Radley's Home for Horny Monsters

by Annabelle Hawthorne

  Radley's Home for Horny Monsters

  Horny Monsters, Volume 1

  Annabelle Hawthorne

  Published by Wet Leaf Press, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  RADLEY'S HOME FOR HORNY MONSTERS

  First edition. October 23, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Annabelle Hawthorne.

  Written by Annabelle Hawthorne.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Testing the Waters

  A Swing and a Miss

  Garage Goblin

  Made of Stone

  Firing Squad

  Memories of Emily

  What About the Creepy Doll?

  La Petite Mort

  Nightmares and Dreamscapes

  Soul Survivor

  Unwanted Company

  Welcome Home

  Afterword

  Sign up for Annabelle Hawthorne's Mailing List

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  This book is for the misfits

  the dreamers

  and the believers

  Testing the Waters

  Mike stared at the Victorian style home in awe, the sheer scale of it overwhelming him. Tower-like structures gave the blue dwelling a medieval touch, and the house was ringed in simple gardens with waist-high shrubs that were in desperate need of a trim. Stone lions guarded the walk to the front door, and a cobblestone path disappeared around the back.

  "Impressive, isn't it?"

  Mike, startled, dropped his sleeping bag. He bent to pick it up, warmth flooding through his cheeks.

  "I'm afraid you have quite a task ahead of you, Mr. Radley."

  Mike let out a nervous laugh as Beth, his great aunt's estate representative, walked past. The woman was taller than him, very attractive, and all business. Her dark hair wrapped up in a bun, she paused to check something on her clipboard. Mike took the opportunity to admire her backside through the thin layer of her pencil skirt. Very faint panty lines ran around her buttocks, lines that Mike had trouble taking his eyes away from. She turned to face him, and he pretended to struggle with his sleeping bag.

  "I doubt you'll need that," she pointed out, lending him a hand. She smelled like peaches and something floral, a scent he couldn’t quite place. "The house has plenty of space."

  "I’ve been a Boy Scout since I was six. Be prepared. That's my motto."

  "Uh huh." Beth helped him secure the bag under his arm. "Trust me when I say you won't need it." She led him up the stairs, the wooden deck creaking slightly under their weight. Mike stared briefly at the swinging chair on the front porch, moving slightly in the breeze. As Beth produced a key, she looked at Mike. "This must be like a fairy tale to you."

  "No such thing as fairy tales. Just a weird coincidence," he said, careful to keep his eyes above the lacy top of her blouse. Women, as a rule, made him nervous. Particularly pretty ones.

  "You hear about these things all the time," she said, sliding the key into the lock. "But you never get to see them play out." The door stuck in the frame, and Beth leaned her shoulder in to give it a shove. A strand of hair came loose from her bun as she pushed her way inside. "A long-lost relative dying and leaving everything to you."

  "Yeah. Lucky me." Mike followed her inside. The house was cool, and dark. Beth opened up some of the windows, allowing the light in. The furniture in the home was all covered, giving the sitting room the eerie appearance of a haunted house. Beth pulled the cover off of the couch, sending a small layer of dust into the air.

  "You don't seem very keen on the idea, Mr. Radley." Beth uncovered the coffee table, and set her purse and clipboard down. "It is a very nice house."

  "It's not the house. And call me Mike." Mike threw his sleeping bag on a clean portion of the floor along with his backpack. Out of habit, he slipped off his shoes at the door.

  "Well, Mike, we went through an awful lot of trouble tracking you down." Beth uncovered a nearby love seat. "This home was only weeks away from being liquidated by the firm."

  "Which I understand is still an option?" Mike asked, staring at the pale yellow curtains.

  "Correct." Beth picked up her clipboard. "Only if you decide not to keep it."

  "Right." Mike looked down the long hallway to the kitchen. "I'm not used to having so much space. Gives me the creeps."

