunnel into a mental entrapment of spiraling thoughts, and thereby overthinking the issue.

          “Thank you, no, I’m fine. I’ll meet you at the jousting ring,” Lola said, plastering a smile onto her face, waving Modesta away while moving to stand in line to purchase her colored pencils.

          “Okay,” Modesta said with a smile as well, though hers had a touch of concern to it. “Text me when you’ve found a spot.”

          “I will.”

          Her friend gone, Lola sighed, dropping her smile. She tested the muscles between her shoulder blades, feeling a slight burn of where the scratches marred the skin. Her brows furrowed downward as well, her mind focusing on a suitable explanation of how she could have received those scratches. She shuddered once more when the images of her mind played out the scene in the Labyrinth and the Dark Sorcerer, his three fingers clawing the air, and her hand grasped tight around her pendant as her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, nervously chewing the tender flesh. The prickle of eyes watching her stood the hairs on the back of her neck, and thankfully, her turn to pay for her item came next, giving her the opportunity to set aside the sense of dreadful foreboding.

          Walking in the fresh air to the jousting field helped to clear her head a little, and to her delight, she found a section of empty bleachers stationed under a large maple tree, and quickly claimed the spot. She faced the jousting ring from the far right, looking down the length of the tiltyard, the perfect view point to see the Royal Pavilion, as well as Raphael, when the joust was to begin. Happy with her findings, and putting away speculations regarding the claw marks on her back for the time being, Lola plopped her satchel into her lap to dig out her cellphone to text Modesta and the others her location. While rummaging around the contents of the day’s purchases and her belongings, she came across her ever-faithful tape recorder.

          “Well, hi, there, Stanley. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Lola said, pulling the recorder out of her satchel. “I’m sorry to say I forgot I tossed you in there.” Turning the device in her hand, she pressed down on the recording feature to document this simple moment of being at the Renaissance Faire, when a figure dressed all in black, startled her by dropping down onto the bleachers right next to her.

          Lola gasped from the initial shock, and then froze as realization of who decided to pay her a visit kept her rooted in place, allowing the Plague Doctor time to serenade her with a song from his violin. He was too close, too personal. She tried to scooch down the bleachers to put space between them, but he pursued, closing the distance, and it wasn’t until she was teetering on the edge of the row that she was forced to endure the duration of the Doctor’s melody. The white, bulbous eyes of his mask offered no leeway into glimpsing the human eyes of the man behind the façade, the faceplate and beak serving to solidify the illusion of his character, muddying the lines between fantasy and reality. Despite his closeness, Lola did find she enjoyed the song he played. The smooth gliding push and pull of his bow was different from the earlier waltzes she heard him perform throughout the day, and a part of her brain told her it was peculiar for the Plague Doctor to be playing a melody that seemed…familiar.

          As soon as his song was complete, he hopped off the bleachers, turned to face Lola, and offered her a deep and theatrical bow, to which, she applauded, though guardedly, as she was still recovering from her spontaneous private performance. He straightened, placing the instrument under his chin, preparing to waltz away with another song resonating throughout the land, when Lola snapped into action, stopping him.

          “Wait! Mr. Plague Doctor, please! Don’t leave. I---I have something for you.”

          The Plague Doctor, doubling as a mime, splayed an open palm across his chest, taken aback. He creeped closer, his movements bird-like, reflecting the mannerisms of a crow, his mask adding to the full-embodiment of that which he portrayed.

          “Here,” Lola said, holding out the gold doubloon Captain Winthrop gave her. “This is for you.” She willed her arm to stay steady as the Plague Doctor neared even closer. He examined the coin, bobbing his head side to side to look at the item from different angles, when at last, he plucked the treasure from her fingers, gave it a flip where it glinted in the sunlight, and caught it midair. He seemed pleased with his new acquisition, and Lola smiled.

          “I’m glad you like it,” she said, watching as he pocketed the coin. “I guess this means we’re friends, now?” She didn’t quite fully understand the rules to how this exchange was going to benefit her time at the Faire, but making friends was better than making enemies, she figured.

          The Plague Doctor tapped his chin, pantomiming thinking, and then bent forward into another lusty bow, agreeing to the contract of friendship. Rising, he held out a finger as a gesture to wait, and fishing around into a separate pouch connected to his belt, retrieved a glass bottle, no bigger than a roll of quarters, filled to the cork with colorful charms in the shape of a star. Mimicking Lola’s earlier actions, he presented the jar for her to take.

          “Oh! For me?” she asked, and he nodded, moving a step closer. “Thank you.” She took the bottle, twisting it slowly, the charms shifting around one another with a shimmering glint. “They’re beautiful.”

          With another flourish of farewell, he was off, playing his waltz and disappearing amongst the crowds. She watched after him, hypnotized by his swaying, her mind caught up in the unexpected turn of events with the Doctor. The metallic “click” of Stanley signaling the tape recording was at its end brought her thoughts back to the present, and all at once, excitement fueled her limbs. She threw the jar of charms into her satchel, located her phone, and in all caps, texted Modesta her location. Then, she scrubbed through Stanley’s tape, finding the moment the Plague Doctor joined her on the bleachers, a smile spreading on her face when she discovered she had managed to capture the familiar tune he played.

          “Look who I ran into,” entered Modesta’s voice from behind Lola, and she turned in her seat, easily locating her friend who strolled over with Jack and Lazare, the two carrying large trays of food and beverages.

          “Wow! Great spot, Lo,” Jack said, balancing his tray in one hand as he helped Modesta up the bleachers with the other. “Nice and shady.”

          “Great view of the field, too. We should see a lot of the action,” Lazare commented.

          “The Plague Doctor was here!” Lola blurted, unable to hold back her news any longer. “I gave him the coin, and he gave me this!” She pulled out the charms, holding the bottle for all to see. “And he played me a song!” Lola next held out Stanley, and pressed “play”, the Doctor’s tune filling the space around the friends.

          “Why does the melody sound familiar?” Jack asked.

          “Right?”

          “Hey! I know that song,” Lazare spoke up. “I did a study on old war songs last semester in my history of broadcasting class. That’s, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, by Vera Lynn.”

          “We’ll meet again?” Lola repeated, her eyes grown wide and her jaw dropping open from shock.

          “That’s so spooky,” Modesta declared. “He played that for you when you gave him the coin?”

          “No, before I gave it to him. He sat down right next to me, did his song, and was going to leave until I gave him the coin, and then he gave me the charms,” Lola explained as she put Stanley back into her satchel.

          “Why does it feel like a direct message to you?” Jack asked. “It’s like he sought you out specifically to play that song.”

          “Like, someone told him to play it?” Lola asked, reaching a hand behind her back to brush away the feelings of a dull, burning prickle between her shoulder blades.

          “I didn’t know the Plague Doctor took requests,” Lazare said. “But, you gave him the coin, so that means he can’t…hurt you?”

