Fairydale: Part 2 – Chapter 11

‘I’m going crazy,’ I chant to myself as I hug my knees to my chest.

Not only is my skin unblemished. My dress is all buttoned up, not one wrinkle in place.

Either I’d imagined everything, or…

‘God, what the hell is happening?’ I bring my hands to my temples as I squeeze my eyes shut.

For the first time, I have to entertain the idea that maybe it’s not the town.

Maybe it’s…me.

I’m becoming more unhinged with every passing day, seeing things that aren’t there, imagining things that aren’t there. What’s next? Talking to imaginary friends?

But I’m already doing that to an extent, am I not? In fact, I’m doing something far worse. I’m falling in love with a figment of my imagination, conjuring up scenarios and building an entire relationship in my head.

For hours, I don’t dare move an inch, the terror from before—be it imaginary or not—still fresh in my mind. It’s late at night when I finally decide to get out of my room again. And it’s not because I’ve suddenly gained more courage; it’s because my stomach will not stop rumbling with hunger.

Lighting a candle, I take it with me as I slowly push my door open, looking left and right before I take a step forward.

Even if nothing happened with Caleb, I don’t know if I can look him in the eye right now. Not when I’ll either confirm I’m going crazy, or that he is the crazy one.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way down the corridor.

The candle in my hand is only offering some light—enough to illuminate a narrow path, but not much else. Not all rooms and areas of the house have electricity, and according to Caleb, some outlets are faulty so it’s better to have candles on hand at all times.

On each side of me the corridor is bathed in darkness, shadows dancing with the flame of the candle, some falling over the walls, some over the paintings of the long-dead Hales.

Suddenly, I stop, my brows knit together in confusion.

Is there not one painting depicting the Creeds? Why is everything of the Hales?

Both Katrina and Caleb had spoken highly of the Creeds, and the Hale family had clearly gone to great lengths to preserve everything as it was. Then why not the paintings with the previous owners, too?

Turning with my candle, a gust of wind makes the flame flicker, its shadow falling over one of the paintings.

It’s of a woman who looks to be in her thirties when the portrait had been painted. Black hair and green eyes with laugh lines at the corners, she had a youthful appearance.

Gazing at the bottom, I make out that this is Lydia Hale. According to what I remember from Katrina, Lydia was a Creed before her marriage.

I continue walking, using the light to study the other paintings as well, noticing all Hales have in common the dark hair and light eyes.

As I think more about it, I realize that everyone in the family has either green or dark blue eyes. I haven’t seen any Hale with dark eyes.

Only Caleb.

Frowning, I point the candle to the last portrait, surprised to see it’s of Rhiannon herself when she was younger. She was very pretty, and I have to wonder why she never married. From what I understood, she is Connor Hale’s aunt—his father’s older sister.

Deep in thought, I don’t look where I’m walking and I trip on a small ledge. My eyes widen in shock, my first thought going to the candle and making sure I don’t make any sudden movements that would extinguish the flame, or God forbid, fling the candle around and set the house on fire.

I teeter on the balls of my feet as I seek to adjust my equilibrium, the flame moving with me.

My lips tug into a triumphant smile when I manage to keep myself upright. Yet as I gaze forward, at the light emanating from the candle and reflecting in front of me, I see a shadow.

The shadow of a man.

I turn, yet there’s no one.

I turn again, and again, going in a circle and covering the entire perimeter, moving my candle around as my pulse spikes, fear spreading through my veins.

‘Is someone there?’ I ask on a whisper.

Caleb’s words about the wing being haunted echo in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

There’s no such thing as ghosts.

I say that mantra a couple of times in my head, taking a step forward, and then the next. When I reach the landing of the stairs, I release a relieved breath.

‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ I murmur out loud, my mouth curling up in satisfaction as I look around.

Going to the stairs, I grip the balustrade tightly as I carefully make my way downstairs.

One step at a time. Just as I take one breath at a time.

Suddenly, I stop, my spine stiffening just as a whoosh of cold air passes by me.

The temperature seemingly drops out of nowhere, my breath coming out as steam right in front of me.

‘Don’t be Catherine,’ I mutter to myself, my eyes more closed than open.

At this point I’d rather fall down the stairs than open my eyes and come face to face with a ghost. If past experience is of relevance, I’m sure I will somehow heal. But seeing a ghost? Only a lobotomy could cure that—and even that might not solve my issue.

Lizzie…Run…

Despite my best efforts to not come face to face with the ghost, my eyes snap open the moment I hear the low whispered words.

