Page 2

The pressure from his hold on me is almost unbearable and I am unable to get a sound out, so I just nod my head in response. It seems to be enough for him.

He releases my throat without another word and leaves the room, locking the door behind him. I gasp, trying to catch my breath again before I punch the mattress beside me. I can’t do this anymore. Tonight NEEDS to be the night. I lift my flimsy mattress, checking to ensure the hairpin I found is still where I left it.

Dean has a routine at night. He showers, then grabs what I can only assume is a beer from the clinking sounds of glass I hear each night. Afterwards, he makes his way back upstairs for bed. His snores reverberate through the walls every night, keeping me wide awake and sleep deprived for hours.

I hear the fridge open, followed by the telltale clinking sound of the beer bottle. I know this means that I have about thirty minutes to wait before he trudges to bed and falls asleep. Lifting the floorboard at the edge of the mattress, I grab the sheet that I’ve had stashed there for the past week. I was able to save non-perishable food and keep it wrapped up to take with me. Dean allowed me to bathe myself yesterday so I at least don’t feel completely disgusting.

Walking to the other side of the room to the table near the door, I grab the food and the clothes. I sit on the bed and eat while I wait. The stairs outside the door creak and I listen as his footsteps pass my room, before his bedroom door closes. The bed groans as he lies down and I use the moment to change into the new clothes. I’m not sure what he had planned for tomorrow, but he had given me a white cropped tank top, denim jeans, and a black leather jacket. Whoever is coming must matter enough for him to give me brand new clothes. I put on socks then the old, black Doc Martens I managed to find in the back of the closet.

I sit for a few minutes, then I hear Dean’s snoring pickup. Using the water from the jug, I wet my hair and comb it through with my fingers. The snoring increases, and I know he’s done for the night. I grab the hairpin from under the bed and push the U shaped side into the lock, turning it until I hear a click. Gently, I turn the knob, and the door opens. I push it open slowly, ensuring that it doesn’t make any sound. Once it’s fully open, I grab what I need and step out of the room, pulling it shut behind me.

I stay to the railing side of the steps as I descend, knowing that it doesn't creak. Sneaking into the kitchen, I grab whatever I can fit into the makeshift sheet bag as quickly and quietly as possible. Opening the drawer next to the fridge, I pull out a small knife with a cover and put it in the back pocket of my jeans. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I think about finally getting away from here.

Quietly, I make my way over to the front door and unlock it. Opening it, I step outside and shut it behind me, rushing away from the house as quickly as I can. I run until I get around the corner down the street. I have nowhere to go, but anywhere is better than that hellhole.

The fresh air fills my lungs as I take a moment to appreciate the outdoors again. Walking down the road, I listen to the sounds of nature as the wind blows through the trees, rustling the leaves. It’s the night before Halloween, Devil’s Night, and the neighborhood teenagers are running from house to house, terrorizing everyone with their pranks. I walk down the sidewalk until I make it to Deadwood Lane. Ever since I was little, people spoke of the ghosts that roamed the road and terrorized those who entered Deadwood Manor. The house is an old mansion at the end of the street where many people were killed and their cases remain unsolved.

I can see the gates to Deadwood in the distance. As I get closer, the fog in the surrounding area becomes thicker, causing a feeling of uncertainty to settle in my belly. It almost looks like there's lights inside the house, but it’s been abandoned for nearly twenty years. Approaching the gate, I notice it’s slightly open and squeeze through the bars.

I've never been one to believe in ghost stories, but the walk up the driveway feels eerie… like I'm being watched. There is a slight orange color in some of the windows, but I can’t tell if it’s true light or a reflection of some sort. As my uncertainty rises, I clutch my jacket tighter around me and make my way to the front door, scoping it out to make sure there is nobody around. Once I see the coast is clear, I twist the knob, praying it’s unlocked. Thank God. The door creaks open and I step inside.

The creepy, old house smells pleasantly fresh. Looking to my left, there is a large living room with multiple couches. They look relatively clean considering they’re not covered in plastic. To the right is a large open kitchen that looks way less used than the living room. I continue walking through the first floor, checking each room. Making my way up the stairs, I am greeted by a long, narrow hallway. The walls are covered in picture frames with photos that look like they are from hundreds of years ago. I look through each room, noticing that some smell fresher than others. Entering the room that looks the cleanest, I had planned to sit for a little bit and think about what my next move was, but as soon as I lay down, sleep takes over.

two

Pierce

Red hair catches my attention as I watch from the window in my room. What the fuck is she doing here? People never give this house a second glance, let alone trespass and come inside.

