Frankenstein In Love Page 5

  Trying to be as careful as possible, she continued walking on the uneven ground, even though everything inside her told her to turn back. Before long, she began to smell something horrible. The first thing she thought of was a dead animal, but she couldn’t find one. While she peered under bushes and into ravines, she stumbled across a clearing and bumped into a tall post. She stopped, looked up, and what she saw almost made her faint.

  On a crude, unpolished wooden board, being held up between two tall posts, she saw the word boneyard written in white dripping paint. The letters were small and crude, and strangely childlike. The lettering was fading, and the sign was cracked and old, having been exposed to the elements for years. It creaked as it swayed in the eerie mist and wind, guarding the entrance to a piece of land that had jagged, makeshift tombstones jutting out of the ground.

  She saw bones everywhere, thrown haphazardly on the mound, littering the graves. Even though the sight was chilling, curiosity had her in its grip. As she crept closer and closer, her gaze shifted around to make sure she wasn’t being watched. Her heart was pounding as she made her way through the graves, and saw something engraved on large, oddly-shaped stones. They leaned precariously, the angle and the crude markings making them difficult to read. Her gaze narrowed, and her lips formed the words, Aaron Reeves—to strangy. She stared at the odd wording, not understanding what it meant, until the truth dawned upon her. Repelled, she clamped her hand over her mouth and reeled away from the horrible sight to keep from screaming, but the next one came into view as rapidly as the first—Sylvia Stone—to tuf.

  She wanted to deny what she saw, but the roughly hewn words were there, before her eyes, even though her mind could hardly comprehend the insane things she saw. Before she knew it she was staring at a chipped, misshapen stone that stuck up out of the ground like the rotted tooth of a giant monster. The name shouted out to her—Margaret West—to fat. For one mad moment, she saw a picture in her mind of an old man hovering over a stone and crudely carving out name after name with a wrinkled, trembling hand. It was too much. She felt she had to get out, but deep in this jungle of bones came one more stone that must have been older than the rest. The elements had almost destroyed it, and she could just barely make out—Buster May—not enuf meet on his po’ ol’ bones. The words caused an insane kind of laughter bubbling up out of her throat. All of this—this decay, this human carnage would have been almost funny if it were simply words on a page, but with it scattered out before her, she felt her stomach roiling.

  “Oh, God,” she muttered, pressing her hand to her mouth. As she turned to make her way out of the graveyard, she saw Andy Walker—Wynn Keaton—Bessie Philpot—all with reasons why they couldn’t be eaten. A surge of shock and horror flooded her. This is too much, she thought. I’ve got to get out of here. In her haste to leave she tripped and fell down, and saw an old, dried out wallet of someone by the name of Willie Dunbar. God, she thought. That’s where he got the names, why he got them so exact when his own spelling was typical backwoods.

  She frantically pushed herself up and began stumbling out, holding her mouth and her stomach, feeling she was going to be sick. Finally making it back to the road, she dropped to her knees, heaving. Although the smell of rotting flesh from the graveyard was overwhelming, she knew her sickness came not only from the smell, but from the sheer horror of what she’d seen. As she knelt there, trying to settle her stomach, the wind blew harder, the gloom became deeper, and the screeching of the birds and cicadas seemed to swirl around her.

  She was about to turn back when she saw a turn—a bend in the road. She couldn’t help wondering what was beyond it. She turned again toward the graveyard, remembering her decision to turn back, but couldn’t resist the tug she felt inside to go just a little further. She got to her feet and continued walking. After taking several floundering steps, her breathing had become heavy, but she kept her eyes on the bend, strangely excited, obsessed. Her stomach, and what had upset it, was forgotten.

  She walked—stumbled—fell—but kept going, taking one anxious step at a time.

  Finally, as she continued down the path, something appeared.

  She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like water.

  She winced, pain shooting through one leg, making her stumble and weave unsteadily as she trudged along the rutted, uneven dirt road.

  She kept her gaze riveted to the bend as it came closer and closer.