Big mistake!

The small flame of the candle is oriented right in front of the most unfortunate looking face I’ve ever seen—so much so I don’t know if I should run, swoon, or maybe pray for my death all at once. Especially as I get a better view of the creature—with its mangled flesh, absent eyes and only one mouth that opens wide on a loud roar.

‘You’re not real…’ I whisper in one last attempt to convince myself I am crazy.

Yet as his hand shoots out towards me, claws glinting in the dim candlelight, it dawns on me that even if I’m crazy, I’d rather not have that thing touch me.

Pushing the flaming tip of the candle into his open mouth, I waste no time in giving it a kick before running away.

A loud screech penetrates the air as the creature’s head burns in the darkness of the night.

With a strength I never knew I possessed, I dash down the stairs, intent on getting out of the house.

If the ghost belongs in the house, then that should solve it. But if it’s a figment of my imagination… Well, then I suppose I’ll see.

Running straight for the foyer, I’m barely aware of the steps following me, as well as the loud, tortured noises coming out from the creature.

Yet just as I get to the door, my hand on the knob as I try to turn it, I’m caught.

The lock turns in place without anyone touching it, and just as I try to escape towards the gents’ room, the creature is in front of me. Its head is half-illuminated, and I realize it swallowed the fire from the candle.

With a loud roar, it pushes me against the wall, keeping me in place.

What… How the hell is this possible?

Even as I get a better look at the horror that is its face, I’m still of half a mind that I’m dreaming. Or going crazy. After all, how could this be real?

How can any of this be real?

One hand is around my throat, pushing me high above the ground just as I try to struggle, pushing against him and kicking at his gross skin-like surface. His other hand raised high, I barely manage to notice the sharp claw before it’s embedded in my stomach.

I yelp in pain, but it doesn’t stop, Dragging the blade-like claw against my stomach, he makes a long incision.

At the same time, another piercing scream penetrates the air. A voice I’m well familiar with.

Lizzie!

An even more powerful roar erupts in the grand hall, the echo all but making the walls of the house bend under the acoustic pressure.

The creature is off me, taking a step back and howling at the new presence.

Slumping to the ground, I can barely catch my breath as pain radiates from my belly, blood gushing out in rivulets. Yet as I look at the creature, I find it on its knees, seemingly being attacked from all directions by an invisible force.

With a loud cry, the creature disintegrates right before my eyes.

I’m so stunned, I can barely move. The pain is a continuous pulsation at the surface of my skin. As I hold my hand over my wound, I take a few fortifying breaths before I push myself to my feet.

Wobbling a little, I try to remember the way to the pantry where Caleb had said they stored medical supplies.

Without my candle, everything should be dark. But somehow I can see. Somehow, a low light illuminates my path and just my path as I force myself to continue even as I grind my teeth against the pain.

Lizzie…

The whisper is faint, but after everything I’ve been through, it’s unmistakable.

‘Amon?’ I say the name out loud, half of me feeling silly for even entertaining the thought. Yet half of me… Half of me wants to weep with joy on the off chance this might be true.

If monsters exist…then my Amon has to exist, too.

‘Amon, it’s you, isn’t it?’ I ask softly.

There’s no reply, just a soft caress against my cheek, something akin to the sweetest kiss.

As I reach the pantry, I search for the light switch, grinning like a fool when the room turns bright.

Immediately, I look down, almost afraid to look at the damage.

‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘No, no, no.’

This cannot be possible.

My hands are clean. No blood. Just as there is no blood on my gown, nor is there a cut.

Everything is as it’s supposed to be.

I blink in shock, hoping that by repeatedly closing and opening my eyes the sight before me will be different. But it’s not.

If…If it had been just my skin that—by some miracle—would have healed, then the gown would still be torn, wouldn’t it?

It would be…

Tears of frustration prick at my lids.

‘Amon?’ I twirl. ‘Please tell me you’re here. Please… Please tell me I’m not going crazy,’ I whisper as tears make their way down my cheeks. ‘What’s happening? I…’

But doesn’t this make me even more deranged? The fact that I’m asking a ghost about my mental state. The fact that I’m hoping there might be a ghost.

Falling to the ground, I can’t contain my hopelessness anymore as a sob racks my body, tears running down my face until I can barely see anymore.

I sit on the floor and I cry.

‘Who’s there?’ Someone asks before a man’s figure fills the doorway.

Raising my gaze, I look at him through tear-streaked eyes.

‘Mr. Hale?’ I inquire pitifully.