          Lola laughed, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to bear. “Maybe?” she finally spoke, wiping away watery eyes from her mirth. “I think it means we’re friends, at least, but spiraling on an empty stomach isn’t going to solve anything. Let’s not let good food go to waste, and dig in!” And she gestured toward their lunch.

          Agreeing to set aside questions and mysteries for later contemplation, the friends divvied out food and ale, their conversations and laughter landing on a lighter tone than of Doctors and waltzes. More and more of the crowds people filled the seating areas as the time for the joust was nearing. Lola noticed the pages of each knight circling the perimeter of the field, requesting volunteers to present favors for when the knights were to do battle, and she hopped down from the bleachers, flagging over the White Knight’s attendant.

          “M’lady,” greeted the page as he moved toward Lola. “Sir Raphael sends his regards and is honored to fight for your favor.”

          “Thank you, Master Simon. Please relay my deepest gratitude,” Lola said, accepting the elastic loop adorned in ribbon streamers of white and gold. She returned to her seat, smiling and blushing as her friends teased her with childish, lighthearted “oohs” and kissy sound effects.

          “So, whose honor does Raphael fight for when you’re not attending the Faire?” Lazare asked.

          “No one’s,” Lola answered, dreamily running her fingers through the strands of fabric tied to her favor. “He only fights for mine. I made him this token, and he keeps it wrapped around his arm when I’m not here.” The “oohs”, “awws”, and kissing noises intensified, and Lola laughed, embarrassed, but none the less, wholeheartedly in love.

          It was time for the grand proceedings of the main event to take place, starting with the jester leading the procession of the royal court to their lavish pavilion as trumpeters marched across the field to enhance the pomp and splendor of the festivities. Flag bearers maneuvered in intricate patterns to add to the spectacle, the King’s coat of arms emblazoned on their wide, majestic purple banners. The King loomed at the railing of his pavilion, the crowds erupting in applause at his presence. He called for calm, and once the noise quieted, he greeted the masses.

          “Generous patrons, I welcome you!” he bellowed, and once more, shouts and applause filled the air. “You are about to witness the deadly art of the most high caliber that few only dare to attempt. To judge these skills of might and mettle, I present my Knight Marshal Lord Beckham.”

          A decorated man and two serfs appeared onto the field to more applause and cheers.

          “Your Majesty,” the Lord Beckham began, “it is with honor and dignity that I judge you these knights. The games are as follows: tent pegging and tilting at rings. The Crest Melee is officially enacted, and should the heraldry of any knight falter or damage, they are hereby disqualified from the joust and any opportunity of earning your grand reward.”

          “Very well,” acknowledged the King. “I find these terms suitable. And now, Marshal, you may call upon the knights.”

          “Good people! Cheer for your champions!”

          The thunder of horses’ hooves blended with the cacophonous roar of shouts and ovations as the knights on horseback burst onto the field. The Red Knight led the others in a jaunty race around the tiltyard, the many noble house colors flashing in the sun, manes of horses blowing in the wind, dirt and dust kicked up into thick clouds, the men in arms reveling in the excited proclamations of their enthusiastic audience. After a few turns about the field, the men pulled up on their horses, cantering into a softer trot, safe enough now for the knights’ grooms to lead the imposing creatures in a line to face the Royal Pavilion.

          “Your Majesty, I present to you your knights. What say you of them?” boomed Lord Beckham.

          “Knights,” the King addressed, “I find you to be acceptable in today’s games. I ask that you fight fairly, with honor, and give these people entertainment worthy of your house.”

          As a row, the six bowed in a gracious sweep in their saddles.

          “Your Majesty,” Sir Richard, the Green Knight, called out as he righted himself. “I can assure you we are nothing if not honest and true, and I pledge that today’s tournament will indeed give you the entertainment you so seek.”

          “Thank you, Sir Green Knight. I trust you will uphold these declarations.”

          Some audience attendees began booing, knowing full well the trickery and falsehoods of the man in green, and Lola, who booed amongst the most of them, could have sworn she saw Raphael roll his eyes at his obnoxious scene partner.

          “To arms!” the King commanded. “Let the games begin!”

          The attendants stepped aside so the knights could prod their horses into one more jaunting circle around the tiltyard, waving to the crowds who cheered them on. The games were officially underway, and Lola, cheering for her knight in shining armor, sat back to enjoy the show.

*****

          One by one, each knight took his turn throughout the games, the Knight Marshal’s serfs keeping score of each declared victor, the points quickly racking up to determine the order for the joust. Soon, it was time to tally up the total, and as the calculations were being made, Lord Beckham announced for those selected from the audience to present their favors to their knights. Lola, like the other chosen volunteers, made her way to the rope lining the boundaries of the arena, waving her favor of glittering streamers above her head, and she gave one powerful “Caw-CAW!” instantly alerting the White Knight to her location.

          His warm smile lit up his face as his horse pranced over, and once he was close enough to be within comfortable earshot, called out a healthy “Caw-CAW!” of his own. She laughed, her heart filled to bursting, not minding that their weird and playful greeting gathered a decent amount of onlookers, drawing curious attention. Raphael’s horse neared, and upon delivering a special commanding click of his tongue, the horse dipped into a stately bow, kneeling on one foreleg in a dignified display of respect towards his chosen lady. The crowds around them “aww-ed” while Raphael lowered the tip of his lance for Lola to slip on the elastic band of ribbons. The horse rose, the two mouthing words of love to one another, and then he gallivanted away into position for the joust.

          “Pages!” roared Lord Beckham. “Attend to your knights. The time for the joust is nigh.”

          The audience exploded in jubilation as the knights gathered their helmets, the main event ready to begin. The Red and Black Knight were swiftly eliminated, the Blue Knight advancing to take on the Murder Hornet, but to no one’s surprise, was promptly defeated, sprawled in the dirt after one pass, leaving now the Green and White Knight left to duke it out for a place to challenge Sir Tony. The tension surrounding the famed rival knights laid heavy and thick, the crowd booing or shouting encouragements, some even chanting for bloodshed. The men had to make three passes at one another, and if they somehow both managed to stay atop their mounts, Lord Beckham would declare a victor to advance.

          Lola sat on the edge of her seat with rampant anxiety of how the joust was to play out, she and the others cheering for Raphael to make quick work of the villain at the opposite end of the tiltyard. The first pass was a bone-cracking hit upon their shields that splintered their lances, much to the delight of the spectators, the second pass equally as thrilling when Raphael managed to disarm Sir Richard. It was time for the third pass, and if Raphael could either land a clean hit or at the least stay on his horse, he was guaranteed the opportunity of battling the Murder Hornet, potentially winning the whole joust.