  "By nature, homes of this style are actually quite cozy." Beth led the way to the kitchen, the heels of her boots clicking on the hardwood floor. “There is quite a bit of space for you to spread out.”

  "I've never lived in anything with more than two bedrooms," Mike responded. Beth checked the appliances to make sure they still worked, and showed Mike where the fuse box was. A brief tour of the kitchen turned up several jars of preserved jellies, an old box of cat biscuits, and an empty tub of ice cream in the freezer.

  "So, where is the cat?" Mike asked, shaking the box of biscuits.

  "As far as we know, she didn't have one. Your great aunt conscripted our services long before my parents were even out of high school, and rarely contacted the firm. According to our sources, she was largely a shut-in. It's likely those treats are older than you or I."

  "As long as she wasn't eating them," Mike muttered, throwing the biscuits back in the cupboard.

  "So, you've only lived in apartments?" Beth stood now at the bottom of the stairs. She climbed up, and Mike paused to look in the living room. Sure enough, a creepy fucking porcelain doll sat right above the fireplace, legs draped over the mantle. He shivered and looked up the stairs. Enough of Beth's legs were showing that he could see the top of her stockings. Jesus. He pulled hard on the railing, eager to catch up.

  "Yeah. My mom was always unemployed, so we were always staying with friends." Memories of being crammed away in the back of someone else's home made him shudder. Long nights pressed up against his mother as they shared a bed, the smell of alcohol oozing from her pores and stinging his eyes. Years of therapy might have helped him over the worst of it, but he still had nights where he woke up panicked, convinced that he was crammed in bed again with his mother.

  "Sounds rough," Beth said. She opened a door to reveal a study. "This is the office. Everything in here was custom built."

  "I don't see a router." Mike walked in, his eyes scanning the room. The shelves were packed with poetry books and different inspirational pieces. Fake flowers adorned every free inch of desk space.

  "Your great aunt didn't have Internet."

  "Well, I will." Mike frowned, checking out the window. He could see how overgrown the back yard had become. A large stone fountain full of muck had been overrun with weeds. "I build websites for a living. If I decide to keep the place, I will need to get it installed."

  Beth was already making notes on her clipboard. "I will see what we can do. Just to remind you, this home is on the list of historical places, so we may experience some delays."

  Mike waved a hand dismissively, kneeling beneath the desk. "I have my ways. Just get me some sort of high speed line, I'll do the rest." He stuck his hands behind the desk, feeling for an outlet. Determined to find one, he slid his hands into every crevice, using his phone as a flashlight and cramming his face against the wall.

  "Let me show you to the guest room," Beth said, reminding him that she was waiting on him. Mike smacked his head on the desk as he stood. He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the top of his head as he followed her back into the hall. Beth opened another door, showing him a plain twin-sized bed with a large pink comforter. Daisies were embroidered across the t
op. The walls of the room were painted a robin egg blue, giving the whole space a dollhouse vibe.

  "I have no words," Mike said, staring at the guest bed.

  "I don't blame you." Beth opened the closet. "There are some spare linens, but they aren't any better."

  "What use does a shut-in have for a guest room?" Mike inspected the closet. In the bottom, he saw another porcelain doll.

  "My best guess is that it was a room your father stayed in as a child."

  "You think?" Mike held up one end of the pink comforter.

  Beth laughed. "I never said it was a good idea. Your dad had some cousins, and most were little girls once."

  "I'm sure." Mike stared at the bed, his thoughts drifting. Was it actually possible that his own father had slept beneath this roof? The man had died not long after Mike was born, lost to an aggressive form of cancer. It was the same disease that had led his mother to drink. Thinking of his mother, he looked at the tiny bed, an enormous pit opening in his stomach.

  No fucking way. He needed a larger bed.

  "Where did Great Aunt Emily sleep?"

  "In her room, down the hall." Beth paused. "She died in there."

  "In the bed?" Mike was already wondering where he could unroll his sleeping bag.