‘Miss Darcy? Is that you? I thought you were a damned ghost,’ he curses before he catches himself, apologizing.

‘Ghost?’ My lips tremble.

‘Here, let me help you,’ he says as he extends his hand to me.

Glancing at it for a few seconds—far more than I should have—I eventually relent, letting him pull me to my feet.

‘You might need these,’ he continues as he pulls on some paper towels, handing them to me.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, using the towels to wipe at my face.

‘What happened?’ He inquires gently, no doubt sensing my altered state.

‘There are ghosts here, aren’t there?’ I swallow as I ask. The last thing I need is another person mocking me and challenging my perception of what’s real and what’s not.

But even as I brace myself for a dismissive laugh and a shrug, Mr. Hale doesn’t do either.

He stares at me for a moment before he nods, giving me a tight smile.

‘I assume Rhiannon didn’t give you the rundown of the place yet, did she?’

I’m too stunned by his reaction, so I can only shake my head.

Without me saying anything, he starts speaking.

‘No one knows exactly when Creed had this house built or what exactly happened here, but everyone has had an odd encounter here, one way or another. You’ll get used to it,’ he chuckles.

‘To ghosts?’

He nods, his countenance very matter-of-factly.

‘If you don’t annoy them they usually leave you alone. Although the first floor is a little more populated,’ he adds pensively.

It takes me a moment to digest his words. He didn’t just admit that ghosts are real and that they are predominantly on my floor, did he?

‘You just told me ghosts are real, and now you’re telling me to be pals with them?’

He proceeds to give me a careless shrug, and my mouth drops open in shock.

‘Well,’ he scratches the back of his head. ‘No one’s asking you to be friends with them. Although Rhiannon is.’ He laughs. ‘My aunt has a few eccentricities, you will find.’

I swallow uncomfortably.

Just one second ago I thought I was surely going insane, and now Mr. Hale is telling me the Hale matriarch has a playground for ghosts?

My jaw would be on the ground if not for recent events.

‘I’m not sure what I saw was a ghost though,’ I say slowly.

He frowns, turning and offering me his full attention.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was… Obviously, I don’t know what ghosts look like,’ I say, ‘but this was more…corporeal,’ I explain, describing what the thing had looked like.

From mild amusement, Mr. Hale’s expression turns to stone.

‘You say this thing was in the house? In this house?’

I nod, recounting how he’d chased after me. I refrain from telling him, however, that he’d injured me, or that I’d almost immediately healed from those injuries—I may have a theory regarding that.

His lips flatten into a thin line as he appears deep in thought.

‘I’ll have to speak with my aunt about this,’ he suddenly says. ‘Don’t worry about it, Miss Darcy. We’ll make sure you’re safe here.’

‘I don’t understand… Was,’ I gulp down. ‘Was that thing real?’

He doesn’t confirm, nor deny.

‘Fairydale isn’t a stranger to these types of situations. But… Not in this context.’

‘When you say types of situations, what do you mean? Everyone tells me how odd Fairydale is, but no one tells me why,‘ I raise my voice, tipping my chin up so he can see I want to be taken seriously—and that I need to hear the truth.

He gives me a pitiful smile.

‘I think you’ll find out soon enough why Fairydale is so…odd.’

Removing a candle from a place above my head, he takes out a lighter from his pants and lights it up for me.

‘Take care, Miss Darcy,’ he gives me a nod before he turns to leave.

‘What about Caleb?’

At that, he stops in his tracks.

‘What about Caleb?’ he repeats in a low, almost ominous tone.

‘Is he…’ I bite my lip in apprehension, almost dreading asking the question—and receiving the answer. ‘Is he odd, too?’

‘My son is the most honorable man you could ever meet,’ he rasps, the answer more emotional than I would have expected. ‘He has the most pure soul. It’s just that…’ he releases a ragged groan, almost as if he were physically in pain. ‘That damned war broke something inside of him. He wasn’t like this before. He wasn’t…’ he shakes his head. ‘Don’t believe what people say about him, Miss Darcy. He’s the finest young man out there.’

I nod slowly, afraid I triggered something within him. But that doesn’t stop me from voicing out my stance, and the fact that I’m not as gullible as everyone seems to think I am.

‘There is something no one is telling me, Mr. Hale. Something that’s being purposefully kept from me,’ I tell him in an even tone. ‘I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know if this has anything to do with your family, or the Pierces, or the Nicholsons, but I will eventually find out,’ I give him a tight smile. ‘I’ve spent my entire life at the bottom, and when you’re down, there’s only one direction you can go.’

