đŸ CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <â comes with the territory; all of this being said itâs still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.
đ NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would beâ apologies! wc: 7k.
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Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunterâs moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.
As you sit up, taking in what youâve believed youâve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.
How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, itâs becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that theyâve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.
What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that itâs yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself youâre deluded wouldnât change much here. Youâve tried already, only to find a man youâve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.
That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadnât been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadnât seemed particularly concerned, these things donât usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.
Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. Youâre hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesnât want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. Itâs strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.
âAlright, come out, already! Take me back!,â You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing youâve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn youâve passed this same crooked oak twice already, itâs trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldnât have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?
To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.
The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. Itâs the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.
âComeâŠâ The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems itâs speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.
âCome...â
A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but⊠that pain never comes.
Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. Thereâs a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.
The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.
The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.
Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.
âThank you,â you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. Thereâs no taking it back, even as Kateâs voice rings out in your mind, you donât even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. Itâs entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, youâve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.
He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.
âReizendes.â You donât need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. Itâs the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnnyâs grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isnât just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.
You donât know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. Thereâs so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kateâs been here longer than you and she didnât seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. Thereâs a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?
The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. Itâs the first time youâve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.
âI need to get home.â
âJa. I will come with you.â He says it as though itâs the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.
âThat wasnât an invitation.â
His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. âYou have already slept with me.â
Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. âWhatâ no, donât say it like that!â To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you canât place.
âYou can stay with me.â
âWhy would I do that?â Youâre glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows thereâs no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.
âYou owe me, ja?â
Youâre caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your roomâs felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still canât put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.
The fae doesnât hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, youâre only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. Youâve considered that since your impromptu meeting if heâs got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps youâre a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.
âYouâll take me home in the morning,â you whisper, a sulky request.
He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. âJa.â
His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and heâs careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.
He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.
âI didnât like the bird,â you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. Youâre confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.
âI will leave deer next time,â he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. âLittle doe. Like you.â
Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. Itâs futile, really, trying to shove him away but you donât give up as you twist and writhe against him. âNo! Donât leave dead things in my bed.â
He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.
âWomen like fur and feathers, ja?â Thereâs a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. âI will give them to you always.â
You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.
âI donât want your gifts.â
âWhat is better then?,â he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. âTo fuck?â
You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. âAbsolutely not,â you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.
He laughs, and to your horrorâ your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. Itâs hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you donât catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.
âI have missed you,â he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time youâre realizing heâs just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.
You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together itâs almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isnât simple lust, your heart aches.
âYou are so soft,â he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. âSofter than fur. Softer than feathers.â
âWhat do you want?,â you ask him for the second time since your meeting. Itâs not that you donât have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if youâre the only star in the night sky.
Still, he humors you with a response, âKeine ahnung.â Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, âI donât know.â
Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.
You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.
âGive me your name.â The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size itâs hard not to view them in a threatening light. Thereâs something else, too: desperation. Youâve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.
Youâve thumbed through some of Kateâs books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasnât as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager sourceâ giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.
âShow me your face,â you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.
âNot on this night,â he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.
âThen you wonât have my name tonight, either,â you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.
â â â
You donât want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if itâs already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. Itâs raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that itâs truly the fact that youâre being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands thatâs really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that itâs the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.
Heâs done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a seaâs breadth away. Itâs been a month and thereâs no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he wonât be back.
You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. Youâve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you donât even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.
Kate and Ghost have been good company. You havenât told them, but thereâs an odd sympathy in Kateâs eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost⊠Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that heâs been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing heâll come home like any good dog would. Itâs just the way he looks at you now, like thereâs something looming over you that even he canât properly detect.
Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you canât pry it outâhim, clawing at the corners of your mind.
The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.
A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. Itâs the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You donât want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. Itâs decided, a bitter force of your own will.
Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and⊠would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you donât feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. Itâs one or the other, sometimes they overlap.
You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence youâve felt lost in.
Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesnât have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.
âMorninâ,â the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. Itâs nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.
âGood morning.â
âKyle Garrick,â he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. âHavenât ya⊠well, youâve seen the news, yeah? Shouldnât be out on your own like this.â You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.
He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. âNot tryinâ to scare you. Just want to make sure youâre aware.â
A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officerâs brown eyes once more. âIâll be careful,â you respond quietly. âCanât say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.â
That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe youâre not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.
âCanât say for certain if weâve got a serial killer at all, but ahâ I shouldnât be tellinâ you all of this, yeah?â
âSounds like youâre trying to scare me off.â
âNo, not at all,â he responds with a shake of his head. âDonât fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves⊠you know how nature can be.â
âCruel?â
âNot quite.â He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. âJust⊠hysterical.â
If only he knew. You donât have the gall to tell him that what heâs in pursuit of likely wasnât an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but youâre not Kate.
He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. âIâll be seeing you, then.â
You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.
â â â
Kateâs been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out âBe back soon!âs. When you arrive home, it doesnât come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.
Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasnât stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.
Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.
Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but youâre exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure youâve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, itâs become unbearable.
Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you⊠You realize youâve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.
âIâve missed you,â he had said.
âI miss you,â you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.
The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anneâs lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.
Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though youâve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.
You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet youâve still never seen them.)
Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesnât exist for you.
âLeave it alone.â
âHave you ever left it alone?â
Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just⊠impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didnât seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didnât know what he had the capability to look like.
âI just want to know⊠where theyâre coming from. You should know.â
âWhy would I know what youâre invitinâ in?â Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.
âI just thought I would ask.â
His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. Itâs distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know youâre not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.
You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadnât said a word to acknowledge it.
âLeave it alone.â Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. âItâll want more.â
âMy name?â
âMore.â
âI donât understand. You donât want anything more from me, John doesnât want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?â It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldnât know more than Ghost, youâre just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.
Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesnât need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows youâre reckless, knows your time will come eventually. Itâs the reason he exists.
He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.
Tonightâs the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. Heâs colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you heâs on his way home.
The chill of Ghostâs stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.
But something is better than nothing.
The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kateâs humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. Itâs mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadnât even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghostâs dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.
âIâll clean the floor,â you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.
âWhy? Heâs got two hands, doesnât he?â
You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. Itâs sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. Thereâs love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.
âI suppose so. Want me to drag him back?â
She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.
âOh, come on!â
âIâm teasing you,â she says, gently nudging your shoulder. âI know youâve got someone else in mind.â
âHow didââ
âGhost.â
You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. Itâs not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you werenât quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.
âI should have told you about it all,â you respond tinily.
Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. Youâre stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesnât pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.
â â â
Careful isnât what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isnât snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.
You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.
Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phoneâs flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, itâs limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.
You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you canât bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, heâll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.
The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and⊠just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that youâre on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.
The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.
Youâve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghostâs advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.
Your window comes into view after some time, youâve lost track of how long youâve been out in the cold, but youâre excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.
Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adultâ why hadnât you just used the door? Youâre beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
âLittle oneâŠ,â a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.