  "No, if that's what you’re worried about." Beth took him back into the hall. Mike found himself staring again at her butt. His eyes flicked up to hers when she looked back. "It's this one right here."

  Beth opened the door. The room was large, the ceiling elevated. Mike realized he was in one of the round, tower rooms he had seen from the front. The bed was centered along the back wall, a large four poster with draping curtains all around. His gaze followed the curve of the walls, taking in the intricate molding along the mid wall and ceiling. Two dressers, a standing armoire, and a mirrored nightstand were all uncovered by Beth as she made her rounds. A large opening signaled the entrance to the bathroom. Towards the other side of the room, a giant oriental rug covered the floor.

  "The rug is in an odd place," Mike said, pointing at it.

  "It was some time before we found your aunt," Beth replied. “I’m afraid the... decomposition process creates a stain that is very hard to remove. We’re working on finding proper replacement material. It isn't easy to find hundred-year-old hardwood flooring that matches the surrounding floor."

  "Why not replace it all?"

  "Historical society, remember?"

  "Ah." Mike stared at the bed. It was easily a king size. "Her heart gave out?"

  "She was ninety six. It happens." Beth looked at her clipboard. "I made myself a few notes. I just need a signature to authorize some purchases."

  "Of course." Mike walked in to the bathroom. "Holy shit, have you seen this thing?"

  Beth laughed behind him. "I have. Impressive, isn't it?"

  Mike stared at the largest claw-footed bathtub he had ever seen. Looking at Beth with wide eyes, he hopped inside it, lying down along the bottom. Neither his head or feet touched the ends. He reached his arms out. They were almost fully extended before touching the sides.

  "I will admit, your great aunt's taste in decor is questionable in areas, but this is probably my favorite piece here." Beth sat on the bath, staring in at Mike. Mike sat up and looked over the side of the tub. The edge was to his chin.

  "I feel like I'm sitting in a boat." Mike turned his attention to the spigot. Two separate faucets made of some sort of bronze fed the tub. "Does it still work?"

  "I assume so. We had the home inspected in case we were selling it." Beth stroked one of the spigots. "I wish I could try it out."

  "Hop in. Plenty of room." The words were out of his mouth before his brain could stop them. He looked away, pretending to fiddle with the faucets.

  Beth laughed. "Afraid I'm too busy at the moment." Extending a hand for support, she helped Mike stand. He had to lift his legs high to step out of the basin - the inside was deeper than the outside. “Maybe I can house sit sometime.”

  “I’ll leave you some bath beads.” Mike stepped back to admire the tub. “I’ve never been a fan of baths, but this may be big enough to change my mind.”

  Taking a wide berth around the rug in the bedroom, Mike followed Beth through the remaining rooms of the house. Beth made several notes on her clipboard, noting necessary adjustments. Mike’s great aunt had left behind a very large sum of money, and her will stipulated that her oldest surviving relative be given full opportunity to make the house livable before selling it. Mike was well aware that one offer to buy was on the table already, a group of women who wanted to turn the place into a local museum. He had never been able to set roots down, rarely living anywhere longer than six months.

  Beth stood at the front door, going over her checklist. Mike stared out the front window, watching the hanging chair rock in place. She had said his name twice before he snapped back to reality.

  “Sorry, lost in thought,” he apologized. “What did you say?”

  “I said I can swing by tomorrow to take you shopping. Your great aunt had a car, but I’m afraid it got sideswiped eight months ago, a total loss. You’re going to need to get some essentials if you’re going to make this place a home.” Beth let the clipboard relax. “Which I hope you do. It was her utmost wish that the home stay in the family. I know you have already voiced some concerns over maintaining the property, but I really think you should give this place a shot.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Mike gave her a small smile. “This is a unique opportunity, after all.”

  “Good. You have my business card, so don’t hesitate to contact me for anything.” Beth picked up her purse from the coffee table.