‘Oh, how wrong you are Miss Darcy,’ he chuckles. ‘Maybe you’ve known what it’s like to be at the bottom, but I doubt you’ve known hell.’

I narrow my eyes at him.

‘That is what awaits you. And everyone in Fairydale. Hell,’ he emphasizes the word, giving me a pitiful look before turning to leave.

I stare at his retreating figure, his words confusing me even more.

Yet despite that, he did give me one confirmation that I’m not entirely insane.

Something happened today.

‘Are you here, Amon?’ I ask softly, not making to move yet. Maybe because he’d spoken to me here before, but I want to linger in hopes he might grace me again with his presence.

Only a light breeze answers me back, enough to make the flame of the candle flicker.

My lips tip up.

‘You’re not a figment of my imagination, are you?’ I probe softly.

Another gust of wind, this time extinguishing my fire before setting it ablaze again.

My smile widens.

‘Thank you for saving me,’ I murmur. ‘I know it was you. At the fire. For days I thought I must have hallucinated it because my heart’s been inexplicably yearning for you. But you were there. You saved me. You probably healed me, too, didn’t you? Just like you did now…’ I wet my lips, struggling to find the right words to convey everything I feel.

The same light breeze caresses my cheek, the contact producing the same type of reaction I’d always had in his presence—comfort, belonging…home.

And that’s how I know it’s truly him.

Emotion bursts forth in my chest, all the accumulated longing spilling forth and choking me with the magnitude of what I feel for him.

‘What happened to you, Amon?’ I whisper, a tear falling down my cheek. ‘What were we to each other?’

Lizzie…

The echo is so soft, I barely hear it.

But I know what it means.

I was his Lizzie and he was my Amon. And he’s still protecting me.

‘What’s happening here, Amon? Why am I here?’

Don’t trust them…

My eyes widen, understanding dawning on me.

‘It was you,’ I murmur in awe. ‘You were the one warning me all this time, weren’t you? Protecting me? All along…’ I shake my head in disbelief.

Yet something inside of me tells me that this is right. From the beginning, Amon has been there for me, helping me, protecting me.

‘Can I trust Caleb?’ I suddenly ask about the matter that’s been eating at me. Because if I’m not crazy… If nothing I’ve seen or experienced so far has been a product of my imagination, then the incidents with Caleb couldn’t have been just in my mind.

But just as the words are out of my mouth, a fine mist appears before me. One second. That’s how long it lasts before it dissipates, and with it, Amon’s presence too.

I don’t know how I’m able to feel it, but I do.

He’s not here anymore.

And he never answered my question.

Getting my bearings together, I try to ignore the pounding of my heart or the echo of fear still resounding within me as I cross the ground floor of the house to get to the stairs.

Even now I feel as though there are eyes on me, strange entities ready to pounce on me the moment I have my guard down.

Now that I can no longer sense Amon’s presence around, I feel like a soldier without armor.

My eyes skitter all over the place, every step I take expecting to bump into another unfortunate looking creature—as if I don’t already have enough nightmare material for years to come.

Reaching the first floor, I head straight for my room, intent on putting today’s incidents behind me as much as I can. And maybe, make a decision tomorrow.

I’m still unsure of the future. Should I just give up and go back home?

But what am I going back to? That’s the most important question.

I no longer have a job. I don’t have a place to live, and I barely have any money to my name.

Though I don’t doubt the nuns would take me in, how long am I going to depend on their goodwill? They barely have resources for the orphanage as it is. The last thing they need is for me—an adult—to come and take food from a child’s mouth.

Yet the alternative is…staying.

Just as I’m about to open the door to my room, I stop, an idea crossing my mind.

Surely, if my mind didn’t play tricks on me this afternoon, the studio should be at the end of the hallway. And inside, I should find the painting Caleb started.

I hesitate for a moment, almost afraid of confirming it was not, indeed, a hallucination.

For all his faults, Caleb has managed to worm his way inside my heart, and I can’t deny I do feel something for him. But I’m in an environment where I cannot trust anyone, least of all myself. How can I possibly trust my heart?

Especially since his behavior towards me has been, at times, questionable.

I may not be experienced with men, but that doesn’t mean I lack common sense. And that’s telling me that he’s been repeatedly trying to cross lines, and when he hadn’t gotten the desired response from me, he’d resorted to making me think I’m crazy.

But even while I consider the alternative that I am not hallucinating or imagining things, I can’t deny the fact that, each time, there has been no tangible evidence to refute Caleb’s claims.

That only leaves me with one option—checking the studio for myself.