  She was tired.

  Her feet were burning.

  One more turn, and she was there.

  Rounding the bend.

  She watched as a heavy mist parted, and she stopped.

  “Oh, my God,” Tiffany murmured, feeling as if she had just stepped back in time. She fought her way through the haze, catching a nightmarish view of a towering old mansion looming up out of obscurity. The shape was dark, almost in silhouette against the moving ocean, and was surrounded by weeping willows, giving it a gloomy, sinister appearance. There were four very large columns in front, being devoured, it seemed, by climbing vines. The mansion was ash-colored in the murky fog, and the coiling mist that stretched across it was distorted, the ghost-like shapes, making it seem to be abandoned.

  In the distance she saw a small rise.

  “I’ve been here before,” she whispered as her gaze followed the rise all the way up to the summit. Almost at once a picture flashed through her mind. She saw herself standing up there being buffeted by the wind, and someone coming up behind her, putting his cape around her arms.

  It can’t be, she told herself as she continued to climb. As she neared the top, somehow she knew what she would see and gazed down at the familiar sight of the choppy ocean, and the lighthouse with the pulsating flame in the window. Without warning she saw a familiar dark figure walking along the sandy strip of beach.

  She gasped when the man stopped and stared up at her, the strength of that look, along with the strange, misshapen face, was overwhelming. The blue fire in his intense gaze leaped out at hers, and the gloomy landscape began swimming before her. She shook her head, trying to dispel it, but it swirled faster and faster, pulling her down into a whirlpool. Before she knew it, the beach, the ocean, and the monstrous man faded into oblivion as she fell—her body dangling dangerously on the edge of Cat’s Paw.

  * * * *

  When she awoke she was alone on a couch in front of a blazing fire. She sat up, her gaze searching the room, and although she saw no one, she recognized the cavernous room immediately.

  More than a room, it was a living area with an enormous fireplace, and a front door that opened into it. While studying the room she even recognized the antiquated doorknob. As crazy as it sounded, she knew she had been here in her dreams—but how? At that moment she heard someone coming and turned her head in the direction of the footsteps, not knowing what she might see.

  “Well, I’m relieved that you’re finally awake,” the friendly voice called out.

  Tiffany’s gaze widened. The woman who balanced a tray in her hands was the same woman she had seen at City Lights. She watched as the woman put the tray down on the coffee table, poured a steaming cup and offered it to Tiffany.

  “Tea?” she asked, smiling.

  Reaching for the cup, Tiffany thanked the young woman, hoping the tea could ease the hurt she felt when she realized her dream man was married.

  “So, we meet again,” the woman said, gazing at her over the pink flowered teacup.

  “Yes, I guess we do.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elaine Kessler.” She extended her beautifully manicured hand in Tiffany’s direction.

  Tiffany stared at her. She seemed so completely different than she had at the restaurant. That night her shoulder-length hair had been full, loose, and she’d worn a black dinner dress with a square neck, and fitted sleeves. A sparkling broach set the dress off, and makeup had turned her pale, washed-out face pretty. Now she wore a simple gray-on-black sweater and skirt,
had her dark hair pulled up into a bun, wore no makeup, and her lovely face seemed pinched, worried. Taking her hand, Tiffany said, “I’m happy to know you, my name is…”

  “No need to tell me. I know who you are, but what I am wondering is how you managed to get way up here.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

  “No, it’s okay. What I meant was, few people come up here. If you’ve been in town very long, you must know this stretch of road has a reputation, and Cat’s Paw has become sort of a legend around these parts.”

  “Cat’s Paw,” Tiffany repeated under her breath, remembering the tattered little sign.

  “It’s what they call the ridge above the ocean. You can see it from town. Paints a brooding picture, I’m afraid. They call it Cat’s Paw because of its odd shape.” Elaine smiled. “Sort of sinister, don’t you think? If anyone comes up here at all it’s only out of curiosity.”