I stick to the shadows as I follow the stranger through the house. She must be feeling brave to enter someone else’s property, thinking that there will be no consequences to her actions. She looks in every room and the options, then she settles on my bedroom — my personal Haven.

I watch as she’s asleep on my bed. I am intrigued by the red of her hair. It’s not a bright red, more like a strawberry blonde, but heavy on the strawberry. She has prominent freckles that cover her face. I can tell from the look she had on her face when she got here that she has definitely been through some shit. She looks damaged, almost broken. Sweeping the hair off her face, I can see that she's having a nightmare. Something in me ignites, and I fight the urge to hold her hand. I haven't touched another human in years so the feeling takes over.

Gently, I grab her small hand in my own and immediately feel the softness and warmth of her skin on mine. It makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. I watch her sleep for what feels like hours before she begins to stir. I walk over to the closet and step into the darkness, not taking my eyes off of her.

Slowly, she sits up and looks around. Her eyes drift toward the closet and she stares. Can she see me? She stands from the bed, scans the area for a moment longer before walking out of the room and down the stairs. I stand far enough behind her that she doesn’t feel my presence. I want to have some fun with this. I walk into one of the rooms and push an old frame off the wall, letting it crash to the floor, shattering the glass. Seconds later, I hear her footsteps slowly creeping towards the room.

“Hello? Is someone here? I’m sorry, I thought Deadwood was abandoned.” The door creaks open as she steps into the room. She doesn’t know there’s power in the house, so the only light available is the moonlight that comes through the windows unless candles are lit. Why not continue the fun? Being dead allows you to have some weird skills, might as well use them. Snapping my fingers, the flame of the candle in the window comes to life and the red headed beauty screams. I can’t help but chuckle at her gullibleness. “Who’s there? If you want me to leave, then just come out and say it to my face!” The girl has some balls, I must say. Must be a bit dumb too if she has the confidence to demand a response when she’s the one in a house she does not own.

I’m not ready for her to know I’m here. Maybe tomorrow.

Tiptoeing around her, I shut the door and lock it from the outside before walking through the wall to watch her lose her shit. She bangs her fists on the door, screaming for help and my cock twitches. Walking behind her, I breathe down her neck, watching as goosebumps rise on her skin. She spins around with tears in her eyes. She frantically looks around the room.

“Please..” The word is a whisper that falls from her lips. Her eyes shine brighter with the glassy haze covering them. Making my way through the door, I unlock it, slowly pushing it open. She takes hesitant steps out of the room, scanning the hallway before walking down the stairs and out the back door. I can feel the sadness coursing through her so I let her go and watch from the window.

She carefully walks around the manor garden, probably wondering how it’s still alive. The other spirits here keep to themselves but Catrice, an elderly woman, likes to make sure the plants stay thriving.

She walks between the rose bushes, making sure to stop and smell each one. She takes a few wildflowers, tucks them behind her ear, and it reminds me of a child, given how innocent the act is. The weird red butterflies that are always around the house immediately surround her, the color of their wings complementing the color of her hair. She walks around for a few more minutes before turning to look at the house. Mariposa.

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I was visible to her until she looked up at the window that I was standing in, her eyes wide in shock. Here we go. She runs back in the house. I can hear her rapid footsteps approaching the room. The door swings open, she bursts through, coming right up to me and pointing her small finger at my chest.

“You knew I was here the whole time and have been fucking with me. Why?” I looked down at her, tilting my head to the side, narrowing my eyes. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla instantly overtakes my senses. I stare in her eyes for a few more seconds before I respond.

“What would be the fun in telling you when you were so content in thinking you were alone? Besides, I’ve been right under your nose the entire time.. you just didn’t notice.” She looks up at me and it feels like she is staring directly into my nonexistent soul. Chills run down my spine at the intensity of her gaze and something sparks within her pupil as it dilates. “Are you turned on right now? Why are your pupils dilated?” She quickly breaks our eye contact and turns to face away from me.

“So what if I am? It’s been a while.” She moves towards the bed and sits down before throwing her head back, groaning. “I’m sorry I’m here, I can leave, I just didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t think that anybody lived here.” Her response makes me more curious about what exactly she had been going through. She had removed her jacket, exposing the scars on her wrists that I can now see. Whatever it is that she’s been going through has been enough for her to need an escape – to take the pain away. I know that feeling all too well.

Cautiously, I sit down on the bed next to her gently placing my hand on her thigh. She jumps at my touch but settles back into the bed, accepting the gesture. “What's your name, Mariposa?”