Before I know it, my feet take me to the end of the hallway.

Holding the candle in one hand, I use the other to turn the knob, a soft gasp of surprise escaping me when I easily push the door open.

It’s not locked.

If he didn’t want me snooping around, or if he had something to hide, Caleb could have easily locked the door.

Stepping inside the room, I try to orient myself. The furniture is just as before, covered by white sheets, and canvases are scattered all around.

My lips tremble as they slowly spread into an optimistic smile.

If this is the same, then the rest should be too.

I go deeper into the room, stopping by the window.

Just as I suspected, the sofa I’d sat on is unveiled, and as I lower the candle towards it, I notice the color matches my memory.

It is the same sofa.

Turning, I spot the painting materials and the canvas sitting on its wooden support.

I swallow hard against the wave of discomfort that hits me as I move towards the canvas.

When I shine light over it, I find that it’s blank.

‘No…’ I shake my head, biting my lip in frustration.

Thinking he might have hidden it so he could once more tell me it’s all in my head, I turn my attention to the other canvases in the room. I place the candle on the little stool, dragging it in the middle of the room as I pull on the row of canvases deposited in a corner.

The first few ones depict sceneries, like the one Caleb had shown me. But as I pull one from the back, moving it towards the light, it’s to find an entirely different sight.

A whimper escapes my lips as I grab the candle, holding it close to the surface of the canvas. As I stare at what I can only describe as the most lewd picture I’ve ever seen, drops of wax fall onto its surface. Yet I can’t find it in me to care that I’m destroying the painting.

Not when the subject is so…vulgar.

A naked woman rests against the floor-to-ceiling windows, posing for the artist. Her arms are raised above her head, a dreamy expression on her face as she arches her back, the pose seductive and inviting. One leg is flexed forward, and the artist had captured her lean and shapely forms.

Swallowing hard, I drag more of the canvases from the back, lying them on the ground.

A similar sight greets me. One more lewd than the other, each painting is of the same naked woman. Like a collection of photographs, the paintings depict her in different poses and locations, but always naked.

In one, she’s laying on a massive bed, the sheets half tangled around her body as she smiles at the artist. In the next, she’s on her belly in the grass, smiling brazenly at the artist, while in another, she’s coming out of the ocean, droplets of water coursing down her naked body.

The more I look, the more stunned I become.

But that’s not the worst.

As I place the last canvas on the ground, I move the candle over it.

I gasp loudly as my brain has a hard time comprehending the image I’m seeing.

It’s the same woman.

She’s on her knees, looking up, her eyes big and bright as she undoubtedly gazes at the man in front of her. Her mouth is wide open as she’s sucking on something…

My hand trembles, wax spilling right in the middle of the painting where the woman’s mouth meets…the man’s member.

I blink repeatedly, the sight entirely too shocking.

But more shocking is the expression on the woman’s face.

She’s enjoying it.

Peering at the man, she gives him a look of pure worship.

His hand is in her hair, almost as if he is urging her forward, his fingers lodged in her scalp yet the woman doesn’t seem to be in pain.

If anything, there’s a mischievous quality to her, a twinkle in her eyes as she looks up at the man.

She might worship him, but she knows she’s the one in control.

Almost as if I’m in a trance, I place the candle on the floor, walking around the room and picking up all the canvases I can find and laying them down, too.

Though I stumble upon a few scenery paintings at first, I eventually come across more of the kind.

They are an erotic diary of sorts, and as I trail with my candle over each and every one of them, it’s to find the woman and the man tangled in a more intimate embrace, the scenes becoming more and more shocking for my eyes.

One shows the woman on her belly at the edge of the bed, her buttocks between the man’s hands as he slides his length against her.

Another has the woman on top, her arms forward as she rests them on the man’s chest. One of the man’s hands is on her waist, gripping it tightly, while the other kneads her breast.

But just as they all have in common the pornographic material, there is also the fact that the woman is always clearly visible, her identity out in the open, while the man is shrouded in mystery. His body is in the picture, particularly…that hard part of him. But his face is never visible.

Yet there is one feature, that the more I stare at it, makes me want to cry and rage.

The woman is…me.

Maybe I could have put aside the uncanny facial similarity if other features didn’t match so perfectly. But it’s not just my face that is perfectly depicted, my body too.

Down to the tear-shaped birthmark on my left breast.

I choke back a sob as I realize just how much I’ve misjudged Caleb.

I’d believed him when he’d told me he had been circumspect while changing my clothes. Instead, what had he done? He must have taken his time to study every part of my body to get all the details right.