          The two combatants were given fresh lances, their horses scraping at the earth, ready to charge, when at last, the all clear was given, and the horses took off at a mad sprint down the line. As the lances were lowered to strike the incoming opponent, Sir Richard’s horse violently whinnied, pulling up short, and rose to stand on its hind legs, all the while screeching terribly. Sir Richard dropped his lance, grabbing hard at the reins to steady his mount, but the horse dove forward, bucking its back legs out in a powerful kick that caused it to tangle itself in the rope of flags dividing the strip marking the tiltyard. The horse’s ankles buckled, tossing Sir Richard off his saddle, where he hit the ground hard, luckily rolling just out of reach of the creature’s powerful legs that scrambled in the air for purchase.

          Chaos erupted onto the scene, spectators screaming and abandoning the stands in droves while the Knight Marshal tried to steady the wild horse. The beast became more frantic, changing gears to charge at the White Knight, bucking and kicking at the other in a dangerous flail that managed to clip the jaw of the rival steed, spiraling Raphael’s horse into a horrified panic of pain and confusion, whinnying and snorting as it, too, began to buck around the grounds haphazardly. Raphael was thrown from his saddle, landing roughly in and amongst a pile of hay bales. The vision of her lover flopping into the barricade was enough of a shock to jolt Lola into action, and ignoring the cries of her friends, she leapt from the bleachers, dashing under the safety rope line, desperation fueling her movements to reach Raphael. A pair of strong arms encircled around her waist from behind before she could take two steps across the field.

          “Hold, woman! What do you think---oh. It’s you, Little Lark,” Sir Richard huffed. He had staggered over to the sidelines, removing his helmet to gather his bearings, watching on with mild disorientation as the horses appeared to go berserk. “Are you daft? The White Knight will skin me alive if you got injured, and believe it or not, I’m still a knight left with some amount of moral code to protect another’s intended.”

          Lola wriggled frantically in his grasp, trying to get to Raphael’s side no matter the cost, even if it meant putting her own safety in jeopardy. “Let me go, Sir Richard!” she demanded, managing to break free.

          “Wench! Come back!” he roared.

          She ran, relieved to see Raphael standing, tumbling out of the haystacks, but she still needed to be with him, hold him, make sure he was sound and unharmed. “Raph! Honey Love!” she sob-screamed at him, her voice breaking as desperate delirium pushed her forward.

          “Lola, stay back!” Raphael shouted upon seeing her sprinting into danger.

          “Look out!” came Sir Tony’s warning. He tried helping the Knight Marshal and others corral the wild horses, but his own steed became unnaturally spooked, also throwing its rider, and taking the lead of the other two beasts, began a stampede across the field with Lola in the direct line of their path. In all of the kerfuffle, with shouts and screams and orders being hurled at or around her, she noticed too late the ground shaking beneath her, the earth trembling as the crazed horses careened in her direction. Lola stopped short, stumbling, and in the process, lost her balance, tripping over hidden pits and divots in the field, unavoidably falling over her feet. She saw the horses coming, and on pure instinct, curled herself into as much of a protective ball as she could, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced for impact.

          A heavy weight fell upon her just as the horses were about to collide into her, and she held her breath, waiting for the pain of trampling horses’ hooves to stomp her into the ground. Instead, a sharp, metallic clang of metal resounded in a jarring clash above her head, and a grunt of hot air fanned her neck from above. All at once, the clatter stilled, the sounds of retreating horses dissipating in the opposite direction.

          “He jumped over us,” Raphael said on an exhale, lifting himself off her. “Thank the high heavens he jumped over us.”

          Lola opened her eyes, seeing that the heavy weight above her had been Raphael the whole time. His shield was raised in front of them, one of the horse’s back legs having nicked the metal as it jumped the rope fence to delve into the woods with the others. The chaos of staff members trying to rally control hummed as a quiet roar like packed cotton balls in the back of her ears, the ebbing adrenaline numbing her senses enough so that she could barely register Raphael’s arms holding her to his body in a firm embrace, rocking gently, his worried voice echoing faintly in her periphery.

          What rang out crystal clear over the mayhem and panic, striking a haunting image to sear into her soul, was a figure in long black robes and a wide-brimmed hat, waltzing across her line of sight with his violin tucked under his chin, all the while playing the chilling, intimate tune to Vera Lynn’s promise of “We’ll Meet Again���.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hiya, friends! Well, that was a doozy of a chapter, but I had a lot of fun writing it! Hopefully, you all enjoyed reading it! As a reminder, this isn't a Ren Faire story, although it could absolutely turn into one, haha! It all plays a part in how everything unfolds, I promise! Hopefully I can get some other chapters out sooner rather than later!

Again, hopefully everyone had fun, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

          The aromas of spiced nuts, cinnamon, and turkey legs perfumed the air, the gentle breezes of the early morning carrying the signature scents over the crowds of lustrously costumed characters mingling around the lush grounds of the Newberry Renaissance Faire. Minstrels sporting drums, pan flutes, and lyres serenaded passersby from stone bridges or wooden platforms adorned with swaths of colorful fabrics, the merrymaking of frivolity an infectious delight of ye old entertainment. Cheers and shouts erupted from clusters around tantalizing performers, as all the while, the sun beamed brightly in a picture-perfect, clear blue sky. Lola, clad in peasant maiden attire of a linen blouse and cotton skirts, crossed the main entry wooden bridge spanning a healthy flowing stream, entering the space created by and celebrated with magic, imagination, and mischief. Here, the Realm reigned supreme, and the currents of palpable chaos brought Lola’s spirit higher and lighter with every step she took with giddy enthusiasm filling her heart. The Renaissance Faire held its usual traditions and predictabilities, yet every adventure was always new, and rarely produced the same outcome twice, but if one thing remained steadfast and true no matter how frequent she entered the grounds, it had to be the permeating essence of Love.

          Her friends, also garbed in peasant attire of bar maid corsets, jerkins, and spritely pantaloons, were already three steps ahead of her, Lola choosing to linger behind on purpose to absorb her environment. After all, it was the Renaissance Faire where she first met Raphael and fell in love. She wanted to savor the intoxicating sights and sounds around her, to take in where this place, this very spot of earth, held more significance than any haunted house or ghoulish goblin fairytale, for it was in this treasured place where her soul came home. Walking onto the grounds, she presented her ticket to the attendant and received a map detailing special events and the myriad of stages for performances, but her sights were set on one particular section above all these wonderful things: the jousting ring. The knights weren’t scheduled to the field until one o’clock, which gave the group of friends plenty of time to explore and experience all that the Renaissance Faire had to offer.

          “All right, kids, what do we want to do first?” Modesta asked. She stepped to the side of the trail, the others gathering close to game plan their morning. “Personally, I want to visit the lapidary in the Makers’ Market,” she began. “I’m hoping there are some loose gems I can pick up to use in items for the store.”

          “I’ve got my sights set on some turkey legs and ale,” Jack declared, patting his stomach, “and I wouldn’t mind seeing some old friends in the pirates’ guild as well.”

          “Ooh! Look at this,” Lazare said, pointing to his map. “There’s the Royal Bookbinders and Printing Press, and the King’s Labyrinth. That sounds like fun.”