âWhere have you been? I⊠I missed you, and you didnâtâŠâ You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.
âYou told me not to come to your room.â He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.
You hadnât expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadnât wanted a monster in your bed, but couldnât he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? Heâs different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.
âI liked your gifts this time.â
His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.
âI loved yours, little one.â
âTell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,â you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.
He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. Itâs warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.
Heâs still yours. He never truly left.
âMy name is König.â He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.
You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you donât fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. Itâs scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.
Itâs not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. Itâs shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. Itâs the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.
Kate Martin made her first career start in the WNBA, and she did not disappointâŒïžMartinâs IQ, unselfishness, toughness, and efficiency could lead to a long successful career in the WNBA.
Hailey Baptiste and Alycia Parks
đđđŸđŸ
venetopen:
DOUBLE'S WINNERS đđșđž
Congrats girls on this win. Best of luck! đ±#venetopen2024
hello it is thursday!! not wednesday, alas, we persist. big thanks to a one lil miss âšđđ @celestialmickey âšđđ !!!! for writing this weeks game and for tagging me!! + @gallapiech @blue-disco-lights @heymrspatel @jrooc @mmmichyyy @too-schoolforcool @lingy910y @crossmydna @energievie @palepinkgoat đđđ
name: deanna đ±
pronouns: she/her
what year did you graduate high school? lets play a game actually, what do you think? did i graduate in 1998, 2002, or 2006?
tell me where you live without *telling* me where you live: woody harrelson and i know the same amusement park like the back of our respective hands
tell me what you do for work: digital coloring book
caffeine source of choice: brew my own hot coffee in which i pour oatmilk and french vanilla dairy-free creamer
do you have a skincare routine? super sensitive skin, had to do accutane in my 20s *and* back in 2019. dermatologist has me on a very strict routine of gentle salicylic acid facewash and oil-free fragrance-free sensitive-skin formulated facial moisturizer. nothing else allowed!!
how often do you do laundry? every single fucking day of life and if i dont i will be overcome and i will suffer
favorite flower: poppies!! (iykyk) but dandelions are a close second
your go-to karaoke song: i've never gotten to do karaoake for reals but i think it would be an absolute blast (and hysterically cringey) to sing wuthering heights by kate bush!!
what kind of phone do you have? mint green iphone 12
do you wear contacts/glasses? i wear a single contact lens because i had to have a bunch of surgery in my left eye in my 20s and one of them involved replacing my lens with an implant (hi im bionic, i have a serial number) that is a corrective lens giving me 20/20 vision (apart from the blind spots where my retina is destroyed) SOOOO i literally can only wear that one contact lens in my right eye to fix my (extremely bad) vision on that side. glasses dont work when you've got 20/20 in one eyeball and -7.25 in the other.
what color is your hair right now? its a 10
youâve just been handed $10,000 cash, what are you spending it on? theres a lot of shit in my house that needs to be fixed. or maybe we can use it as a down payment for buying a new house? (probably not the market is so insane in my city because of the university and the landlords) but i guess...in fantasy world where this happens...yeah we use it to help ourselves buy a new house lol.
how many pets do you have? none
have you ever been on a train? many many trains! some in america, most of them in europe
and finally, tell me something about yourself people might be surprised to know: god im so uninteresting... i love olives and pickles and cilantro and mint but not garlic and i cannot taste spicy things (i deeply wish i could, ive tried so many times and all i get is like bitter charcoal numb tongue)
and now i'll tag some folks under the cut who maybe?? havent played yet?? maybe want to play????? if not consider this me handing you a dandelion + poppy đ under the cut!!
I saw the babysitting headcannons thingy and well gotta help out in the requests right? Imagine the reader as a proxy but they're part bee, just bee wings and antennas buzzing arounr after the others. For the proxies perhaps? (Masky, hoodie, toby and kate the chase) we need more kate appreciation
Imma mark myself as anonđ± so you'll know đ
Drinking and eating is key to energy :)
Reader is a proxy and half Bee creature
Kate, Masky, Hoodie and Toby
A/n: HI đ±!! OMG is been AGES since I heard of Kate, she do deserve more appreciation. Also this prompt of the reader beeing (omg jokes I'm so funny) part bee is so interesting!!! I LOVE bees I find their organization sistem so cool and honey is so tasty and the way it can have a huge variety just because of the place the bee hive is, is all so Fascinating. I ended up focusing more on the bee part đ but I tried my best to include all 4 proxys in this I really hope you like it :3
đ When you first arrived in the mansion, the proxys got a little weird out, they are not normal in the least but is rare to see a huge bee-like person walk in like nothing is wrong. But after some time they warmed up to bee with you I'm so funny please laugh
đ You can make honey. No, I'll not elaborate on how or why. But now every breakfast the proxys make you give them fresh honey to enjoy through the day
đ You're part queen bee, because if you were part worker bee/male bee you wouldn't survive that long (only the queen bee can survive the winter, worker bees die of cold and male bees die soon after mating with a queen in the begging of spring). That being said, you have the hability (like a real queen bee) to order around bees. Even if they have a queen, your sent is stronger so they see you as more worthy.
đ Slender likes the way you make your kills look accidental is just so practical and avoids the police getting involved. Bees attacking someone isn't a crime, just an accident so no consequences for you đ
đ Did you know bees can kill things by surrounding them and flapping their wings to rise the body temperature of the pray? You can do that too but not to the point of killing a human, you can heat them enough to make them pass out. It makes kidnapping much easier, Masky and Toby appreciate it.
đ When you get exited you flap your wings making that bzzzz noise. Masky finds it annoying.
đ Toby really like your antennas he finds them cute and if you let him, he's going to play with them
đ Hoodie likes your wings they have an interesting pattern and when the sun shines through them it sometimes makes rainbows, he likes photographing them
đ normally, when you need to go on group missions you get paired with Kate, although she prefers to work alone she doesn't mind your company that much, you're "useful and smell like honey" in her words. You get along well.
đ One time you decided to spook Masky by jumping on him from behind. Too bad he had an Insecticide on hands and sprayed it on you, you almost died and decided to never do this again. Kate and Toby Laughed a lot
đ You're "abelhuda" (a Brazilian Portuguese word that means you're too curious and like to put your nose where it doesn't belong, comes from the word "abelha" witch means bee) so more often than not you find yourself in the proxys room just looking for things in there without any purpose, just because you can. Masky started to lock his door because of that although it didn't stop you.
đ Funny enough, you're allergic to polen
đ When you're bored you like to follow Hoodie around, you don't talk with him or anything. You just, follow him to wherever he goes. In the beginning he found it super weird but now he just don't mind.
đ Kate has a bee allergy, so you do her a favor and keep bees far away from the mansion. She appreciates it
đ You and Kate listen to classical music together.
Did Jeffery and the other people only touch El, or did they r*pe him in every sense of the word?
If you're playing Cybird games for the first time then let me tell, the writers are very subtle about these things. They don't use the exact words instead they say 'touched', 'violated', 'attacked' etc...
