Page 3 of Dusk Macabre

“It does not.”

I stood and he followed my motion. “Okay then, umm, I’m going to go now.”

Turning toward the wall, I looked for an easy way back over it. Pain was starting to set into my bones, and I really didn’t feel like climbing it again. The inside of the barrier seemed to be in much better repair than the outside. There weren’t any cracks or divots, nothing that would make the process simple.

“How...?” I muttered to myself.

The man was still watching me closely. Very closely. Goosebumps skittered up my spine under his perusal, and his nostrils flared slightly, as if he’d caught a scent on the breeze. It nearly made me want to shove my nose in my armpits, but I knew I didn’t smell bad. My perfume and lotion were on point. Why the first thing I was concerned about was my hygiene, I had no idea.

The man’s mouth moved like he was sliding his tongue along his teeth, and I turned around. I had the distinct feeling I was running out of time. He wasn’t someone I’d be able to fight off. He was at least a foot taller than my five foot three inches and probably weighed close to twice as much. I had to get the hell out of here.

“Fuck,” I muttered, walking along the wall again.

Finally, I gave up. “I’m just gonna...” My voice trailed and I gestured toward the front of the house. Spinning on my heel, I began moving in that direction.

Suddenly, he was in front of me and I almost tripped over my own feet. I didn’t see him move; it was as if he always had been there. The fall must have disoriented me, or I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

I huffed a breath. “Excuse me,” I said, glancing downward. I couldn’t handle the way he looked at me; it was invasive, like he knew everything about me without me saying a word.

“You can’t get there from here.”

“I can’t climb over the wall. I thought, well, you said this isn’t your house, so how’d you get here? I just want to go home.” The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the two of us.

He lifted two fingers, motioning for me to follow. There wasn’t anything else I could do but go along with him.

As we walked, I scanned the ground for large sticks or rocks to defend myself with, but for a deserted property, it was pretty well cared for.

He stepped onto a stone pathway, and we climbed three short steps before he opened a door that could have come from an old church or mausoleum. The window was multi-paned and arched, but I couldn’t see anything past it. Our reflections loomed in front of me and when I caught his gaze, he quickly glanced away.

We were both inside the home before I realized what I’d done. He slammed the door shut while I spun around. My stomach sank. Sweat broke out around my hairline and now, I was really praying my deodorant didn’t fail me.

The state of my armpits couldn’t be my final thought before my demise. I was in a forgotten building with a man who wore more makeup than I did to my prom. Not to mention the fact he was dressed like some kind of version of Gothic Victorian London. My death better have something cool happen, first.

The clothes the man wore were gorgeous, almost as good-looking as him, but handsome didn’t equal trustworthy. Every woman knew that—just look at Michael Ross. The chances of me dying in the next ten minutes were way higher than my chance of getting home.

He moved in front of me, beckoning once again with a fan of his fingers. Dutifully, I went along, casting one last, longing glance over my shoulder. Would anyone bury me or would I become just like the bones I collected? Why was I even cooperating with this guy?

We passed a dusty kitchen and several closed doors while I watched him walk. He was very graceful, every step he took executed with precise intent. I had to wonder if he operated like that with everything.

Next, I focused on his hands. They didn’t swing wildly, nor did he fidget. The rings on his fingers stayed in perfect position, where my own always spun around in the wrong direction. Even now, I reached down to straighten them, positioning the stones and designs to face in the right direction.

My gaze wandered to the veins on the back of his hands, and I forced myself to look away. It was important to pay attention to my surroundings. He kept distracting me.

The next room looked like it was straight out of one of those hoarding shows except it had what must have been tens of thousands of dollars' worth of computer equipment. There were monitors, hard drives, and two desks like whoever worked here had a job spying on citizens for the government. Everything was shut down and there was no noise. I pictured whirring and buzzing; things lit up while a madman conducted the command center like a futuristic orchestra.

The man stopped but he didn’t turn around. His anticipation hung in the air, filling it with mild tension. He resumed walking when I did.

Trying to take stock of my surroundings, I examined everything. You never knew when the knowledge would come in handy or what you would find. It was worth it to make a mental inventory of everything I saw.

Old paintings hung on the walls with renderings of life-like, alien landscapes I couldn’t have identified if I tried. Deeply etched glass sconces with flickering lights cast geometric shadows across crown molding and paneling. The whole place was mysterious and gorgeous although a heavy layer of grime sat on most surfaces. Thick cobwebs collected debris in shadowy corners overhead, and I watched a spider spiraling down before it clung to the wall.

“They should hire a cleaner. This place is crazy dusty,” I mused and stopped walking, distracted by a narrow table full of multiple items. There were brass seafaring instruments, little glass jars with silver filigree scrolling up their sides. An unidentifiable taxidermized bird with red and yellow feathers. And then there were the bones.

When they first started to fascinate me, I couldn’t be sure. I just knew they were cool because when they were properly cared for, they were graceful and beautiful. Bones were foundations. People spoke of the skeletons of houses and buildings, the plans they made for their lives, basing it all on a solid structure. Our bodies were no different. Good bones made everything work better. And they were pretty.

The skeleton of a small animal stared at me, its structure supported by elegantly molded brass. Beside it, a skull that appeared suspiciously human-like was set on a golden tripod, with pieces of clear quartz shoved in the eye sockets.

“That’s brilliant,” I muttered at the relic. “And appropriate.”