          “The Royal Bookbinders and Printing Press?” Lola repeated, unfolding her own map to confirm Lazare’s discovery. “That’s new. Raph didn’t say anything about those being in the faire this year.”  

          “In all fairness, he did tell us there are more spectacles this season,” Modesta said. “It looks like the Bookbinders and Printing Press are stationed next to the armory. We can stop there on the way to the joust.”

          “The King’s Labyrinth is on the outskirts of the Fairy Village,” Jack added, looking over Modesta’s shoulder to point out the location. In the distance, he heard the ringing knell of the town crier, and looking in the direction up the main path of the Makers’ Market, could just work out the tops of brightly colored banners and streamers from a multitude of flag poles. “We made it in time for the opening parade,” he said. “Let’s check it out before we do our shopping.”

          Stowing away their maps, the band of friends found an open spot on the outskirts of the crowds under a shade tree where they could watch and cheer on the parade of royals and nobles making their grand appearance. Lola only half-applauded the King as he came onto the scene, his perpetual smug-sneer and cold eyes making her skin crawl, and she was thankful her location wasn’t in his direct line of sight for him to notice her or her friends. As much as Lola loved and enjoyed coming to the Renaissance Faire, her relationship with its cast members was unique compared to most other patrons, who only came for turkey legs and a lively joust, and after watching the King gallivant in his pompous waddle down the path flanked with cheering peasants, was glad she was hidden from view.

          Next came Lola’s favorite part of the parade; the line of jousting knights. She cheered for the Red and Blue knights as they walked side by side leading the men fashioned in leathers and plated armor while waving exuberantly to the mass of peers honoring them with shouts and applause. The Black Knight followed close behind the front pair, walking with the Green Knight, and Lola had to fight every urge to berate the Green knight with “boos” when she spotted him. He was a popular character with a loyal following, so instead of vocalizing her outright displeasure, she stuck her tongue out at him, and then gave two thumbs down with a disapproving scowl. Being pitted against Raphael as his sworn, mortal enemy, despite their kinship as brothers-in-arms, The Green knight, Sir Richard of the fox, lived up to his rapscallion reputation of underhanded trickster ways, which annoyed Raphael on the jousting field when the man in green broke script to try and gain favor with the crowds to cheer him on for entertaining deceit.

          Behind the knight of morally ill-repute, walked the newest addition to the jousting team, the Yellow and Black Knight, Sir Tony. A seasoned jouster, his speed and quick work of his opponents on the tilt yard procured him the nickname Murder Hornet, his colors easily lending to the affectionate moniker. He secured his place into the cast as a way to spice up the monotony of rival jealousy between the Green and White Knight, and although his skills were quite revered amongst cast and faire attendees, his disposition off the field was more akin to a harmless bumble bee than to his house of the wasp, his doting serfs adorning the lovable title of the Yellow Jackets. Walking side by side with Sir Tony trod Lola’s favorite knight, and upon seeing his broad frame clothed in white and gold, his chain mail and bracers polished and glinting in the sun, she couldn’t help herself but to begin screeching like a wild bird.

          “Caw-CAW! Caw-CAW!”

          Her abrupt outburst startled her friends, a few patrons around them, and even some of the parade marchers, but she beamed brightly a large smile as her arm waved high above her head, pleased to note her cry secured the White Knight’s attention.

          A grin spread across Raphael’s face, and he excused himself from his conversation with Sir Tony, breaking away from the parade line to cross the slip of field around the dirt path to unite with his beloved under the shade tree. She laughed as he encircled her with his strong arms, pulling her close to lay a kiss upon her honeyed lips.

          “Any particular reason why you shouted at me like a crow?” he asked as he disengaged from their loving exchange.

          “Crows scream when they’re happy,” Lola answered.

          “I would make a quip about you being happy last night, but I don’t want to be thrown into horny jail,” he chuckled.

          “There’s a horny jail? Oh, dear! Please arrest me, Officer, for I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

          Raphael gave a sigh, bending down so his forehead touched with hers. “Woman, you are a distraction that will be the death of me,” he declared. “Keep an eye on her,” he said while straightening, sharing a specific look with the others, to which, they nodded in understanding. He pressed another kiss to Lola’s lips before departing back into the parade line, Sir Tony giving him a chummy shove on his shoulder upon return with a boisterous laugh that carried on the wind.

          Lola didn’t take insult to Raphael’s parting instructions, though she did roll her eyes when he basically drafted their friends to be her babysitter, as if she had the capability to get into that much trouble. More of the parade continued, the noble lords and ladies in their velvets, silks, and other finery traipsing behind the knights, and to her delight, watched as the Elven Lord and the pirate Captain participated in the celebrated march of royals and delegates. In past years, the fairy folk were considered “unwelcomed” by the King, and the pirates mainly kept to themselves by the water’s edge, tolerated, but rarely incorporated in the King’s festivities. It was good to see progress was being made towards inclusion of the Realm.

          Bringing up the rear of the parade, swaggering in a slow waltz along the pathway instead of a straight line, was another newer cast member, the Plague Doctor. His black robes kicked up dust around his feet as he swayed to the music of the violin he played, the long, hooked beak of his mask flashing sinisterly with every tilt of his head, the bulbous, white eyes a jarring contrast to the dark shadow he portrayed. Lola shivered as he passed, the haunting melody of his instrument caressing a spot in her ear that caused her to shake her head to try and dispel the weird, ethereal itch. She cursed him for being creepy…and intriguing. Lola took out a notebook from within her satchel, and jotted down notes of inspiration as the parade dwindled away, opening the road of the Makers’ Market to the people once more.

          “I love a parade,” Jack declared with a sigh, hands on his hips as the last of the minstrels and colors rounded a bend. “Are we ready to browse some wares?” he then addressed the group. Ready to start their adventure, the friends moseyed into the Market, eager to explore and discover the multitude of venders in unique craftsmanship. Their first stop was the tanner, where Lola picked up another leather journal, Lazare found a hip flask with what looked to be surrounded in dragon scales, and Jack spotted a handsome stein accentuated with brass studs. It had a weathered, seafaring appeal that he proclaimed to be his new vessel for his game night grog.

          They next found the lapidary, where Modesta ogled over the plethora of raw crystals, tumble stones, and the shinier, much more glittery pieces of loose marquise gems, ready for their settings and finishes.

          “Are you looking for anything in particular?” Lola asked, joining Modesta as she looked through the display casings of precious stones.

          “Not really,” Modesta replied with a shrug of her shoulder. “I might get a handful of tumble stones I don’t already have at the shop for some organites, but lately, I’ve been feeling the call to try my hand at jewelry making. Oh! Take a look at this,” she said, holding up what looked like a Petri dish the size of a silver dollar. “Morganite. That’s a pretty stone, and ooh! Look at this. Blue Spinel. That one is pretty, too. Ooh! Check out these rubies!”