The lines goes like this (rough translation from my memory btw)
At first they started touching me normally, but as each day went by, the places they touch changed.
Instead being blunt, the writers wants us to imagine, where they are touching. El in this scene kept begging 'Don't touch me' which clearly means, he is feeling uncomfortable and he doesn't want to be touched that way, but Jeffery brainwashed him into thinking that they're just 'loving him' and what they are doing is 'love'. El is basically brainwashed to the point that, he genuinely started thinking this was all love and reluctantly accepted it.
This act of 'love' is undeniably scaring him, to the point that he is scared of the slightest door noises when he sleeps, when people stand too close to him and even doctors. You can see the terrified expression on his face when it is said that he has to go back to his home for plot-related reasons. Also the scared expression when all the servants and Jeffery welcoming him. It was like entering a House full of monsters. Kate at first thought that everything is fine and that El is just too shy to be around people. She thought that all the maids and servants were genuinely caring and loving towards El unlike the people who comes touch him in parties as if he is an object. It was only later when she was walking around the mansion, she overhears voices of Jeffery and the giggling maids from El's room. She also hear El's painful breathing. Immediately barges in and see El's shirt was open and some maids were standing in front of him. Kate started having a bad feeling. She then tells Jeffery and the maids to leave. Jeffery was like why? with a very cold face and Kate was able to handle the situation by saying that there is an Imperial Order where she is asked to stay by El's side all the time. Jeffery and the maids leave and she was able to save El from being harassed. She tried asking El but El said it was nothing. But Kate was smart enough to put two and two together.
Everything is very subtle. If you're asking me (excuse me for my words) if r*pe as in if there was penetration? I can't be so sure. But What I am very certain is that, they have touched him in places (probably genitals) where he doesn't want to be touched. That is still SA according to me.
10 facts for... Hmm... Is there someone I don't know very well yet?
Hm.... I don't think you know Gia very well yet, and I need to come up with more details for her anyway, so we'll go with her!
Loves the idea of having a large parrot as a pet someday, but knows realistically that she doesn't have the means to take care of it
Will always try to solve a problem via MacGyvering and online tutorials before she calls a professional
Remembers very little from her time in HYDRA, but muscle memory will take over in the case of a fight or first-aid circumstance
Understands Greek, but is very rusty in speaking it
Signs all her texts with a green heart (đ) or a sprout emoji (đ±)
Her clover regenerates physical damage to her body, but doesn't affect chemical processing (she can still get drunk, caffeine will still wake her up; something like drinking rat poison would not kill her because the clover would regenerate the actual damage, but it would make her very sick for a while)
Her clover gives off a strange subharmonic frequency undetectable to regular human hearing (but that might sound a little curious to another Hell's Kitchen vigilante...)
Is not a devout vegetarian, but doesn't eat much meat because she doesn't like the texture
Enjoys crocheting in her free time (imagine her making Kate a purple sweater as a gift <3)
Has had several superheroes walk into her shop for entirely innocuous reasons, literally just to buy flowers, but it makes her freeze up and trip over herself every single time regardless.
ïčđïčâ â Here, we have a few rules : Participate in the activities, be nice, and have fun ... Want to know what happens if you don't follow the rules ? You get tied to the scouters' flag for about ... An hour, and no one can get you out, because if they do, and we catch them, they'll also get tied to the flag ! â Rick said, placing his hands on his hips.
ïčđ±ïčâ â Oh, right, and ... I'm the lemon pie scout master alongside Kate, my sister ! It's nice meeting you, scouter ! Cayden and Lana are the apple sauce scout masters ... â Rick took your hand and shaked it.
( https://discord.com/invite/zar5sqzv )
i was wondering if some of you wonderful people could join this lovely little server.
south scouts is, of course, a south park au where everyone is at a little camp, separated in teams.
there are two teams: apple sauce and lemon pie! (lemon pie team is better real!!)
the people there are RIDICULOUS!!! ugh!!! /pos
once we have enough people, there will be an event where everyone roleplays and everything is open!!! wowie!!!
this is very open to ocs so donât be afraid to show us your super rad oc, dude!
this is my interests & art sideblog ; I follow and interact from @stardropfemme !!
ÊđȘŒÉ hi, I'm berry!! â 21 â°Â adhd â°Â they/them â°Â femme lesbian ââ just a little creature trying their best âšïžÂ â sometimes I post art :3 â some (but not all) of the things you'll see here! :
đ± minecraft, stardew valley, animal crossing, pokemon, dredge; ghibli films, the last unicorn, over the garden wall, the little prince, moomin valley, labyrinth; fairies, unicorns, vampires, mushrooms, plants, bugs, space, the ocean; kd lang, tracy chapman, florence and the machine, mother mother, paramore, kate bush; collectibles, makeup, nails, fashion
ÊđȘŒÉ asks and dms ! ; mutuals are free to message me and ask for my discord! don't be a creep or you'll be blocked!
DNI: terfs/swerfs/radfems/gender critical, lgbtphobes of any kind, racists, ableists, anti-semites, bigots, or bootlickers.
I love the spotlight I get on here, Ms Sarah. Youâve made me Tumblr famous đ
Iâm half Indian half Welsh, 5â4, medical doctor persuing a PhD.
I love sports, aviation and food. Iâm looking forward to adopting another cat soon and I think Kate Winslet can boss me around all day of she wants to.
That shall do?! đ
Sam đ±
Holy! Sprout Anon Sam I think you're probably about to have everybody on here working up a crush on you now with that resume. The whole package over here.
Also I am in complete agreement re getting bossed around by Kate Winslet. đ»
Outside
they say youâre alright (chapter 1 of ?)
đ± PAIRING: König x fem!reader
đŸ CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <â comes with the territory; all of this being said itâs still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: animal death (bird), implied ghoap, minor character death (but not really, hold tight!), non-consensual cuddling.
đ NOTES: this is my first time writing in a long stretch, but after finishing Meeting the Other Crowd i had to write this lest i wound up chewing thru my own fist. later chapters may have additional warnings added. not proofread. wc: 7.9k
next ->
The season of turning leaves, of the harvest moon, of a waning veil; it feels as though the entire world calls for change. Packing to move feels less arduous when the very earth is moving along with you, shifting her shape to bring in the autumn, the winter. Autumn feels less intense in the city. Concrete and vehicles donât naturally shed their skins, hibernate, bed down and cozy up by a warm hearth. Thereâs a significant lack of trees and wildlife, all uprooted and shed away to make room for more human comforts. Itâs never felt like home to you.
Itâs almost funny how in your desperation to be untethered from an unwelcoming, pristine and metallic skyline, youâve managed to neatly pack away your entire life into a mere two bags. Everything that wasnât utterly necessary or sentimental donated or tossed into the garbage behind your former apartment. You know itâs a silly thing to believe a new roof over your head in an unfamiliar town a few hours venture away will change your entire life, but just as the leaves turn you feel itâs your moment to follow suit.
