Chapter 1
The Residents of Hiddendale
A distant noise roused Monica from a deep sleep. The dream of a never ending pile of dishes to be washed faded into a strange buzzing. She briefly lingered between sleep and wake, unsure which was real, the dishes needing tended to or the persistent buzz, but then her eyes fluttered open to the surrounding darkness. Just beyond where she lied, shadowy masses shifted into recognizable shapes. She turned to the noise. Yes, her phone was going off; someone was at the door.
Navigating through the darkness, she found her robe and exited from her room out onto the landing. At the top of the stairs she turned on the light; blurred figures stood outside the etched glass front door. A thought crossed her mind that perhaps a few of her current bed and breakfast guests had gotten locked out, but the forms waiting outside were unfamiliar.
After checking the three out-of-towners in and showing them to their room (the only one left), Monica wandered back downstairs to secure the lock and write herself a note reminding her to refill towels.
The mannerisms of the new lodgers gave an air of professionalism, perhaps reporters. Although they claimed to not know anyone in town, nor awareness of the upcoming ten year tradition of the Unnatural Howl, there was still something official about them. They were obviously on a mission; there for business, not pleasure. Monica smiled to herself at the thought of being interviewed on tv.
The dead silence of the night was broken. From the street Monica thought she heard laughing. She crept to the bay window in the parlor and looked out into the moonlight. It shone down bright upon two dark silhouettes. Teenagers, she shook her head as they scaled the fence into the Hunter property.
In two nights time it would be the traditional Unnatural Howl. Every ten years a shriek would echo from within the Hunter mansion. Monica scoffed whenever she heard it referred to as a ‘howl’, but still, the townsfolk and those who had moved away continued to make the trek, parking cars for miles, to listen outside of the gates. For over a hundred years, it had never disappointed. Unlike her peers, Monica insisted it was a cry out in pain, not the animalistic calling card of some inhuman beast.
She quickly turned out the lights so that the tricksters could not see her spying. The street light flickered; again she heard the laugh, but it sounded deeper than that of an adolescent, more guttural. Minutes ticked past as she watched with bated breath at each flick back on of the street light, but the night was still once more.
Slightly disappointed, she decided to go back to bed. Even dark, she could navigate to the large wooden banister as her eyes steadily adjusted. At the top of the stairs in the faint glow of moonlight cascading down the hall from the window, the ornately carved door to her bedroom twisted. Animal shadows rose and fell. She blinked a few times, It’s my imagination, then turned the knob and hurried in past the phantasm.
None of the other rooms had such intricately, painstakingly designed entrances, but for the owner’s suite, her husband Adam insisted on using the old front door from his grandparent’s house. His grandfather had been a woodworker, and after the two passed, Adam inherited the small one room cabin built by his grandfather. The only part of the shack not deteriorating with rot and termites was the door. Since it was such a sentimental piece to her husband, Monica didn’t fight it, but there was something about the lifeless eyes of the woodland creatures beneath the large tree that ensured she averted her own eyes whenever possible from the heirloom piece.
Still dark. Too early. Morning for Monica and Adam Shetfield would always come too early, still dark.
Monica yawned and stretched under the warm blanket before reluctantly shifting her legs over the edge and catching her feet in the awaiting slippers. Adam remained fetal and covered, ignoring the chimes of the alarm.
A soft creaking from the wood plank floors followed Monica’s footsteps into the bathroom as she prepped for the morning. Downstairs, the front door clicked closed; Annabelle had arrived.
The Shetfield’s had owned the Hiddendale Bed and Breakfast for just over a decade. It was refurbished with blood, sweat, tears, and a few favors. Their daughter, Annabelle, started working as a server in the mornings at the cafe, and yet she remained, despite already finishing her degree in psychology.
In time, Monica finished dressing, leaving Adam to sleep. Gently, she latched the chiseled bedroom door behind her and made her way down the wooden staircase before turning right into the dining hall. Past the empty tables, the sound of running water and random clanks reverberated from the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Monica greeted her daughter hovered over a tub of silverware.