          Lola was quickly forgotten by Modesta who lost herself to the stacks of gem stones, and with a smile, turned her focus to a bowl of miniature apophyllite pyramids. She purchased a handful of the shiny diamond-like points, the merchant placing them in a small leather pouch for protection, and once the transaction was complete, she stepped outside of the shop to join Jack and Lazare to wait for Modesta to finish shopping.

          “Let’s hit the Fairy Village once Modesta’s done,” Lola suggested. “There are a few specialty shops in that part of the faire that have the incense I’m looking for. Plus, the pirates are in that direction as well, so we can stay and listen to a song or two before making our way to the Bookbinders. Ouch!” She stumbled, reaching a hand out to brace herself against a tree.

          “What’s wrong?”

          “Are you okay?” both men asked at the same time.

          “Yeah, sorry,” Lola apologized with an embarrassed chuckle. “I forgot how much of a pain in the ass these shoes are. Now I remember why I don’t wear them, they’re absolutely killing my feet.”

          “That’s because your toe box is too tight,” Modesta said as she sauntered out of the lapidary to rejoin her friends.

          “My what?” Lola asked, mouth agape and eyes wide with mild horror.

          “Your toe box,” she repeated. “It’s the part of the shoe where your toes go.”

          “Okay, one, why do you know that’s what it’s called, and two, why does it have to sound so…creepy?” Lola’s question trailed off as her attention was distracted by the high-pitched lilting tune of violin music wafting on the breeze, and she turned her head in the direction of the Fairy Village where she observed the Plague Doctor from the parade waltzing into the borders marked with tents and campfires of the magical folk. Looking upon the gangly character, a bolt of lightning shot through her, clearing away hazy cobwebs that had gathered in clumps at the forefront of her mind, and her body tingled with the long overdue welcomed buzzing sensations known as inspiration.

          “Modesta, I could kiss you!” she shouted with excitement at her friend.

          “Please don’t,” Modesta objected as her brows furrowed, taking a step back in retreat.

          “I’m being metaphorical. You just gave me the spark I needed!” Lola started walking, abandoning her friends, her steps taking her down the path leading towards the Fairy Village, her notebook and pen plucked from her satchel already in hand, furiously scribbling her thoughts as fast as they manifested, her pages filling quickly with bullet points, webbings, and outlines.

          “Wait, I don’t understand. What did I say?”

          But Lola didn’t respond, as she was already halfway towards the Village, Jack and Lazare following after with a shrug of acceptance as they trailed behind. Jack took up Modesta’s hand, tugging her along, the three meandering in the background at a leisurely pace while Lola continued to stalk after whatever fancy had captured her attention.

          Lola couldn’t explain why she followed the siren song of the Plague Doctor, but his air of mystery was exactly the essence she wanted to replicate for her new villain in her rapidly forming mystery novel to be titled “The Toe Box”. Whatever enchantment was cast by the intricate and nimble fingered master behind the mask had her following him like a pied piper, and after much dodging and weaving between bushes and shrubs, she found herself lurking behind a thick pine tree, observing the dark figure waltzing sinisterly under the archway of the newly constructed attraction of the King’s Labyrinth. Lola hesitated, lowering her notebook and pen, pausing her notetaking. The music of the Doctor’s song continued to drift towards her, calling her forward despite dissipating the farther in the musician traveled. Against her better judgment, she stowed her writing implements back into her satchel and followed, entering the labyrinth.

          The walls towered above her, their textured façade manufactured to look like ancient, crumbling stones stacked on top of one another with moss and other damp vegetation emerging through the cracks of mortar. Even though the sky was open to her, the structure exceeded its purpose of making patrons feel trapped and lost. The Plague Doctor’s song had faded to a point where she could no longer detect the melody, and with a frown, figured he had solved the labyrinth, and was on the next part of his meandering journey.

          “Oh, well,” she said with a sigh. “At least I managed to get a few good ideas. Who knows? Maybe I’ll run into him again later. Now…to find my way out.” She turned in a circle, debating on which path to take, settling on the crossroad to her left. She continued her promenade to what she believed was deeper into the winding catacombs of the maze, holding onto hopeful feelings of nearing its center soon, when another turn took her onto a path blanketed in fog.

          “Ooh! Spooky,” she declared with a gleeful smile, enjoying the tendrils of thin smoke she kicked up from her movements. “Maybe this means I’m getting close to the end.”

          Onward she continued, enjoying the creepy ambiance, rounding a corner that opened up into a small clearing. She successfully reached the center of the labyrinth, noting that multiple paths of the maze channeled patrons to this exact spot no matter which direction they took. A clear exit path, marked by an archway mirroring the entrance, stood directly across from her as she entered the fog filled clearing. The small rotunda was designed to resemble a decaying cemetery, complete with scattered remains of tombstones and monumental statues, the crumbling remains weather-worn and forgotten, overtaken by time and nature.

          “Definitely spooky,” Lola confirmed for herself. The impressive artistry of set-design was worth notetaking, as well as a few sketches, and once again, she rummaged for her notebook. With her attention focused on the confines of her satchel, she was unaware of the tall, sizeable statue looming in front of her, and knocked into the sturdy structure, dropping her items to the ground just as she retrieved them.

          “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry!” she apologized, kneeling down to pick up her things. She then laughed at herself, feeling silly for apologizing to an inanimate object, at least, she thought it was funny, until the statue started to move.

          Lola slowly rose from the ground, eyes wide at what she believed to be a tombstone monument draped in a hooded cloak of heavy fabric turn to face her. The obscuring shroud of the thick cowl blocked out any type of discernable facial features, leaving a void of shadows where the head should be. The dilapidated graveyard was eerie enough on its own merit, but as the figure moved, the air grew cold and clammy, causing Lola’s breathing to come in as chilled and shallowed draws, barely sufficient to fill her lungs. She took a step backwards, fear telling her to run while at the same time freezing her in place, the small hairs on her body standing on end, an instinctual indicator that whatever stood before her was, in fact, very dangerous.

          The monument remained fixed to its one spot, and Lola blinked, fear ebbing enough for her brain to process what stood so rigidly in front of her. Perhaps the stoic statue was an animatronic on a swivel base, and moved at random as a scare-tactic for people wandering the maze, so she reached out a cautious hand, attempting to understand how the prop operated, but it flinched back a step as her hand drew near, avoiding her touch. She let out a relieved, albeit nervous, chuckle as she dropped her arm.

          “Oh! You are alive,” she said, then mimed wiping sweat from her forehead. “Whew! For a moment, you really gave me quite a fright. Sorry again for bumping into you.”

          The figure gave a slow, deliberate bow as a way to display acknowledging and accepting her apology. Its movements gave Lola a chance to fully look over her new acquaintance, surmising the form to be of masculine build, with pale hands adorned with many large and bejeweled rings on each of his fingers poking out of his long, robed sleeves. Lola also noticed that the cloaked man held in his possession a black, leather bound book with tiny slips of shiny paper sticking out along the tops and edges of brittle, yellowed pages. Spying the book, her brows furrowed in confusion, for it set off alarm bells, triggering a string of memories to flood her thoughts, and as the figure turned to walk away, clarity broke through her mental labyrinth, and she blurted out her shocking recollection.