And it’s not just my birthmark. The more I study the paintings, the more I see other identifying marks. Moles no one knows I have, like the one above my belly button, or the one right above my hip bone.

These are marks no one knows about but that somehow made their way into these paintings.

Yet as soon as the question of Caleb’s propriety comes up, Pandora’s box suddenly opens.

How can I believe nothing happened?

Not only am I staring right in the face of his debauched fantasies, there’s also the matter of what he might have done to me while I was passed out.

With the last developments and the unusual rate at which my injuries have been healing, would it be too preposterous to imagine he could have done something after all? That he could have…

My eyes squeeze shut just as my heart hammers in my chest, pain spreading through me like an arrow.

My head, too, is pounding with pain and confusion, and the fact that I no longer know what I can believe.

How the hell do I differentiate between what is real and what isn’t anymore?

Yet the evidence is staring in front of me—all the pornographic scenes he’d painted of us together. It makes it hard for me to believe that he’d go to this length and not act on his desires if the opportunity arose—if I couldn’t voice my objection out loud.

The more I think about it, the more sick to my stomach I feel.

When did he even have the time to paint all of these?

It’s been a little more than a week since the cabin incident. How could he have had the time to paint so many of these lewd images?

The questions are endless.

But one fact remains.

Caleb Hale scares me.

Yet as much as this part of him I’ve uncovered terrifies me, I can’t let him get away with this—with thinking he can do whatever he wants to me. Especially since I live in his home.

I don’t want to contemplate what he could do at night when I’m sleeping…

A shiver goes down my back at the thought, and even with the door locked I know he could find a way to come inside.

It’s his home after all.

And I’m…defenseless.

Swallowing against the wave of nausea that threatens to overtake me, I grab the worst painting—the one where he’s holding me down on the bed, his hand around my throat as he pushes his member into me.

With the candle in my other hand, I stride out of the studio, determined to confront Caleb with this before he can get rid of the evidence.

My features are tense, fear filling me to the brim.

Yet I can’t let this slide. I can’t let him continue, because I know he will simply do more.

Until…

Reaching his door, I use the metal holder of the candle to bang against the door.

Waiting anxiously, I’m surprised that I can’t hear anything—not even in the stillness of the night. Leaning in, I press my ear to his door.

Nothing.

No movement, nothing.

I bang again, louder this time, all the while listening for any sound.

Again, nothing.

When I bring the metal against the door the third time, the door suddenly opens.

Jumping back, my eyes widen as I come face to face with a shirtless Caleb.

He’s only wearing a pair of loose pants hanging low on his hips. His hair is disheveled as if he’d just climbed out of bed—though I heard nothing of the sort.

Still, I can’t help that light thump of my heart as my eyes inadvertently slip to his chest, taking in the muscle definition and the v that leads down to…

My cheeks heat up and I suddenly bring my gaze back up, only to find him watching me with amusement. Getting myself together, I remind myself why I’m here—certainly not to ogle him.

Muttering a low curse under my breath—one that would make the nuns swoon—I push the painting into his chest, almost slapping him with it.

‘What’s this?’ I ask with all the confidence I can muster, pinning him down with my gaze to let him know I’m not playing around—and he’s not going to get away with this.

‘What is this?’ he muses, his voice holding the same amusement evident in his features, and one that manages to irk me further.

‘What is this, Caleb?’ I repeat, demanding he look at the painting.

‘A painting?’ He raises his brows sheepishly, and if I could, I would probably release steam out of my nostrils with how annoying he is. And good-looking. How the hell can he be handsome and a pervert?

His smile widens.

‘What are you asking darlin’? Be more specific,’ he drawls languidly, resting his arm against the frame of the door. Somehow, the pose makes his muscles bulge even more, the veins visible as they are oddly…mesmerizing.

I barely wrench my gaze off his body to look him in the eye—all the while schooling my expression so he doesn’t realize that I’m getting flustered.

‘I found your paintings. I know you’ve been…’ I swallow, ‘that you’ve been…’ I continue to stammer, unable to find the words—or the courage to voice them out loud.

‘That I’ve been what?’ His brow arches in question, his body angling towards me.

‘I know you’ve been painting me naked,’ I burst out, my face flaming as the words are out of my mouth. ‘I knew there was something wrong with you after what you did today,’ I point at him accusingly. ‘After you behaved so strangely. I knew it and now I can prove it. You…’ I stutter. ‘You’re a pervert!’

A smile plays on his lips as he regards me.

