“Fair enough.” Clearly, he and Tink had different tastes in food. He prepared a pot of coffee, which Tink happily shared with him. Tink unceremoniously dumped the whole bag onto a pan, and Mike sighed inwardly. When he had bought food yesterday, he hadn’t accounted for another mouth to feed. Tink found a pad of paper in one of the drawers and was busy jotting notes to herself as the pizza rolls cooked. Mike dug through a collection of inbound emails, mostly job related, when he saw one from the Historical Preservation Society.
Curious, he clicked on it. The writer of the email laid out all sorts of reasons why they wanted to buy the place, but Mike didn’t bother reading them all. He trashed the file after only a few sentences.
“Show Tink.” The goblin appeared between him and the laptop, her head blocking his view. “Show Tink how to use magic screen.”
“I’ll show you later. What did you put on the list?”
Tink handed him the paper. Her handwriting was surprisingly elegant, a cursive lettering that made him think of wedding invitations.
As he scanned the list, a hard lump formed in his throat. Every line of the paper was full with something that needed fixing. “You found all of these things wrong already?”
“Tink know some from before.” The oven beeped, and Tink left his side to retrieve her breakfast. Mike couldn’t help but watch her as she inspected each roll carefully before popping them in her mouth. “Before big sleep, Tink keep journal on broken stuff, but Emily not always buy Tink supplies. Bad ladies won’t let her, she tell Tink.”
“Bad ladies?” Mike thought of the email. “Oh, the historical society. Yeah, we have to be careful doing repairs, apparently. This place is on a national registry, and we have to follow the rules or...”
Or what? That was a question for Beth, obviously. What was to keep him from doing whatever he wanted to the house? Some of the items on list were simple enough, and he didn’t see any harm in letting Tink work on them.
“Hey, Tink.” Tink, her mouth full of pizza rolls, tilted her head at him. “This thing right here. I’m planning to take care of that.”
Tink nodded and swallowed. “You do good job, or Tink be mad.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t need any more people mad at him. “Do we have the supplies for this?”
“Tink show you.” The goblin led him out to the garage, where he once again navigated the maze of boxes.
“Are these books yours?” he asked.
“No. Tink read sometime, but not these. These belong to-“ Tink stopped walking, her eyes going blank. “That strange. Tink forget.”
“Not that strange,” Mike muttered.
Tink led him down to her dwelling beneath the garage. Mike tilted his head to fit, listening carefully as Tink described her organization system. She opened various drawers and boxes, showing Mike how everything fit together like a Tetris game from hell. Opening the third box, Mike held up a hand in surrender.
“Tink, you don’t live down here anymore. If it’s possible, could we take these things out of the boxes and use the very nice tool benches upstairs?”
“Tink make trade. Mike move books out, Tink move tools back.”
“Deal.” He kissed Tink on the forehead, and the little goblin’s face turned a darker shade of green. “But that’s a job for a different day. Right now, I need some WD-40, a couple of screwdrivers, and those shears I bought.”
Tink dug through the boxes, pulling out the things Mike needed and stuffing them into a small toolbox she slid out from under her own bench. She threw in some extra items, then handed it to Mike. “You go fix, Tink check pipes.”
“You got it.” Mike left the goblin behind, smiling at the sound of her humming a little song to herself. He cast a look back, watching her assemble her own box of tools. Then he picked his way through the garage, briefly wondering if the garage door would even open if he tried. Deciding that he wasn’t feeling adventurous enough to chance it, he took the long route through the house, stepping out into the real world on the front porch.
The swing swayed back and forth, squeaking incessantly, but a breeze was passing through, which meant Mike had no idea if Cecilia was there. There was an easy way to find out.
“Hello? Cecilia?” He moved closer to the swing, fighting the urge to shut his eyes. It was like watching a scary movie, and knowing that the scary part was coming. “Are you out here?” The swing swayed gently, with no sign of slowing down. If the banshee was gone, that would make the process that much easier.
He approached the swing, then grabbed the chain and unhooked it from the frame before lowering it to the ground. When nothing bad happened, he inspected the eye-hook at the top of the chain.
Sure enough, it had managed to wiggle partially free and the surface had rusted over. Staring at the useless screwdrivers he had chosen, he instead found the wrench that Tink had tucked away for him. He laughed at the goblin’s forethought, using the wrench to twist the eye-hook. The hook barely turning, he used a few sprays of the WD-40 to help things along. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to yank it free.
Using a rag from the toolbox, Mike gave the screw a good cleaning, then scraped the rust off as best he could. After inspecting the screw, he looked inside the hole of the frame. It was caked with rust as well. He used one of the screwdrivers to clean it out as best he could, knocking loose quite a bit of rust and dirt. Sticking the eyebolt back in, he then twisted it tightly into place. He gave it an experimental tug, and it held fast.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, picking up the chain. Lifting his arm to reattach it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as the temperature dropped. Spinning in place, he saw that she was only a foot from him, hovering inches off the ground, hands balled at her side. Her face a twisted mask, Cecilia took a deep breath and opened her mouth.