Kate hadnât made you pay anything in advance. No deposits, no frivolous faxing of paperwork, Kate had requested nothing but email correspondence, and perhaps that should have set off some instinctual alarm bell in your head. Yet, you had been in contact with this woman for weeks, and you hadnât picked up on anything odd in the eloquent responses Kate had given. The woman answered all of your questions with ease, and even had the decency to ask if there was anything she could do to make the move more bearable.
You found Kateâs listing on craigslist of all placesâ a humble little ad showing off a barren room in a small cottage located in the middle of nowhere, some mountainside town down south that you had never heard the name of prior. It was impulse that led you to reach out, typing out a sloppily worded email in the midst of another sleepless night expressing your interest in the room and a few words about yourself. Kate didnât waste any time with her response, declaring that she felt you would fit in well in the home and things progressed naturally. You had decided that you liked Kate already.
But nothing could have prepared you for actually meeting Kate Laswell.
As you park your little, beaten down sedan in the forested driveway, you takes a moment to calm your nerves. A six hour drive has left you feeling as though youâre in an entirely different worldâ around the midway point in your journey was the last time you had actually seen a town. Thereâs a sense of apprehension building, and yet it does little to fully snuff out the excitement.
The cottage laid out before you is off-white in color with a grayish-brown roof, blanketed by tendrils of hedera helix curling up each corner of the home and meeting in a cluster on the roof. The fence surrounding the property, wooden and worn seemed more decorative than any protection against anything getting in or out. âQuaintâ was the only word that seemed to come to mind as you step out of the vehicle and move to the trunk to collect your meager belongings.
And as the trunk of the vehicle slams shut, youâre met with the sight of a gentle-looking woman sprinting toward you from the cottage, a bright, welcoming smile on her face and an oversized yellow cardigan draped âround her shoulders. âSo glad you made it,â Kate greets warmly. âNeed help with your bags?â
âOh, Iâm fine. Didnât bring much.â You reply, and for the first time in months, you feel your heart begin to settle in your chest. This was good. The stress of the city seemed to retract its claws from your shoulders the moment you take a good look at Kate and the cottage behind her. The woman is older, soft lines visible on her face. She was fragile looking like a twittering little bird, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she was much more than her stature. Maybe not a robin at all, but a red-tailed hawk instead. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and the clothing she wore looked comfortable, a loose fitting white blouse, jeans, and the cardigan you wonder if she may have even knitted herself.
âWell, come in then. Weâll get you settled and have tea, or whiskey if you would prefer it.â Kate says with a wink, taking you by the hand and pulling you up the gravel-laden trail towards the door. Sparrows are nesting in the trees above, clover, sourgrass and wildflowers springing up in a viridian and brown blanket beneath your feet, and the dirt feels far more forgiving against the soles of your boots than the pavement of the city ever did. This already feels like home. âJust tea would be fine.â
Kate shows you around the cottage with pride, and you find that itâs entirely deserved. The home is immaculately tidy, albeit a tad cluttered. The woman had all sorts of strange baubles and crafts lining walls and shelves, books of all nature (even an extensive romance section you had found yourself drawn to, Kate had laughed at the sight of your eyes lingering on the spines as you read the suggestive titles), her furniture was all clean and patterned. Your room nearly brings you to tears. It was still rather empty, just as the pictures in the listing had suggested, with only a bed, dresser and vanity furnishing it. However, in the windowsill sits a blue planter with your name delicately painted on the front of it.
âA lily,â Kate informs you, smiling soft as you gaze down at the little green bulb in the pot. You ghost your fingertips over the rim of it as you tilt your head to look back at Kate, both confusion and gratefulness painting your expression. Kateâs smile doesnât waver as she steps to your side and gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze. Her kindness has already made you trusting, and it seems with every action she takes you feel more at peace, as though Kate were merely an estranged aunt rather than a complete stranger. âI thought a lily might suit you. It might still be early enough for her to bloom.â You whisper a thanks, returning her smile with one of your own. The thoughtfulness of such a simple gesture warms your heart in a way that you hadnât felt in some time. You make a mental note to read up on plant care to ensure Kateâs gift doesnât go neglected.
She waits to lead you into the kitchen and dining area until after you had put away your things and have properly seen your room. The rooms are just as well cared for as the rest of the cottage, every item in its proper place, the sink cleared and a knitted doily placed in the center of the range. The table is what catches your eye most of all thoughâ a fat loaf of fresh baked bread placed carefully on a platter next to small serving dishes filled with honey and jam, a tea kettle and two floral painted mugs set neatly just beside the display. It looks more like a painting than any meal youâve seen before, far too accustomed to quick snacks and dull fast food bags. In the city, working so much just to ensure that you still had your apartment to come back to, the time it would take to prepare something even as simple as this was never something you could expend.
âThis looks⊠itâs lovely, Miss Laswell,â You breathe out shyly, taking a seat at the table, your fingers flexing slightly. This kind of welcoming felt so foreign, not that you minded it. Not at all.
âPlease just call me Kate.â She says with a laugh, pouring out a generous mug of tea for you and sliding it across the table as she takes place on the opposite end. Her smile is infectious, warming your heart and causing the corners of your mouth to tug upward, too.
âKate.â You say aloud, committing it to memory. You wanted to be respectful. This was her home, you were just a temporary guest after all. You accept the mug of tea with a thankful nod of acknowledgement before taking a small sip. Warm. Everything about Kateâs home and her demeanor is so warm. Even in the midst of autumn, thereâs no chill here, only tenderness and warmth as though some invisible hearth roars in the corner of every room. âI canât thank you enough for everything youâve done for me.â
Kate hesitates for a moment, and had you blinked you would have missed the way her thin shoulders seemed to tense and the lines at the corners of her mouth visibly tightened. She parts her lips to speak, eying you carefully before⊠she merely reaches across the table to slice you off a plump helping of the bread, scooting the bowls of jam and honey in your direction.
You wonder if somehow your words had offended her, and you wished you could retract them, snatch the fluttering of your voice from thin air, but as quickly as that thought comes, Kate sighs.
âWell, I havenât been entirely upfront with you, dear,â Kate begins in a soft voice, tilting her head as she sips her own tea. Your eyes widen in surprise at her words, uncertain as to what weight they carry. Your thoughts immediately veer in the worst directionâ perhaps she wasnât offering the room as long as the listing stated, and you had no where else to go. Perhaps someone else lived here too, someone dangerous.
âWhat do you mean?â
âThe neighbors come around sometimes.â She says, and it almost pulls a giggle from you. Neighbors? You hadnât seen any other homes on the way up here, and having lived in an apartment complex you were used to all manner of folks, from the loud, the strange, the elderly and standoffish. You give her a little shrug in response, unsure of what to say to such a silly thing.