          “Lillian’s grimoire!”

          Numbing terror crawled up Lola’s windpipe, choking the breath out of her as the robed figure first halted in his tracks, and then began to gradually face her head on once more. His earlier demeanor of indifference shifted into menace, the air between them resting thick and heavy. Lola could have sworn she heard her name being called, yet it sounded distant, and underwater, but there was no time to dwell on the matter that may or may not be happening in the background, for Lola was too transfixed on the man who thumbed through the alleged grimoire, too horrified as he raised three glittery fingers into the air. He hooked them into a clawed position, swiping them down through the air to then make a random assortment of other gestures, drawing intricate, invisible symbols, and that was all the incentive she needed for her brain to command her to run.

          She turned on her heel, booking in a hard sprint towards the path whence she came, desperate to put whatever cruel entity this was far behind her, and upon leaving the clearing, ran full force into Modesta, the two toppling over one another, hitting the ground hard.

          “Ow! Hey! Watch it! Lola?” Modesta shook her head, clearing away the daze of being knocked over. She was unaware it was Lola who collided with her, and any trace of irritation evaporated as she saw her friend scramble to her feet in blind panic.  “Lola, what’s wrong?”

          “He has it!” Lola shouted, recognizing Modesta, and lunged at her, grabbing an arm and yanking her upright. “He has it!” she repeated.

          “Has what? What are you talking about?” Confused, Modesta got her legs under her, and followed Lola who practically dragged her to the place she had just been running from, suddenly finding herself in the center of the labyrinth with Lola pointing wildly at a crusty, mottled tarp hanging off the crumbled remains of a statue.

          “There! He has Lillian’s grimoire!”

          “Use more words, Lola, what are you saying?”

          “That man, in the cloak, has Lillian Northcott’s grimoire,” Lola again shouted, “and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he tried to hex me!”

          Modesta marched over to the figure Lola indicated, and yanked down on the fabric, revealing nothing more than a simple statue the shroud had covered. “There’s no one here, Lola. Just a tarp and this random, lonely can of paint someone forgot to put away.” She nudged the paint can with her foot, sliding it in a better hiding spot between the base of the crumbled statue and grave marker so as not to spoil the immersion experience for others traipsing through.

          “But…there was someone here, and he had Lillian’s grimoire,” Lola tried to explain while looking around the cemetery for any sign of the man she encountered.

          “Lillian’s grimoire from the Manor House?” Modesta scoffed. “We’re the only people who know about that, unless you think ‘Newspaper Man’ has taken to wandering the Renaissance faire, too.”

          “Newspaper Man wouldn’t try to hex me,” Lola stoutly retorted, shooting Modesta a stern look.

          “Hex you? Lo, no one wants to hex you. Whomever you saw is gone now, and if he was that theatrical, maybe what actually happened was you met a new cast member. Didn’t Raph say the Faire was incorporating more actors whose job it is to roam the grounds?”

          “Maybe,” Lola relented, the events of the last few moments becoming muddied as uncertainty crept into her mind as to what she experienced. “But, if he is an actor, then he needs to reel it in. He was almost too menacing. Maybe…if we try tracking him down….”

          “Oh, no,” Modesta cut in, stopping any notions of mischief she knew Lola was on the path of creating. “See, this is why you can’t be left alone,” she said with a smile. “You cause too much trouble.” She then hooked her arm with one of Lola’s, leading them both out of the labyrinth. “But, if you’re really that concerned, maybe the Elven Lord can give you a charm or amulet to help ward off any potential hexes.”

          The idea of visiting with the Elven Lord perked up Lola’s spirits, and her steps became buoyant, a smile returning to her face. If anyone had the power to dispel or thwart away the essence of evil energy, it had to be the mystical lord dappled in silks of silver and plum.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hello, hello, hello, friends!

Surprise! I survived the holidays, and can FINALLY get back on a consistent schedule! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I've got plenty more along the way! You all have been so kind and amazing while waiting for me to get my butt in gear, so thank you for ever and always!

Enjoy, and I'll see you again soon!

~Melissa

[sophisticated-creepy]

Lola, having entered full on detective-mode, interrogated Raphael over their plates of scrambled eggs and bacon with toast. Black coffee and maple syrup scented the air while the morning sun spilled through the plate glass windows, warming the plastic vinyl seats of the booth the two occupied, the din of the older, Sunday morning crowd of churchgoers helping to disguise their conversations surrounding the mysterious and paranormal from nosy eavesdroppers.

          “Walk it through with me one more time,” Lola said, conducting the conversation with a strip of bacon in her hand. “You passed Newspaper Man on the stairs,” she began, leading the opening statement.

          Raphael nodded as he buttered his slice of toast. “I did,” he confirmed, moving next to dip his knife into the mini, personal jar of raspberry preserves.

          “Then, you looked back, and saw him, quote: ‘go into the library’.”

          “Precisely,” he agreed, crunching into his toast slice.

          “He just…walked in.”

          “Turned the doorknob and everything,” Raphael supplied over the rim of his coffee cup.

          “Okay, okay, okay. So, you passed him on the stairs, you looked back, and saw him go into the library.” Lola wasn’t sure exactly what the cause of her growing headache was, for whether it was a lack of sleep or not enough caffeine, her brain felt like it was slamming repeatedly into a brick wall, unable to wrap itself around the simple concept presented to her of Newspaper Man walking into the library.

          “I can assure you the facts won’t change no matter how many times you have me tell the story,” he said with a laugh. He reached his fork across the table, nudging Lola’s utensil she held loosely in her hand as a reminder to eat her eggs before they turned cold, and his smile softened as she subconsciously began to shovel forkfuls of the yellow fluffiness into her mouth while her brow continued to remain furrowed in thought.

          “The library was locked,” she declared between chews. “Modesta made sure of that multiple times while we were checking out. Did he have a key?” she asked, blinking her eyes from staring into the middle ground to turn directly towards Raphael.

          “No,” was his answer. “He merely approached the library, turned the knob freely, opened the door, entered the room, and then closed the door behind him.”

          “But the library was locked,” she repeated for what must have been the hundredth time, and finally acknowledging the bacon she had been holding, took a bite out of it in frustration.

          “I know, which is what makes the whole ordeal so spooky.” He once again reached across the table, taking it upon himself to butter and jam Lola’s slice of toast. Her body moved independently from her mind, her thoughts enrapt and myopic, fixated on the event at the staircase, oblivious to the fact she had taken the toast slice he offered while uttering a small “thank you”, already half-consuming it before asking her next question.

          “Well, you know what this means now, right?”

          “I’m afraid to ask,” he quipped, then thanked the waitress who came to their table to refill their coffees. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” he finished once the server left.

          “We have to go back.”