He doesn’t defend himself.

He doesn’t seem to care that he’s been caught red-handed.

His eyes are scanning me from head to toe, blatant interest in his gaze. It dawns on me that he…that he might be thinking about enacting all those lewd images.

I take a step back as I narrow my eyes at him.

Yet before I can do anything, his fingers are wrapped around my wrist, and with one pull, he has me inside his room and against the nearest wall.

The door snaps shut, the painting falls to the ground, and my fear finally skyrockets.

Remembering I still have the candle in my hand, I aim the metal handle at him, thinking I could disorient him long enough to make a run of it.

Yet it doesn’t even touch him. He catches my arm mid-air, his fingers deftly dislodging the candlestick and placing it on a table nearby.

It all happens in a matter of seconds—too fast for me to react or do anything but stare at him and his damn smug expression.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ I ask on a whisper laced with fear. All the while, I blame my impulsiveness and the fact that I considered even for a moment that I could go against him—that I could hold him accountable when by all intents and purposes he is the master of the house.

Finding myself so thoroughly trapped, I have to admit to myself how silly I was in my rage.

Damn it!

I should have just packed my bags and left at first sunrise, regardless of the money involved, or the fact that I have nowhere to go.

‘What do you think I’m going to do to you, Darcy darlin’?’ he drawls in a smooth voice.

‘I…I don’t know,’ I whimper as he brings his face closer to mine.

His nostrils flare as he takes in my scent, a low, barely audible growl escaping him right as he nuzzles his face in the hollow of my neck.

I hold myself still, terror engulfing me, my mind swimming with the perversities I’d seen in those paintings, suddenly thinking he’s going to try to bring them to life.

‘You’re not in any danger,’ he finally says, drawing back enough to look me directly in the eyes. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, darlin’. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself either,’ he says as his gaze dips to where he’s holding me captive.

‘Really?’ I snicker. ‘I find that hard to believe after I caught you red-handed.’

‘And what exactly did you catch me with?’ he raises a lazy brow.

‘Those…those paintings,’ I sputter, my pulse growing wilder with each second.

It’s his damn smirk and the way he’s looking at me—with a mix of want, hunger, and something else.

‘What about the paintings, Darcy?’

‘You know exactly what I mean!’ I grit out just as I push against him.

He doesn’t budge.

‘Tell me what’s on that painting, darlin’,’ he murmurs softly, his countenance changing in the blink of an eye.

‘You…you know,’ I whisper, averting my gaze.

His thumb pressing up my chin, he brings my eyes back to his.

‘I won’t if you don’t tell me. This is a misunderstanding, and I need to understand how to fix it.’

His behavior throws me off, as does the sincerity I witness etched on his features. He doesn’t act like someone who’s been caught in an improper situation.

‘There were paintings of me…naked,’ I start in a low voice, my cheeks reddening as I’m forced to recount what I’d found. ‘It couldn’t have been anyone but you, Caleb. The marks on the paintings were identical with the ones on my body. And no one other than you has ever seen me naked,’ I swallow hard, doing my best to keep my tone even and firm, though all I want is to yell at him and ask him why. ‘You were there too, and you were doing things to me.’

‘What things?’ he rasps, his eyes boring into mine.

‘Things that shouldn’t be mentioned again,’ I shake my head.

‘What things, Darcy?’ he repeats, the question more pronounced.

I must be red from head to toe from recounting him the basics, and now he wants details?

Shaking my head, I once more try to push against him.

Can’t he see how embarrassed and uncomfortable I am by the entire situation?

‘Tell me,’ he commands, his hold tightening. ‘Tell me what things, Darcy.’

‘You were doing sexual things to me,’ I say in a hurry, squeezing my eyes shut before I expire on the spot from discomfort.

Dear God, what has happened to me since arriving in Fairydale?

I never used to swear, and now that is a daily occurrence. And I certainly would have never imagined I would be uttering such lewd things out loud.

And what does he do?

He chuckles.

‘I would ask you what things, sweetheart, but I fear you’d swoon from the naughtiness of it all.’

Taking a step back, he finally lets me go.

I exhale in relief, opening my eyes to see him pick up the painting.

‘Is this the naughty picture you were talking about, Darcy darlin’?’ he asks in a droll tone, turning the canvas towards me.

My mouth drops open in shock.

I try to speak but no sounds will come out as I simply stare at it—at what was supposed to be on it but what is not.

‘I don’t understand,’ I murmur, stupefied.

On the canvas, the same one I’d brought with me since I can spot the wax from the candle on its surface, is a scenery painting. Not me—not us.