âYouâve just got to understand how to deal with them if you see them,â Kate continues, her mouth pressed to a thin line as she regards you. Thereâs that sharp look in her eye that suggests she really isnât kidding around, that there may even be a threat if you didnât hold what she says next with the highest regard. You feel a swell of unease, but give the woman your rapt attention, not even bothering with the bread on your plate despite the way your stomach grumbles, quiet but demanding. âDonât eat their food, never give them your name. Donât thank them either, even if you break your ankle on a hike and one stops to help. No thanking them.â
You laugh. This had to be some silly joke, harmless hazing for the new roomie. Your mirthful giggles die in your throat when you meet Kateâs gaze again and her expression is entirely graveâ gone was the soft smile and the twinkle in her eyes, and youâre quickly reminded as to why you thought of a hawk when you first saw that look in her eye.
âKate⊠Iâm sorry. I donât understand.â
She toys with the handle of her mug for a moment, watching as if to ensure your amusement has entirely died out before she graces you with another word. âDear, I know I sound like I have bats in the belfry, but I need you to listen to me.â A heavy sigh leaves her lips after her words and her brow pinches as if sheâs trying to consider the best possible way to explain this farfetched idea of her neighbors to you in a way thatâs easy enough to digest without giving too much away. âPerhaps meeting one of them would be the best way to show you.â She mumbles as she sets her mug aside and stands from her chair. You remain dumbstruck in your seat, watching as she pulls her yellow cardigan tighter around herself before fumbling around in the kitchen to retrieve a small woven basket. Kate places two thick slices of bread inside and the little dish of honey too as you watch on.
âSure.â You say with a quizzical tilt of your head. You didnât want to insult your new roommate further, and she seemed deadly serious about this strange concept. Maybe it was best to appease her, and meeting other folks that lived out here didnât seem like too arduous a task. Kate flashes you that smile again as you agree and offers the basket out to you. Your fingers curl around the stiff handle as you stand and bring it closer to your person.
âThereâs a little walking trail out back that leads straight up the hill to the cemetery. Ghost should be there.â
âGhost?â A ghost in the cemetery. How fitting.
Kate breathes a laugh and shakes her head. Youâre pleased to see the tension has left her, she seemed at ease and just as sweet as she had when she rushed to greet you earlier. âNot really a ghost,â she explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. âYouâll see. Heâs a bit⊠prickly at times, but heâs harmless enough. Just take him the bread and youâll see.â Harmless, you want to tell her, is what most people should be expected to be without graceful description. âAre the others harmful, then?â, your mind supplies, as if trying to make you feel closer to a side character in some low budget horror film. Something was certainly off here, but you donât find yourself questioning it further.
Kate leads you to the back door, unlatching a chain lock before unlocking the deadbolt and pushing the door open. The hinges whine as she directs you toward the trail with a pointed finger. And, with an encouraging pat on the shoulder, she pushes you out of the door. You can hear the tinkling of the chain and the thump of the deadbolt as she locks it behind her. You donât know whether to side more with the anxiety building in your chest or the frustration burning at your stomach after finding yourself in this situation. So maybe Kate did have âbats in the belfryâ as she had called it. What woman would have invited a complete stranger to come live with her in the middle of no where, after all. But this was only your first day here, and you knew you had to make the most of it. Where else could you possibly go?
At least she was nice. The tea had been perfect, too. With a sigh, you decide to overlook her eccentricities for now as you start walking towards the trail. Your pace is brisk, orange and red fallen leaves crunching with each step as you meander up the thin, forested trail. The chill of an autumn breeze pushes through the trees with ease, shaking a flurry of dead leaves from dark branches to whirl around you, one landing gently on the shoulder of your coat. You pluck it off, twirling the stem between the fingers of your free hand as you walk.
The cemetery comes into view about half an hour later. The peaks of moss covered tombstones rise up over the hill, and youâre surprised to find that the old graveyard isnât entirely overgrown. Some thorn bushes border the backside of the small clearing, trees towering so high to either side it almost roofs the area in entirely apart from a center circle where sunlight beams in. Itâs quiet apart from the splintering of leaves beneath your soles and it dawns on you that you havenât heard a sound not pulled from your own being since you started your short journey here.
You look around for this supposed âGhostâ for a few moments, scanning both behind and above the tombstones. Thereâs nothing and no one to be seen, just a heavy silence and carpeting moss over stone that hasnât been touched in what looked like centuries. You didnât want to return too soon for fear of Kate not taking too kindly to it, you couldnât run the risk of being cast out, even if the thought of her doing such a thing already felt uncharacteristic and outlandish.
So, you kneel in front of a larger headstone, fishing out a slice of bread from the basket and smoothing honey over it with the butter knife Kate had placed inside. The engraving was entirely illegible, worn away by the elements, and with so much moss encompassing it you doubt you could have read it anyway even if it hadnât been so neglected. The bread, still warm and soft is nibbled at as you inspect some of the other graves, all in the same state of disrepair. A part of you wishes you had plucked some wildflowers on the walk, perhaps you could have given some restless spirit the satisfaction of not being forgotten.
A clipped âwoofâ pries you from your thoughts, a deep and breathy sound that sends a chill down each bony knob of your spine as you whip around to face whatever had made the noise. Youâre met with the view of a massive dog standing a mere three meters away. The animalâs fur was a coarse, wiry black, itâs eyes just as dark. It regards you with its ears flattened back against its skull, dark lips pulled back in a snarl, though it doesnât growl. In fact, the creatures tail betrays this display of intimidation as it wags lazily behind it.
You break a corner of the bread off and extend your hand out to the dog, cooing softly to it and encouraging it to approach. The dog huffs, ears flicking forward. It watches you for several long moments before stiffly walking towards you, accepting the bread into its large mouth and swallowing it down without so much as a courtesy chew. Up close, you canât discern what breed of dog this is at all. His ears were long and floppy, descending down past his maw, his hair looked stiff and rough almost like a wolfhoundâs but it was much shaggier, longer.
âGood boy.â You chirp, reaching up to lightly ghost your fingers over the crown of the dogâs skull. The dog recoils with another huff, and for a moment you almost think you see his eyes narrow as if he were glaring at youâ a silent âdo not touchâ. Your hand retreats and you mutter an apology out to the creature. The dog doesnât move, standing still as a statue as it watches you fiddle with the handle of the basket and rise to your feet.
So, no Ghost, but you did meet a dog. That would have to do for now. You were exhausted from the drive, and more than anything you wanted to be in the warmth of a building, away from the volatile breeze and the eerie silence of the graveyard.
âWait.â A voice rasps as you turn back to the trail. Everywhere and no where at once it comes and the feeling that arrives with it, so peaceful yet uncanny. Just like before, you donât hear the dog approach, but you feel the cold of a wet nose press against your palm. His mouth opens, grazing your fingertips with his teeth as you whip your head around to look down at the creature, eyes wide and brows raised in shock. What?
You wrench your hand away from the dog, uncertainty sending a violent shiver down your spine. Surely the animal couldnâtâve âŠ
âFâme, wasnât it?â
Itâs not your mind playing tricks from the emptiness of the graveyard.
The dog spoke, rough and deep and accented.
The creatureâs tail wags languidly behind him as he stares up at you expectantly, big paws placed firmly in a moss bed below with long, black claws curved into it.