“Mornin’. Full house?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I saw the parking lot. Anyone we know?”
“A few familiar families here for the Howl.” For a moment as she turned on the grill, Monica thought about the occupied beds, then suddenly remembered being awoken in the middle of the night by three strangers. She turned to Annabelle, “I almost forgot, I think we have some reporters staying here!”
“Really?” Monica recalled in detail the strange clothes and accents, embellishing here and there on their conversation about the upcoming anniversary.
One by one, the lodgers descended to their free breakfast. The early twilight had only just tinted the black sky a dark blue as a few paying locals straggled in for their usual orders of cheap omelettes and coffee.
“Stan! How are ya?” Monica greeted her regular morning patron as he sat down at the bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. He was dressed in his steel-toed boots and heavy canvas jacket; what he wore every morning to work. “Your order will be right up.” She didn’t even have to ask.
He smiled, “Better make it spicy this morning. Don’t want to fall asleep. I need that extra kick.”
“Stan!” Adam called from behind. They exchanged a quick greeting before Adam claimed he needed to step away. Annabelle, he insisted, needed relieving from the grill in order to tend to incoming guests and customers.
The aroma from the sizzling bacon had begun to waft up the stairs, enticing those still in bed to vacate their slumber, while the clink of dishes ensured they were up.
“So, Stan,” Monica began as she poured his coffee, “notice any new vandalism? I haven’t seen any pranks yet this time, but I did see two people hop the fence last night. Could have been teenagers going to make their mark. The new generation, ya know?”
“Too dark this morning, but I’m sure we’ll see something. Do you remember last time, you both had just opened this place up.”
“Oh, yeah. We remember. Vandals tried to get us, too, but I was standing watch. Called the police every night that week leading up. Different generation, like I said. I do like seeing familiar faces,” she paused, “and new ones. Some out-of-towners showed up late last night. Not sure if they’re reporters or what.”
“You don’t say. Makes sense. Something strange happens in our small town every ten years, bound to attract journalists and the like.” Adam had just placed a steaming plate containing a pepper omelette in front of Stan. “Chow time.”
In the thralls of conversation, Monica did not notice the three new diners seated near the front window. Annabelle had made her way over to take their breakfast order. “Hiya, folks,” she said, “and welcome to the Hiddendale B&B. Ya’ll here for the Howl tomorrow night?”
The woman with the brown curls, a red jacket, and black boots answered as she placed her phone on the table, “No, but we heard a little something about that last night from the lady who checked us in.”
“Yeah, that’d be my mom,” Annabelle smiled and tilted her head gesturing toward Monica behind the counter.
“Yes, her,” she didn’t smile; instead she seemed anxious. Annabelle noticed the bags under all of their eyes as the woman, seemingly the speaker of the group, continued, “The Hunter house she mentioned, is that the one just down the street there?” She pointed through the window toward the overgrown gate encircling a dilapidated mansion set back in the trees. Annabelle didn’t need to look, she knew it well. “Yep,” she affirmed and then tried to get back to their order, but the curly haired woman continued. “Is that owned by a laboratory?”
That, Annabelle thought, slightly taken aback, was an odd question. No one had ever suggested such a thing. “I don’t think so.”
The man spoke up, “Have you heard of Nurture Bio Corp?” Another odd question, Annabelle thought, and shook her head.
“So,” Monica began as Annabelle returned with their order, “whadya find out?”
“I don’t think they’re reporters, but they asked about some lab. I think they are looking for a doctor.”
“Maybe one is sick? Which one d’ya think?” Monica stood on tip toes to look over Stan at the table.
Stan also took that opportunity to peer over his shoulder, “Is that them?” Seated at the table, the other woman (with blonde hair up in a tight bun and black leather jacket) caught their eyes. They quickly turned away; Monica began stacking clean plates. In a hushed voice she said, “I bet it’s the one with all the hair. She looks like she’s been through hell and back.”
Stan sipped his coffee, “Dunno. She and the other girl sit a little too straight. Think it’s the fella. He’s a bit more loose.”