It’s just a painting of a tree in bloom.

Caleb shakes his head as he lets out a soft curse.

‘Come with me,’ he says as he grabs a candelabra from his room, lighting all the candles before taking my hand. He leads me out of his room and towards the studio.

I’m too shocked to react, my mind blanking on me even more as he opens the door and shines the candles on top of the paintings I’d laid out all over the floor.

‘What do you see, Darcy?’ he inquires softly, coming closer and threading his fingers through mine in an unusual gesture of comfort.

‘Nothing,’ I whisper. Because it is nothing like what I’d seen before.

‘I told you I haven’t painted a human subject in a long time. All the paintings housed here are of landscapes from around Fairydale. Nothing else.’

‘But… I saw…’ A sob escapes me as I cannot possibly comprehend what’s happening to me. ‘You have to believe me. I clearly saw it. I couldn’t have made up all that. I couldn’t…’

How could I when I had no idea some of the acts I’d seen in the paintings even existed? How could my mind have conjured something I didn’t know about?

‘I’m not crazy, Caleb,’ I shake my head, gazing up at him and showing him the terror that resides inside of me. ‘I’m not crazy…’

‘I don’t think you are,’ he sighs heavily. ‘Join me?’ he asks for my permission as he points back to his room.

I nod absentmindedly and before I know it, we’re back in his room.

Flicking the light switch on, he leads me to his perfectly made bed, setting me down.

‘Are you alright?’

He brings me a glass of water, crouching in front of me and regarding me with worry in his eyes.

I slowly shake my head.

‘I’m not crazy,’ I whisper, tears pricking at my lids. ‘I’m not…’

‘I know,’ he assured me, taking my hand in his and squeezing tightly.

‘First, I find out the ghosts in this house might be real, and now I’m seeing things again. I just…’ my voice breaks yet I try to keep myself from crying—that’s the last thing I want to do now.

‘They are real,’ he suddenly says.

I blink away my tears, sniffling as I look at him questioningly.

‘I don’t think you’re crazy, darlin’. This house… There are things in this house. Some good. Some bad. Some who like to play with people. Some who are just bored.’

‘What…’

‘I didn’t want to tell you all of this in case it scared you away. But now that you’ve experienced it, you should know about it.’

‘Your father said the same,’ I whisper. ‘He told me Rhiannon is on good terms with the ghosts.’

‘Is she?’ he chuckles. ‘Of course she is,’ he amends, shaking his head in amusement.

‘Then what happened to me…’

‘One of them could have been playing a trick on you.’

‘But why that… Why show me that?‘ I ask as a shudder goes down my body. ‘What about this afternoon? You…you bit me.’

Caleb gives me an intense look as he brings his hand to my face, stroking my cheek lightly before tucking a stray strand behind my ear.

‘I think you already know I didn’t do that,’ he tells me softly. ‘Just as you know that what happened now couldn’t have been me either. In fact, I can only think of one reason why you would experience these…things,’ his mouth curls upwards.

‘Why?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, darlin’, but you’re…a tad repressed.’

I blink repeatedly, thinking I didn’t hear him right.

‘What?’ I squeak.

‘I don’t think it’s your fault. Mainly your upbringing with those nuns and your proper ways,’ he flashes me a smile. ‘But you have to admit you’re a little…uptight.’

‘Repressed,’ I repeat in shock. ‘Uptight?‘

‘Some of the entities in this house like to play with your weaknesses, the things that you bury deep in your subconscious.’

‘And you think… You think I buried erotic images of the two of us in my subconscious? That I…’ I keep stumbling over my words. ‘That I want you to bite me, and do those wicked things to me?’

He doesn’t answer for a moment, merely smiling.

‘I reckon you do.’

‘Why I….’ I immediately react, scandalized as is my nature, before my shoulders sag, my eyes widening in self-reflection.

‘I’m not…uptight, am I?’

‘A little?’ he chuckles. ‘What you are is awfully cute, darlin’. And I’m sure I’ll get you to unwind eventually.’

‘But…’ I bite my lip. ‘I’m just confused, Caleb,’ I confess, an echo of anguish tainting my voice. ‘Odd deaths. Ghosts and monsters. Now entities that prey on my subconscious?’

‘Come here,’ he murmurs as he grabs me by my nape, enveloping me in a hug.

‘Some entities are playful, but not all have good intentions,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘There are a lot of bad energies in Fairydale, Darcy. And all of them only want one thing.’

‘What?’

‘To consume you.’