âP-pardon?â You manage to breathe out, voice tight as your chest rises and falls rapidly with shallow, panicked breaths. This was impossible, you knew it. As a child you had spent countless hours trying to get your childhood pet to utter a single âI love youâ to no avail, and yet this dog before you seemed to find human speech as simple as inhaling or flicking his ears. The dog huffs, his dark eyes rolling, and you realize the animal does not simply speak, it finds you amusing too.
He noses at the basket, sniffling deeply at the food within before peering up at you in silent demand. You part your lips in a small âoâ, lowering the basket to the mossy floor. The dog doesnât spare you another glance as his tongue lolls out to lap at the dish of honey and draw the bread between rows of hungry teeth. He eats quickly and with all the grace of any normal canine, crumbs dotting the fur surrounding his mouth as he raises his head to regard you.
âYou just⊠you spoke to me?â You question, your knees wobbling in surprise. Perhaps if he didnât have the look of a cute dog, you would have been more fearful. âYou talk?â
The dog tilts his head before sniffing at your boot for a moment only to raise his head back as he settles onto his haunches. The animals ears perk up, still flopping at the ends, almost covering his dark eyes.
âYou smell like Kate.â He speaks, but his mouth doesnât move. In fact, his entire body remains rigid and still, a graveyard statue blessed with the breath of life.
Something clicks as his words register. This isnât just some extraordinary talking dog, this was the Ghost Kate had mentioned. Your eyes finally relax, thereâs no more look of surprise, thereâs no more unease. Having a talking dog for a neighbor seemed so much better than dealing with Mr. Thomson, stumbling back into the apartment complex after a long night drinking, singing his curses to the city, to the world itself.
Ghost was just fine.
Emboldened by this sudden realization, you reach out to the dog again. âGhost,â you say with a hint of a smile. âYouâre awful cute, arenât you?â A giggle escapes you as you see heâs not moving away this time, but diligently sniffing at your hand. The dog pauses after a moment, flashing a hint of teeth at you. Itâs not aggressive, you realize. Perhaps, heâs not the best with people.
âAnâ youâre awful chummy, girl.â The dog snorts, turning his head away indignantly. So this one had a bit of an attitude, you let it roll off the shoulder. Surely he would warm up, talking or not, most stray dogs had a tendency to. You retract your hand and collect the empty basket and the dog gives you a slight nod in approval.
âIâll walk ya back.â
â â â
The walk back to Kateâs cottage felt longer than the hike up to the graveyard. Ghost didnât seem very keen on talking to you, despite his offer to escort you home. He padded in front of you with hurried steps, only circling back to nip at your heels every now and then if he felt you were trailing too far behind him. You didnât yet know that there were other eyes in the forest observing the two of you. Each time a branch snapped behind or to either side of you, or when footsteps or laughter could be heard some distance away, Ghost would dart behind you to mouth at the leather of your boot with a low growl to keep you from looking at anything apart from the roof of the cottage as you approached.
After the third bite, with the cottage in full view you finally stop in your tracks, reaching down to ruffle his ears. âWhy do you keep doing that?â You ask, an air of annoyance to your tone as you note the indents of fangs in your bootsâ the only pair of shoes you had even brought with you, already covered in drool and bite marks by some magical dog you hardly knew.
Ghost snorts, dark eyes locked on your face as he circles back around you. âYouâve got lead in your head or your shoes girl, which is it?â
You puff your cheeks in a slight pout, half a mind to knock his fuzzy head with the basket in your hands. âNeither,â you mutter, carrying on towards the cottage. âStop biting me.â
Ghost shakes his shaggy head, opting to press his mouth to your hand in a silent order to get you moving again. You oblige, leaving the dog behind as you make it to the back door of the small house. You knock once, and already hear the sounds of the locks unlatching just beyond the wooden door. The door swings open, and Kate stands there in silence. face paled.
Ghost lets out a low bark somewhere behind you as you wave him off. Kate smiles broadly at the dog before turning to look at you just as he scampers back up the trail, no doubt back to the graveyard he had appeared in.
âI apologize, dear,â she breathes out, ushering you back inside. She looks incredibly apologetic as she takes your shoulders and turns you around to face her. Her tone remains a cross between stern and reassuring, and you feel a swell of guilt, almost like you should be comforting her rather than the opposite.
You explain to her that Ghost didnât frighten you, and she settles immediately, a sigh of relief leaving her lips. You return the basket to its proper place, stored on a shelf high up in the pantry as you tell Kate about your interaction with the strange, talking graveyard dog.
âSounds like he likes you.â Kate responds followed with a soft laugh. You notice sheâs cleared the table of breakfast, only neatly crocheted doilies in place of where the two of you had sat earlier that morning. âHe wouldnât speak to me the first day we met.â
You shake your head in protest, gesturing towards the marks from his teeth in your boot. âHe bit me!â You whine, earning another laugh from Kate. You crouch down to untie your boots, pulling them off of your feet, the woman kneels next to you and pries the boots from your hands with gentle, aged hands. She runs her thumb over the indentations with a hum.
âI should be able to fix them.â
âReally?â
Kate nods, standing to her feet and offering you her free hand. You take it, straightening yourself out. The room smells of lemongrass and lavender, the flickering glow of a large candle placed neatly on a side table housing a few choice pieces of fine china.
You watch as Kate takes your boots to her room, no doubt where whatever supplies she deemed useful enough to fix them lay in wait. She returns roughly a half hour later with them graciously repaired, and youâre uncertain of how sheâs managed such a feat to the extent she hasâ no more indentations, no scuffs on the leather. They look new, something you havenât seen since the day you purchased them.
You thank her graciously with a little bow of your head and you and Kate fall into a comfortable conversation. She tells you that there are many others like Ghost, that some of them look human but arenât, that some are no more than groaning shadows or looming abysses of fur and sharp claws. Kate diligently reiterates her rules from earlier, and though you werenât quite sure you believed her entirely about the dangers of these âneighborsâ, you nod along enthusiastically.
âSo, if Ghost is just a dog, why doesnât he live here? With you? Winter gets cold in places like this,â you breathe out, seated on the opposite end of the floral patterned loveseat next to Kate.
âOh? He didnât show you then.â Kate laughs. Sheâs brewed another kettle of tea and she dispenses the amber fluid between two mugs. âI suppose he didnât want to frighten you off, but heâs no dog.â
Your eyes widen, and youâre uncertain as to why Kateâs words fill you with dread, a cold spike through the chest that sends a shiver down each ridge of your spine. Ghost hadnât hurt you, of course. He didnât even seem to be entertaining any idea other than eating and walking you home. Maybe a bit pushy, but otherwise a proper gentleâŠdog. Your head tilts, wordlessly asking Kate to fully explain what Ghost may have been hiding.