  “Actually that’s why I came up, but I had no idea anyone lived up here.”

  “Yes, it is remote, and certainly off the beaten track, but this is our family home, and when our parents died, it just naturally came to us. We try to keep it up, but…”

  Tiffany frowned. “Excuse me, but who is we?”

  “My brothers, Quinn and Kirk.”

  Tiffany’s gaze widened. “Quinn Kessler is your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “The man you were with at City Lights the other night?”

  “Yes, why?”

  A smile began tugging at the corner of Tiffany’s mouth. “Oh, nothing. I mean, I suspected it, you, uh, look so much alike.”

  Elaine indicated to her cup. “Would you like me to freshen that for you?”

  “Oh no, I’ve warmed up quite a bit, thanks. By the way, who brought me in from the ri—uh, Cat’s Paw?”

  “Kirk. He saw you fall.”

  “Kirk. Your other brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he here?” she asked. “I’d like to thank him.”

  “No. I mean he’s here, but, well, he wouldn’t want you to see him.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Kirk is…well, he’s a very private person.”

  “Oh?” Tiffany frowned, remembering the scarred up face she’d seen from the ridge. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

  “I’ll be happy to tell him for you.”

  Dismissing it, Tiffany glanced around the big room, and felt a chill when she caught sight of a husky form lingering in a shadow. Before she could say anything, he slipped out soundlessly, leaving only a trail of muffled footsteps as he departed.

  “Is there anyone else in the house besides you and your brothers?”

  “No, just us.”

  How strange, she thought, feeling a chill settling over her. Finally, she asked, “Where’s Quinn?”

  “He had to go up to Boston. He should be back tonight. He’ll be disappointed that he missed you.”

  She turned back at the empty shadow, knowing that the mysterious figure must have been Kirk. “This place is quite large. The first time I was here—”

  “You were here before?”

  Tiffany gulped. “No, of course not. I only meant when I saw it from the outside, I thought it resembled a Fran—uh, a large Southern plantation.”

  “Yes, it is large.”

  “Do you have help? Someone to help keep it clean?”

  “I’m afraid not. I mean, I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to find anyone who’ll come up here. I’ve even offered to pay double the normal salary, but it doesn’t seem to help.” She smiled and shrugged. “So I just do the best I can.”

  Tiffany smiled, reached out, and put her hand over Elaine’s. “Well, if you need any help, just let me know. I’m on vacation for a full month.”

  Elaine smiled at the foolish suggestion. “If you’re on vacation, I doubt you’ll want to spend it cleaning up—” She angled her gaze over at Tiffany. “Frankenstein’s castle, I believe is what you were about to call it. Am I right?”

  Tiffany blushed, knowing she’d been caught. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent most of my adult life living in a tiny little New York walkup. Now, anything larger than two rooms feels like Grand Central Station to me.” She grinned, and added, “Or Frankenstein’s castle.”

  Elaine laughed and pointed out the high rafters. “You know, there was a time that a grand house such as this was considered very elegant. It’s been in the family for generations, dating all the way back before the Civil War.”

  “Why don’t you just sell it and get something more suitable for the times we live in?”

  A sad expression darkened Elaine’s face. “In honor of Dad, I suppose.”

  Tiffany noticed her reaction and responded immediately. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she replied, and smiled sadly at the memory. “When Dad was alive, he wouldn’t even consider it. His great grandfather bought the mansion for his bride, and a lot of memories are attached to the old place. I loved it when I was a kid, but now it’s become something of a stigma.” Elaine chuckled. “I don’t know, maybe I’m one of those people that see things the way they want to see them instead of the way they are. I just keep remembering it the way it was when I was a kid. You know, beautiful, full, bustling. Afterward, when Mom and Dad died, the mansion seemed to die with them. Still, the thought of letting it go is painful. We keep it up as best we can, but it’s so close to the coast, even modernizing it would be a waste of money. She continued to glance around. “We just sort of rattle around in the old place. With no life in it, it seems empty and, well, out of place.”