Monica squinted at the table scrutinizing the man with close cut hair and in a simple t-shirt, jeans, and jacket, “No he ain’t. He’s just as posturized as the rest of ‘em.” Stan laughed. Monica liked to invent words and was never shy on conversation. “They ain’t here for no doctor. Maybe they are doctors.”
“Could see that,” said Stan as he sipped his coffee.
After her mother urged her to find out who the three were with, Annabelle returned to the stranger’s table with their drinks. “Could you tell us more about the howl?” the curly haired woman asked. The blonde pulled out her phone and appeared to begin taking notes.
“Well, they breed monsters. At least that’s what kids at school used to say. It requires a human sacrifice. Usually an out-of-towner that no one will miss… or three,” Annabelle winked as she walked away.
“Wait,” the man at the table called after her, “could you please ask your mother about the Nurture Bio Corp?” She raised her eyebrow, but nodded.
“So…” Monica said anxiously, “what did they say that time?”
“I don’t really know. They want me to ask if you know about a nature corp lab, or something, that owns the old Hunter property.” Monica’s face twisted and her head tilted, “Huh?” Stan shook his head. “Yeah,” Annabelle said, “I didn’t think so. Maybe they’re bounty hunters looking for someone who skipped bail or assassins hired to find some elusive millionaire.” Annabelle smiled. She enjoyed fueling her mother’s gossiping fire. It was the best form of entertainment. In another life, her mother could have been a writer with the tales she would weave.
Their meal finished, Annabelle began to clear the table when the man said, “It’s beautiful here.” The other two women looked up at him as if he had just swore. He smiled up at Annabelle and she smiled back.
“Where is your laundry facility?” The curly haired woman asked.
“Down in the basement.”
“John, take your time. Angelica, let’s go.” The two women quickly rose and departed the noisy dining room.
“So, I guess you’re on your own,” Annabelle tried to make friendly conversation.
“Yeah, we got here late last night. Everything was black, but looking outside now. It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Annabelle followed his gaze outside. It was a normal foggy morning. The mist was rising to the tops of the trees in the valley on the other side of the road. Mountains rose and fell in the distance as the orange sky skirted the horizon. For a moment the man, apparently called John, just stared into the distance, then he turned, “What’s the history of this place? The B&B, I mean.”
“Well, my parents bought it like ten years ago. It was in pretty bad shape. We all did a little work on it to get it up and running, some TLC, ya know. Before that it was just an old house that nobody loved.” She looked out the window again, “Just like that one.” As she nodded to the Hunter house, she noticed someone pulling into the parking lot. “Excuse me, my friend is here, need to say hello,” Annabelle turned and carried the dirty plates back toward the kitchen.
Into the dining room walked a fully uniformed sheriff's deputy. Without looking at the diners, she made her way to the counter and sat down. “Morning, Kayla,” said Monica.
Annabelle patted her on the shoulder, “Are you excited for your patrol duty tomorrow night? It’s gonna be insane!”
“It’ll be fine. If anyone gets out of line I’ll just yell at them, ‘Hey, you! Listen up! I’m the authority here and if you don’t stop, I will arrest you!’ See, no one’s gonna get away with crap on my watch.” It was hard for those surrounding Kayla to believe that she would come across as intimidating as she believed. She stood 4’11 with a tiny frame and the gear she wore weighed more than she did. “Could I please get a steamed veggie wrap on spinach and a green tea smoothie with coconut milk?” Stan made a gagging noise in disgust. “So,” Kayla turned to Annabelle, “anyone here that we know?” Annabelle just shrugged, she looked back at the table by the front window where John had been, but he was gone. For a moment she felt disappointed, but she wasn’t sure why.
“Delicious as always, folks,” Stan said. “Free right?” Monica laughed.
“Are you a guest?”
“What if I said, ‘Yes’?”
“Pay up. When you decide to stay you can have a free breakfast.”
Thank you, so much, for supporting indie authors!
0 Comments
Be afraid...