  “Actually, there is something.” Beth waited patiently as Mike walked over to the fireplace and removed the porcelain doll. “I don’t care how, just get rid of it.” He handed it to her.

  Beth stared at the doll and laughed. “I’m on it. Have a good night, Mike.” Taking the doll, she handed over the keys, then walked out the door and down the steps. Mike watched her as she went, the clicking of her heels on the pavement echoing across the deck. He waved as she got in her car on the street and drove away.

  The swinging chair creaked softly. Mike stepped onto the deck, staring at the offending piece of furniture. He unhinged the chains and lowered the seat to the deck. He let the front door shut softly behind him.

  NIGHT CREPT UP ON MIKE as he whittled away his evening on his laptop. Using his neighbor’s unprotected Wi-Fi, he checked on several sites he had been maintaining, answered some of his emails, and opened up his bank statements. None of the money his great aunt left him had been transferred in yet, but he pictured the new amount in place of his current one and wondered.

  What would he even do with all that cash? If he were to sell the home, he would be walking around with several million and nothing to spend it on. He had been poor as a child, poor enough that by the time he worked his way through college, he was simply used to the survivor’s lifestyle. All the clothes he owned would easily fit in two suitcases, and the bulk of his belongings were made up of a couple of desktop PCs and a tablet at his apartment.

  He finally noticed the time near the bottom of his screen and shut down for the night. It was nearing eleven, and he still hadn’t even eaten dinner. A quick search on his phone revealed a nearby pizza place, and he ordered himself a medium sausage with a two-liter bottle of Sprite. He wandered the lonely rooms, eventually tossing his bag in his great aunt’s bedroom. He drifted through the house, picking up random belongings, trying to envision the woman his great aunt was.

  He had looked her up online. She had inherited the house from her own aunt (a notorious spinster) at a young age, living off of several very old railroad bonds that had paid off big in the 1940’s. A job as a librarian supplemented her income through her fifties, and then she had simply shut herself away.

  Not completely, though. Mike noted that some of the purchases in the home must have been made in the last couple of years. A few of the book
s in the library had tipped him off. She must have left on rare occasions, or at least hired somebody to shop for her.

  To be honest, the thought was pretty appealing to him.

  The doorbell startled him out of his reverie, and he nearly dropped a clown figurine he had pulled from a shelf. He put it back and walked to the front door.

  “Hi!” The pizza delivery man was, in fact, a gorgeous blonde girl, likely a college student. Her hair had been swooped back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a stylish pair of black rim glasses. The name tag on her jacket said Dana. “Your house is beautiful, by the way! I’ve always loved it!” She handed him his soda.

  “Uh, yeah.” He fumbled with his wallet and dropped it. “Um, if you wanna come in, I don’t want flies.” She stepped into the entryway, and the door closed behind her. She looked around while he picked up his wallet, then nearly dropped his soda when he looked up into her crotch. Blushing, he opened his arms to help her take the food from its special cooler, and accidentally brushed against her breast through her jacket with his hand.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever delivered here before,” she added, staring past him at the stairs. “Are you new in town?”

  “First day.” He handed her a pair of twenties. As she dug into her pocket for change, he caught a whiff of her perfume. His world started closing in. “No worries, keep it.”

  “Seriously?” Her eyes were huge as he nodded.

  “Yeah, no problem.” He ushered her out the door as she thanked him, then closed it as soon as her back was turned. Placing the pizza on the coffee table, he took a few deep breaths. The sensation of her breast against the back of his hand, the sheer firmness of it, accompanied by the scent of her perfume had given him a surprisingly hard erection.

  He ran through the house, flipping on all of the lights. His mother’s voice attempted to rise up in the back of his mind, but he shut it out. Years of sharing a bed with her had inevitably led to an incident, shortly before his eleventh birthday, when he had awakened suddenly to a slap in the face. In his sleep, he had managed to roll into his own mother while sprouting wood.