âHeâs a big guy,â is all she says as she takes a long sip from her tea. You open your mouth to speak again, but all of a sudden the scent of tobacco fills your lungs, swirls around the entire room as though it was emanating from the walls itself. You stifle a cough with your palm pressed flat against your lips and Kate laughs. Yet, as you glance about the den, you see no one else. Paranoia? But Kate seemed to have smelled it too. âNot me, dear.â She says quietly.
â⊠what are they?â You question, voice wavering. The scent of tobacco seems to grow stronger then dissipate after a few moments only to return.
âThe good folk,â comes Kateâs immediate reply as she stands, clapping her palms against her thighs with an exasperated sigh. She tilts her head to look down at you with a small smile. âThis oneâs nice enough, too. Donât worry.â Despite the waves of scent that drift in and out of the room, nothing else seems to appear. With everything thatâs happened today, a part of you expects to meet with a sentient cigarette at Kateâs words, but⊠nothing.
â â â
As the days pass, you and Kate fall into a sort of routine. The woman will tell you the most unbelievable things with a smile on her face, and you find almost too quickly that everything she says is true. This place feels holy in a sense. Itâs no church, but things of myth seem to embedded themselves into the walls, singing like a choir in the dead of night. You swear you hear Kate talking to someone some nights, a manâs voice booming through the cottage. They share laughs and the scent of a cigar ebbs and flows, but every time youâve tried to steal a peek at this visitor, he seems to vanish the moment you step out of your room. Maybe you would think him rude if you knew for certain he existed at all.
Your mind tends to play tricks after the stress of leaving behind everything you knew, uprooting your entire life to come here. On the second day, you lose your car keys. You had placed them on your nightstand and you knew it, but the following morning they were no where to be found. On the third night, you wake up on your side in bed, the sound of someone breathing deeply behind you sending a swell of dread from the base of your neck down to the heels of your feet. Sleep paralysis, you tell yourself, but you knew you had pulled the blanket a bit tighter around yourself when it happened, stealthily tried to move your foot to see if you could feel anyone. You could move, it had been real.
Itâs on the fourth day that your heart sinks in your chest. You wake to morning light flooding through the curtains, the chirping of birds in the willow just outside of your window. As you sit yourself up and wipe at your eyes with the meat of your palms, you realize the potted lily Kate had gifted to you is gone. Plants donât just get up and walk, using their leaves to tug up their pots as if it were trousers as they saunter away on thin, wiry root legs. You feel like your sanity is slipping when you check the window and realize itâs still locked. Even though the lily was just a plant, you feel a sense of grief at the fact you couldnât find it anywhereâ not beneath the bed, in any drawer, the closet or⊠anywhere in the cottage.
You finally give in and decide to ask Kate, to which she explains that this event isnât uncommon. You expected her to be upset (with what you believed to be your own irresponsibility), but she remains kind as always, tells you it will turn back up when you least expect it and ushers you to the kitchen to prepare breakfast with you, coffee, omelettes and bowls filled with blackberries.
âYou could try asking Ghost,â Kate offers, âHe seems fond of you, perhaps he took it.â
You bite back the urge to ask her how a dog could have possibly broken into your room and stolen a potted plant. The very image of it seemed silly, a beast like him biting down on the clay pot to, what? Haul it off to rest it atop some long-forgotten soulâs grave? Instead, you toy with the eggs on your plate, still feeling a bit strange about the entire ordeal.
âYeah, maybe.â
âDonât be afraid,â the woman speaks up again. The expression on her face, oddly sheepish, doesnât suit her well. A silent âdonât leaveâ buried beneath her words, written clear as day in the sullen look in her eyes.
The trek to the graveyard feels heavier this time around. The dog isnât what has your skin crawling, itâs the ever-present feeling that something just beyond your field of view is lying in wait, eyes trained solely on your form. You swear you can feel a puff of breath on the back of your neck a time or two, almost causing you to trip over a cluster of fallen pine cones and other forest debris. Itâs silent, as always, and as much as your eyes scan through fallen leaves and bent branches, you canât make out the sight of anything scampering about, not so much as a squirrel or a proud cardinal. Itâs strange how empty a place teeming with life can feel at times when something lurks coaxing the other creatures to silence lest they fall victim to sharp fangs. Even you, you find, have taken to subconsciously adjusting your strides as to not step on too many fallen leaves, avoiding twigs as though making a peep at all would be a death sentence.
Making your way to the hill littered in graves only makes it feel more certain, that steady drip of dread telling you that death was nipping at your heels. Though, a part of you considers thatâs just Ghostâs presence. Black shulk, a keeper of fairy mounds, a harbinger of death.
Youâre not met with the presence of a wiry-haired dog this time though, but a man clad in black, face concealed by the frontal bones of a human skull with all but the jaw mostly there. Tall and bulky, the thin fabric of a tunic barely concealing the rigid musculature beneath. Thereâs a moment of panic, so brief the swell and fall leaves you breathless, before you realize looking into those eyes that this was still the dog you had met before. Different, but still just as haunted and weary. Thereâs a misplaced sense of peace with Ghost; a wolf taking to shepherding a lamb rather than devouring it.
âGhost?â You call to him, and he tilts his head ever so slightly, attention pulled from whatever duty he feels that he owes to this cemetery. Some instinctual guardianship, perhaps, rooted just as deeply in his fae blood as the pride and fear in your humanity.
âYes?â
The dog, man, whatever he may be doesnât seem to have a care that you see him as he is now, his focus returning to the same tombstone you had kneeled beside the day you met him, thick fingers roving over the mossy stone. Heâs not clearing it away, you notice, merely looking it over and it dawns on you that perhaps, in some distant past that this was someone he once knew. Had he waited at their side during their end? Pressed his muzzle to their palm in a kiss of death? Your fingers twitch at your side as your feet move on auto-pilot, arriving at his side before you seat yourself next to him.
Ghost smells of sulfur, of pine and morning dew. Not death as you had expected. He smells of spring mornings and hazy summer afternoons, scorched earth and vibrant meadows all in one. Purgatory made flesh, a passerby between heaven and hell.
âDid you steal my lily?â The words seem entirely outlandish as they spill from your mouth, and you realize how stupid you sound the second he cocks his head to look you over beneath the skull concealing the majority of his face from you. He doesnât have to give you an answer, really, because you know he didnât take it, but he still gives you the courtesy of a slow shake of his head. âWell, itâs gone.â You say quietly, drawing your gaze away from him as you look to the tombstone before the both of you. You can see it now, the name. Johnny MacTavish.
âDonât know anything about it,â Ghost utters, his dark eyes remaining trained on you, but his hand moves to the soil beneath his feet. Thereâs a certain reverence to his touch as he splays his hand across the earth. This âJohnnyâ must have been important to him in some capacity. Not a kiss of death at all, you realize then. Whatever Ghost was, he had the propensity to love, to grieve.
âOh.â You breathe soft, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. A heavy silence hangs in the air for a moment. You hadnât meant to interrupt him during such a sensitive time, but thereâs some flicker in his eyes when you look up at him that suggests a semblance of gratitude that youâre here. â⊠you knew him?â Your force the question from your tongue, and Ghost merely turns his head to look at the stone before him, eyes somber as they trace over the engraved name as though he were reading poetry.
