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“Ah. Well, it started around two thirty.”
Huh. “It woke you up?”
“No.” He sounds embarrassed. “I, ah. I couldn’t sleep. I was at the desk, fiddling around with the manuscript, when the shadows got… deeper. Darker.”
God, I can see it so clearly. Why oh why couldn’t I be there?
“The room had been overly warm all night, but suddenly my breaths clouded in the air. Frost crept over the window panes, and I heard this sound. Muffled laughter.”
I swallow hard, my heart thumping beneath my maid’s dress. The cloth stills against the wall, and I stare at the dark-haired man. Gosh, he’s tall. Even with me standing on the mattress, we’re practically at eye level. “Go on.”
He winces, the floorboards creaking as he shifts closer. “Are you sure? It’s a little unnerving.”
Unnerving? Gah! I’m so jealous.
“Please.” All duty forgotten, I turn to face the man head-on. His hands are still half raised, like he might steady my waist at any moment. “I’m begging you. Tell me everything.”
Dark eyebrows bounce up his forehead, and the man looks surprised for a heartbeat. Then he’s leaning closer, almost as eager as I am. His mouth curves up in a smile.
“It was a man’s laughter. Deep and rough. The bathroom mirror started to rattle in the en suite, shaking against the wall, and the closet doors flew open. Blood trickled down the walls, slowly at first, then thicker and faster, and I felt… a hand on my neck. Here.”
He reaches up, cupping the back of my neck gently. Without thinking, I lean into his touch, and we both stare at each other, hardly breathing.
“Wow,” I whisper, so lost in those forest green eyes.
The man’s smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Wow indeed. I’d heard the rumors about Hennigin Hall, of course, but so often it’s just a marketing ploy. A cheap trick. It’s hard to find places that are truly haunted these days.”
Ha. Not around here it’s not, because Belladonna Bay is lousy with ghosts. We’re riddled with the creepy jerks—not that they ever come out for me.
It takes every ounce of my will power to drag myself back to cleaning. The man’s hand leaves my neck, but my skin prickles like I can still feel him.
“You’re lucky,” I say lightly, dabbing at the wallpaper. “I’d give anything for an encounter like that.”
“Really? Well, I’m sure you’ll have one.” A palm rests against my lower back as I wobble, and I lean against the support, trying not to think about how weird this is. He’s helping me, isn’t he? He’s not touching me anywhere unwelcome, even if the heat of his palm does scorch through my dress. “You just need to be in the right place at the right time. It’ll happen for you.”
My laugh is bitter.
If only.
Two
Arthur
My room feels smaller once the maid is gone. Colder too, with the breeze from the grounds whistling through the window she propped open with a hardback book.
One of my books. Does she know that? Did she recognize me?
Rubbing the back of my neck, I stroll to the desk and flick a piece of notepaper. It’s embarrassing how badly I wanted her to recognize me as a famous author. I’ve never cared about that before—if anything I prefer to fly under the radar, especially these days—but suddenly, here is a strange young woman that I desperately want to impress.
Does the maid ever read horror? She’s certainly bloodthirsty enough.
I didn’t even catch her name. Damn.
My laptop pulses to life without warning, that glowing screen lecturing me without words. Glaring at me. The sight of that blank word document makes my gut plummet.
Well, I’m not here to chase after the maid, am I? My hostile laptop is right. I’m here to write something. Anything.
I’d take the world’s shittiest first draft at this point, because it’s been eight months now without a single word. Eight months of slamming into a mental brick wall, over and over, and with the publishers in New York breathing down my neck, this pressure gets worse every day.