          Raphael’s hand paused over his cup as he was adding sugar to the freshly poured dark liquid, surprised by Lola’s remark. “To the Manor House?”

          “Obviously,” she sighed with an exasperated eye roll. “Come on, grab your stuff, let’s go.”

          “Wait a minute, hold on there,” he said, stretching his arm out to stop her from scooching out of the booth. “We can’t go back to the Manor House.”

          “Why not?”

          “Well, we don’t have our keys to get back into the building, for one,” he began to explain.

          “Newspaper Man didn’t need a key,” she grumbled under her breath.

          “And, it’s only---,” he looked to his watch, “---eight thirty in the morning. The Manor House isn’t open yet to the public.”

          “We can wait in the parking lot until the staff come around to unlock the main doors,” she countered, and resumed her scooching.

          “Dandelion, as much as I want to solve the mystery of the Newspaper Man and the library, I think we need to chalk this up as a really cool, albeit weird experience.” He had stopped her scooching again. “We can give the Manor House a call later today and ask questions on why the actors have such an early call time, all right?”

          Lola stared at Raphael sitting across from her at their shared, sticky little table, and noted he was tired, the slight, puffy bags under his eyes taking on a thin translucence to highlight purple shadows around his drooping lids, and the sight of such weary features on his handsome face plucked a cord deep within her heart. She took up his hand still gently pressed to her arm, and raised it to her lips, kissing his fingers before setting their clasped hands down onto the table, and nodded. They shared a smile, and then returned to eating their breakfast.

          “The Newspaper Man and the library,” she repeated at length with a chuckle. “Sounds like a title for a good story.”

          “If anyone could write such a tale, it would be you,” he complimented.

          They went back to eating, enjoying the meal in comfortable silence, yet all the while, Lola’s mind was spinning, wondering how Newspaper Man’s story was going to unfold.

          Unfortunately, Newspaper Man’s story was turning into more of a knotted lump of spaghetti than the neat, perfectly laid out exposé she expected once ending her phone call after breakfast. Following Raphael’s suggestion, she phoned the Manor House as soon as they returned home, and after a craftily formulated re-telling of events from the morning to gather information about their surprise visitor, learned that cast members of the mystery dinner do not show up that early for rehearsals or shows, let alone in costume, nor had any staff seen a cast member of Detective Babcock’s troupe dressed as if they were selling newspapers on a street corner. It would seem, as her clever fiancé had previously stated over breakfast, that she would have to chalk this up as a really cool, albeit weird experience.

          As the days of the week progressed, she was left to her own devices, which was a risky situation considering most of the time she was bored, the week continuing to draw out in the slow, languid way summer magically melted time. Raphael was preoccupied with Renaissance duties leading up to the big, opening weekend, and so was out of the house most days, and all her other friends had regular jobs to keep them busy, which meant not only was Lola bored, but alone. She listened through most of Stanley’s recordings she captured during her birthday weekend, and hadn’t, as of side A, found a hint of disembodied voices or otherwise, although it was fun re-listening to the mystery theater from that night. She texted Jack to find out how much evidence he was able to collect from his recordings, but he had yet to start going through any footage, as he was needed at Curios and Oddities to help Modesta with the summer crowds.

          With nothing to presently occupy her time, Lola reclined flat on her back on the couch in the family room, staring at the ceiling, playing a game she made up with herself of blowing her bangs out of her face to guess where they would land on her forehead. Her mind, all the while, jumped from one thought of topic to the next, unable to land on an activity that sounded the most entertaining, let alone appealing, to spark her interest on how to fill her day. She was all caught up with posting for her writer’s blog, and no new commissions had come in for her freelance jobs. She sighed, and threw a leg over the back of the couch as an arm dangled askance off the edge to complete her sprawled rendition of a squashed starfish. She resigned herself to a day of couch-rotting, and listlessly reached for the remote to the TV for some mind numbing binging, when her phone pinged from its place on the coffee table, and startled by the sudden tinkling of wind chimes, fumbled for the device, curiosity piqued with hope for some much needed excitement.

          “Oh! It’s Mom,” she said aloud to herself, looking at the notification on her screen. Instead of reading the message, she decided on giving her mom a call. “Hi, Mom, I got your text. What’s up?”

          “Hi, Sweetheart. I was wondering if you wanted an old box of your stuff I had saved from when you were in middle school. I found it while cleaning out the attic,” Lola’s mother, Marcia, asked in her light and chipper tone.

          “Middle school?” Lola scoffed. “Why are you hanging onto my old report cards?”

          “They’re not your old report cards,” Marcia laughed, “and you never know when you might need them. This box has some of your old notebooks and stories. There are some photos in here I think you might like, too.”

          “Old stories? I thought I had all of those with me.”

          “I thought you took them all as well, and yet, here’s a box with your name on it. Want me to swing by and drop them off for you?”

          “No, I can drive to you,” Lola said. “Are you busy, or can I come over now?”

          “Whenever you are able is fine with me. I’m home all day, so there’s no need to rush.”

          “Awesome! Let me throw on some pants real quick and I’ll head on over.”

          There was a lengthened pause before Marcia spoke again. “You’re not wearing pants? I hope you’re at least in the comfort of your own home.”

          “I mean, they’re pajama pants, but at this stage, nothing public worthy,” Lola replied, smoothing down the faded, threadbare Halloween kitty printed pajama bottoms she practically lived in year-round. She smiled when she caught the motherly “disapproval” sigh on the other end of the line. “Love you, too. See you in a jiffy!”

Disconnecting the call, Lola jumped up from the couch to eagerly head upstairs to change into something presentable. Not only was it a welcomed delight to share a phone call with her mother, but the conversation gave her the opportunity to get some fresh air and sunlight, much like a puppy or a house plant. It didn’t take her long to find something clean, and after a short drive through her old neighborhood, she parked her car in the familiar driveway, and with a bounce to her step, used her childhood house key to let herself inside.

          “Hi, Mom, I’m here,” she called, closing the front door behind her as she walked into the home.

          “Hello, Sweetheart,” Marcia called from the front room, and pausing the video she had playing on the TV, got up from her crafting spot to give her daughter a hug. “You got here fast. I just sat down to start stitching,” she informed.

          “What are you working on?” Lola asked, taking a peek over at her mother’s crafting corner of the family room. As far back as Lola could remember, her mother, most nights after dinner, had a threaded needle in one hand and an embroidery hoop in the other, contentedly sitting in her rocking chair with glasses perched on the end of her nose, while her father sat close by watching TV or reading a book, as she sat on the floor between them coloring. Her childhood, though could be viewed as simple, held some of her most precious memories, and she cherished that young era of her life deep in the purest part of her heart. It was nice to see that some things, even if they adapted and evolved, at the core of it all, never changed.

          “I’m working on a new project for fall,” Marcia answered, and she held up a piece of fabric roughly the size of a dishtowel with smooth, even lying X’s in warm, variegated tones of chestnut, marigold, and wine in the beginning shape of a squirrel.