âThat I did.â
You both sit in silence for a time. Thereâs a part of you that doesnât want to leave him to haunt this place alone anymore, and a more rational part that tells you that he belongs here, tethered to this Johnnyâs side for the rest of his days. Ghost seems less tense in your presence, almost soothed by the silence it seemed as his broad shoulders go slack and he pays his silent respects to this buried man by way of gentle touch and a barely contained softness in his eyes. The silence feels neither awkward nor unfamiliar, itâs as gentle as a breeze passing through. You picture what this man must have been like, to steal the heart of someone like Ghost, even in death. You donât ask, despite the questions burning in your throat. In due time, perhaps.
An hour passes before you force up the will to leave him, and just like the last time, Ghost walks you home. Thereâs no more pushing, no ushering you to look forward or walk faster. The man would never voice it, but something about the way he looks at you now tells you thereâs some newfound respect budding up in his chest like a wildflower.
The silence is only broken as you reach the door to Kateâs home.
âSomethinâs got its eye on you, lovie.â
You whip your head around to question him, but find the man has already gone.
â â â
You return empty handed, noting that Kateâs car was no longer parked in the gravel driveway. A note on the refrigerator door reads âOut. Be back soon!â. Itâs the first time that youâve found yourself alone in the cottage, but you have the sense to tell you that youâre not entirely alone. Even the mottled white and blue wallpaper, some faux marble pattern, makes you feel as though youâre being watched, as though something youâre just not seeing is tucked away beneath those colors observing you with the eyes of a starved wolf.
And itâs quiet, itâs so quiet that it makes that unease grow. Youâre repeating Ghostâs words in your head like a strange mantra.
Somethinâs got its eye on you, lovie.
Why didnât he elaborate? Did he even know? Could he know?
The house settles, a floorboard creaks loudly and thatâs enough to spur you to hide away in your room, at least until Kate returns.
Your room feels like small sanctuary as you shut the door behind you and let out a shaky breath. The calm is only interrupted when you notice the dead sparrow lying neatly atop your bedsheets, itâs wings spread out, feet tucked against its tiny body and itâs eyes closed. It looked peaceful, not brutally marred and yet the sight alone pulls a gasp from your throat as your eyes grow wide.
Something had been in your room. Someone had been in your room.
Was the dead bird a threat? A gift? You couldnât be certain, but you glove your hands and bury it in the backyard, eyes carefully scanning the tree line every so often as a chill runs down each knob of your spine. Youâve heard mentions of the fair folk your entire life, in books and film, but those stories all felt so nonsensical and sweet compared to the here and now. Were they not supposed to simply be little people donning butterflyâs wings? Fluttering about thick oak trees and being birthed from flower bulbs? Kateâs âneighborsâ looked and felt the part of demons by comparison.
If not for Ghostâs existence, you would think this all was her doing, that perhaps she was more eccentric than you had realized. Youâre scared, youâre alone here in the country, and it seemed as though these strange occurrences would just be your new day-to-day. As normal as a walk to the subway, as ordering your coffee from a local cafe. You pat the small grave with the spade once as you rise to your feet to head inside to wash your sheets.
â â â
You donât remember falling asleep, memory only supplying you placing your sheets in the washer with a slight grimace on your face. But you wake, you wake to the dim light of the moon basking your room in a hazy, milky glow. You can feel the presence of a blanket covering your lower half, but youâve hardly time to question how it got there at all.
A long, muscular arm curls around your middle, inviting in a cold, billowing wave of fear to wash over your bones. Ghost?, you wonder in silence, but the thought immediately dissipates as you feel the figure shift closer behind you, tucking you further against himself. Ghost was big, but this person was somehow larger. Impossibly so. You part your lips to scream, but not a sound comes out. You feel as though your voice itself has been snatched away from your throat. âShh,â a voice hisses into your ear, the feeling of fabric moving over your face as the man behind you tilts his head to look you over.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
âI wonât hurt you,â the voice continues, somehow both gravely and light as he speaks. Itâs unfamiliar, entirely unfamiliar. He sounds unhinged in a way your fretful mind canât even begin to voice, and surely, he must be. Climbing into bed with a stranger, pulling someone youâve never met so closely to you⊠why would anyone in their right mind do that?!
You manage to find your voice when the man lowers his head to the crown of yours, deeply inhaling as his grip around you tightens. âWhat the hell are you doing?â You try to sound assertive, truly, but it comes out as a small squeak, anxiously wavering with each syllable uttered.
âYou smell like honeysuckle.â
Was Kate back yet? If you screamed would she come sprinting through to door to rid this beast of a man from your bed? Your thoughts are like a roaring storm in your head just before you feel the gentle brush of lips, hidden beneath some veil, against your cheek and the figure pulls away to settle against your pillow with a soft huff of breath.
âYour heart is racing like a little hase. Calm down.â
âStop. Please.â Your voice cracks again. Through the dim light of the moon seeping through your window you make out the sight of a clawed hand resting over your tummy. Thick, black keratin gently splayed over the fabric of your shirt, grip firm but not tight enough to cause injury. Your breath catches, the stranger letâs out an airy laugh, tries to pull you closer once again. Youâre so entwined that itâs for naught, youâre only grateful he was gentle. The thought of those claws splitting you open surfaces just before he shushes you again.
âI wonât hurt you,â he repeats as if sensing your unease. You can almost detect the dejection in his voice, as though he knows, knows that youâre catching glimpses of a monster, a sight he couldnât change. Itâs gone so quickly you think youâve imagined it. His thumb moves languidly to trace a circle along your sternum, trying to soothe.
âWhat do you want?â Your voice was a low hiss, eyes darting from his hand to the wall in front of you. The courage to twist in his grip and face him wasnât there, your imagination running wild with possibilities of the rest of him like stills from a horror film.
âTo hold you.â Simple sentences do nothing to make his voice sound calm, the man is practically trembling as his hand moves to your hip to trace a pattern there, clawed fingertips dancing over a hint of exposed flesh. His other arm shifts to fit beneath your neck, you can see the taut muscle, the veins there as he moves it to curl over your chest, his breathing uneven and deep. The sound was familiar, the same sound you had heard when you felt the dip in your mattress a few nights prior. âJust to hold you.â
And this, despite how horrific and strange, is oddly comforting. Your mind has been plagued with anxieties caused by the unseen for days on end, and you canât even recall the last time youâve been held like this, if ever. So tender, so warm. The man behind you quietly hums the tune of a song that isnât familiar, but feels as though it were just behind you. His fingers continue to delicately trace small shapes against you, warm paths of connecting points, some angular, some smooth. Despite yourself, you find youâre lulled into a deep sleep filled with dreams of fall forests, of unknowns with sharp teeth and fierce eyes. A song, dancing naked in groves, a man with eyes like an ice covered stream.
When you wake, you find your bed empty apart from your own person, and a fully bloomed lily in your windowsill.Â