  Glancing down at her watch, Tiffany exclaimed, “Say, it’s later than I thought. I guess I’d better get going.” Her cup clattered as she placed it in the saucer while rising to her feet. “Please don’t forget to tell Kirk how grateful I am that he was there.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Elaine asked. “I mean, I could drive you if you’re still a little woozy, that is, unless you’re working out and need the exercise.”

  “I probably do, but I would appreciate a ride, thank you.”

  Elaine grabbed her keys. “Why don’t you relax and finish your tea? It’ll take me a minute to bring the car around.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Tiffany said, leaning over and picking up her cup.

  She had just put the rim to her lips when she happened to sense a presence behind her, and stiffened. She wanted to turn around, but stood frozen to the spot, knowing that she was in the house alone with a man who’s scarred up face resembled a monster featured in a late night movie. The seconds stretched into minutes, and Tiffany’s fear became inflated. She lifted her gaze toward the beamed ceiling, imagining the draping shadows that surrounded her to be hanging low from the ancient framework like snakes. Her insides began churning, and she worked to try and remain calm, nervously taking a sip from her cup.

  “There’s no reason to be afraid.”

  The voice jolted her, and she fearfully placed the rattling cup and saucer on the tray. She realized she was being stupid and put a hand on her stomach while she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I guess this…well…this day hasn’t been a very good one for me.” Still trying to calm her nerves, she hesitantly turned toward the pool of shadows. “I…wanted…I was hoping to thank you for bringing me in from the bluff.”

  No response.

  “K-Kirk? Is that your name?”

  No answer.

  As she observed the dark shape and the glowing orbs that stared out at her, something began tugging at her. It seemed to be a memory buried deep, the memory of a dream—a horrible dream.

  Scorching eyes.

  A crumbling stairway.

  And a face—a horrible face.

  My God, had that been Kirk? Was that why he stayed in the shadows? Was that why—the bars—no, it couldn’t be.

  And this mansion, she tho
ught as she glanced around the room. What kind of bizarre fluke had brought Quinn and this mansion into her dreams?

  The blast of Elaine’s horn brought her out of her thoughts, startling her. She backed away hesitantly, “Well…goodbye,” she said, hating to go. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away from the face that fascinated her.

  A deep silence emanated from the shadows, and Tiffany, with faltering movements, finally opened the door and walked away.

  As they drove away, Tiffany turned back toward the mansion. She couldn’t seem to put that scorching gaze out of her mind—it said so much.

  Chapter 5

  HE paced among the dust and darkness of the basement, believing he was going mad. He could feel the anguish and sorrow growing inside him. Pushing—driving—begging to burst out of his throat in some godawful sound of torment. This wasn’t unusual. Sometimes his buried grief would become such agony he had to release it in a bellow—an agonizing cry—a sound of suffering that reached all the way up into the cavernous mansion to reverberate through its corridors and its hundred-year-old rafters. The echo of his cry was so thunderous, he knew it could be heard along the beach, and along the fog-shrouded walkways of town where hazy lamplight turned the mist to gold. While pacing, he jerked himself around, hearing a noise outside his door. Staring into the darkness, he realized it was Elaine coming with a tray of food.

  Opening his door, she said, “Kirk, why can’t I convince you to come up out of this miserable place and live like a human being?”

  “Isn’t this where monsters are supposed to live?” he snarled. “Down under the ground in sewers and rat-infested basements?”

  “Please don’t call yourself a monster.”

  He kicked a chair in anger. “I’ll call myself any damn thing I want. Now get out of here and leave me alone.”

  “Kirk, we have seven perfectly good bedrooms upstairs. You don’t have to live like this.”

  “I said, get out,” he roared.

  “All right, be stubborn. Tiffany Lovelace wanted to thank you. I can only imagine what she thought when I told her you didn’t want to see her. You probably saved her life, pulling her off Cat’s Paw like that. The way the wind blows on that lonely old bluff, she would have been pushed over in no time.”