          “Already starting your fall stitching?” Lola asked with a laugh. “The summer season just started, you know.”

          “I need to get these pieces done if your father is going to cut the frames for me so I can decorate in time,” Marcia said. “Plus, you know I can’t resist a squirrel no matter the time of year.”

          “He is a cutie pie,” Lola agreed, admiring the hard work her mother put into the cross stitching piece. “What’s his name?”

          “Dweezil.”

          “Fitting for a creature of the woodlands,” Lola laughed, giving a nod of approval for the name.

          “Thank you, I thought so, too. Now, would you like some coffee and then I’ll show you that box?” Marcia asked as she gently folded her fabric, laying it aside for later attention.

          “Ooh, yes, please! Coffee would be delightful.”

          Picking up conversation as if she had never moved away from home, the two ventured into the kitchen to pour themselves the freshly brewed coffee, and then headed up stairs to where Lola found the hallway strewn with several old, dusty boxes. Marcia waded through the maze of floor boxes like a pro, while Lola moved lopsided to avoid tripping herself, following her mother to the best of her ability until they both ended up in her old bedroom. She paused at the threshold while her mother continued in, and leaned against the doorframe, allowing the ghosts of nostalgia to wash over her.

          “How did I ever fit so much furniture into this one, tiny room?” she asked, seeing the years play out in her mind’s eye of her life spent in her special corner of the house. Although the space had since been converted into her mother’s crafting studio when she left for college, there still lingered the scent of her past, the subtle notes of books and summer breezes helping to fuel the little pockets of old memories.

          “Time has a funny way of enlightening our perspectives,” Marcia said. “Ah! Here we are. Your box of old things,” she declared, patting the top of the box in the middle of the room. She sat in the chair at her sewing machine while Lola made herself comfortable on the floor.

          Setting her coffee mug to the side, Lola unfolded the musty flaps of cardboard. “Oh!” she laughed upon recognizing the bundles of neatly stacked papers. “This is my ‘extras’ box. I had printed out copies of my old stories and tried my hand at bookbinding them to look like real published books.” Lola held up a copy of the first book she “officially” ever wrote, a tale of a magical adventure of her best friends and herself traveling through whimsical realms to conquer some harrowing quest to defeat notorious, evil villains. The cover was held together with faded masking tape, and old remnants of the title made in silver puff-glitter glue flaked off in chunks to land on the carpet.

          “Now it makes sense why I left these,” she said as more and more bundles of paper revealed themselves. “I have the originals at my place, but I couldn’t bear to throw away the extras I didn’t need.”

          “How many copies did you make?” Marcia asked.

          “A good handful or more, maybe ten or so, by the looks of it,” Lola answered. “I gave all my friends their copies, and kept extras on hand for anyone who seemed like they’d be interested in reading. God, I made these when I was…maybe twelve? Thirteen? And here are the extras for the rest of the series,” she announced as she dug through the remainder of the box.

          “Have you ever thought about revisiting your old stories?” Marcia asked. A lull had formed in the conversation during Lola’s perusal, and she took it upon herself to fill the silence.

          “Revisit my old stories? Aren’t I technically doing that now?”

          “I mean, have you ever thought about putting your old stories out into the world? Like on your blog?”

          “Well, I wrote them in middle school, so, no,” Lola laughed.

          “You can always clean them up, and edit them to fit your style of writing now. I bet they’d do well if people had a chance to read them. Who knows? Maybe a publisher will come across them and offer you a contract.”

          “I feel like you’re trying to hint at something here, Mom. What’s on your mind?”

          Marcia gave a small sigh into her coffee mug before taking a sip to gain the courage needed to say the words to speak to her daughter that wouldn’t end up hurting her feelings. “I worry, is all,” she began.

          “Worry? About what?”

          “It’s just…I know how talented of a writer you are, and I love that you’re making your mark in the literary world.”

          “But…?”

          “But, I worry that you’re spending all your time writing other peoples’ stories with that commission work you do, instead of taking that time to write your own.”

          “I write my own stories,” Lola defended, though she dropped her eyes to the bound pages she still held in her hands.

          “You used to, Sweetheart, but it’s changed. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great you’re trying to make a profit out of your hobby, but it’s your contest entries where I see you really shine in how gifted you are at writing. You clearly have the ability to craft your own characters and worlds that are truly unique and gripping. You don’t need to waste good ideas on other peoples’ wish lists for their lack of ability to create a good story. I want to see you go within, really look in the mirror, and ask yourself, ‘What story do I want to write?’.”

          There was that word again: hobby. Lola knew her mother didn’t mean anything by it, however, the word still acted like a haunted, never fully healed paper cut to her confidence sprinkled with fine wine and lemon juice; it stung. She took her mother’s words to heart as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of her younger self’s tangible figments of imagination. It used to be she couldn’t leave the house without pen and paper in hand, but as the years grew, and new experiences and relationships entered or exited her life, the passions of preteen adolescence stumbled unceremoniously into the muddy waters plagued with societal pressures and prejudices. Writing had always been her saving grace, a link created to keep her heart tethered to a golden place of warmth and joy, yet the desired mantle of authorhood was threatened by seemingly good natured friends and family, labeling her passions as a “hobby” at best, and narcissistic fanfiction at its worst. The loophole she gave herself to keeping the dream alive was her writer’s blog, her freelance gigs a buoy in the mire of unpopular and sometimes unsolicited opinions, allowing her the outlet needed to give her soul a chance at a voice. Her mother wasn’t wrong to worry, and for a while, she had been feeling like she was “acting” the part of an author, as opposed to being the author she knew she was supposed to become.  

          “I’m not afraid of rejection, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lola softly spoke, speaking on the fringes surrounding some of her fears. “I don’t think ‘afraid’ is even the right word. I just…what if I’m a fraud? I didn’t go to school for writing. I---I don’t even know where to begin.” She finally looked up at her mother as her shoulders slumped in defeat, and a frown pulled down the corners of her mouth.

          “Sweetie, it’s okay not to know where to begin,” Marcia encouraged, getting down on the floor to be eye-level with Lola. “The important thing is that you start. The rest will figure itself out once you take that first step. And if it helps, you can always start at the beginning.” Her hand rested over her daughter’s, the two holding the clump of tattered pages that symbolized the advent of Lola’s life path.

          “Thanks, Mom,” Lola said, her smile returning. She wiped away at a tear and laughed. “I didn’t realize how much I actually needed to hear that.”

          “You’re a good author,” Marcia reminded, “and by all means, keep your blog and commissions, but it’s time for you to write. For you.”

          “I can do that,” she assured with a determined nod. They embraced, and Lola felt the tether of her heartstrings vibrating with a warmth made of golden joy.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Hey, y'all! Happy Halloween coming up! Although this isn't a "spooky" chapter, per se, it is going to lead into some upcoming ones that are pretty spine tingling, so keep an eye out for more to come!

Enjoy, and thanks for reading!!

~Melissa

[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