“Wait!” Mike cried, dropping the swing and holding his hands in front of him. “Just hear me out!” He knelt down and lifted the chain, then hooked it back through the eyebolt. Keeping a cautious eye on Cecilia, he sat down gently, wincing as he gave a gentle kick of his legs. The porch swing was silent, gliding back and forth with just the soft rustling of the frame above it. “I know that you like this swing, so I thought I would fix it for you.”
Cecilia’s ghostly features softened, her hands reaching out to touch the moving chain. She glided gently around Mike and sat beside him. The air by her skin was cool, as if she was generating her own breeze, and she closed her eyes, letting out a sigh.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft with an Irish lilt to it. She opened her eyes, revealing milky orbs that stared into the distance. Her hand felt along the bench, resting on his knee. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. My name is Mike, by the way.” He tried to stand, but Cecilia squeezed his leg, holding him in place.
“I’m sorry about before.” She turned her sightless eyes toward him. “Please stay with me for just a bit. I haven’t had anyone to talk to in quite some time.”
Mike could think of several things he wanted to do instead, but Cecilia’s demeanor was drastically different. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed lonely.
“Okay, sure. I can stay for a bit.”
“Thank you.” Cecilia rocked on the swing, saying nothing for several minutes.
Mike stared at the banshee, more than curious. Her white clothing was simple, but tailor made for her, and her curls were as white as she was, though they terminated in eerie spikes that spread out around her as if she sat on a Van De Graf generator.
The chill of her hand was intense through his jeans. Uncomfortable, he slid his hand beneath hers. “I hope this is okay,” he told her, and a slight grin crossed her face.
“You’re the first man to hold my hand in many years,” she informed him. “The last one to do that was-“ Her entire body flickered, like a shock had gone through her. “Someone whose name I can’t remember.”
“Yep.” Mike couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin w
as. The longer he held her hand, the warmer she felt. “Now that you’re not pissed at me, you don’t seem very banshee-ish.”
This elicited a frown. “A banshee is what I am, not how I act. It used to be something I was proud to be, a job I was proud to do.”
“A job?”
Cecilia nodded. “Every family had its own banshee. It was my job to guide family members into the afterlife when they passed. Nobody loves a banshee for what they represent, but they needed us for what we did. Our wails of sorrow were to announce our coming, and we would guide the spirits into the ever after.”
“So... the afterlife is real?”
“Very much so. When Emily passed, I was allowed to guide her soul to its resting place.”
“That’s...wow.” That was something to chew on, for certain. “What’s it like?”
Cecilia smiled. “You’ll find out someday.”
“To be honest, I try not to think of it much.” Mike winced. “I had a close call when I was younger.”
“I can tell. Your soul has a certain polish to it.” Cecilia’s face broke into a wicked smile. “Tell me, do you-“ Cecilia flickered, vanishing from view at the creaking of the front steps.
A woman in her forties walked slowly up the wooden stairs, accompanied by a much younger woman. The older woman's long black hair was wound tightly in a bun, but there was plenty left over that it had been fashioned into a long braid beneath it. She wore a simple gray skirt with a modest white blouse. Her dark eyes found Mike, and she paused at the top of the stairs.
“Are you Mr. Radley?” Her tone was formal, the question almost a command.
“That’s me.” Mike stood and walked across the porch. He was going to shake her hand, but his stomach clenched suddenly, sending pain through his gut. He grabbed the railing instead.
“My name is Elizabeth. This is my daughter, Sarah.”
Sarah’s dark hair scattered along the fabric of her red suit jacket, contrasting nicely in the sunlight. Her skirt matched her jacket, and a low-cut top was accentuated by a shimmering blue stone pendant that dangled perilously between her large breasts.
“We are from the Historical Preservation Society, and I was wondering if we could have a word with you.” Elizabeth said.
Mike found his mouth inexplicably dry, his forced smile twitching. Something about Elizabeth made him more than uneasy, a gut feeling that he couldn’t ignore. “Um, sure, I guess.”
“Excellent, Mr. Radley.” Elizabeth stayed where she was, her eyes locked on Mike. Mike saw Sarah staring at the door of the house. “Maybe it would be best if we went inside?”
Mike immediately thought of Tink wandering around the house in just a shirt and goggles. “I would prefer we speak out here, actually. It’s a bit stuffy inside, and I wasn’t expecting company.”
“We can talk out here then.” Elizabeth held up a folder, and Mike immediately recognized it as identical to the one Beth had taken away with her yesterday. “I was informed yesterday evening by the estate agent that you declined our offer to buy this property without even looking at it.”
“Um, yes, I did decline the offer.” It was odd, but he couldn’t help but notice that Elizabeth stood on the top step of the porch rather than the actual porch. “I’ve decided to live here.”
“By yourself?” Sarah asked, her predatory eyes scanning the windows. If Elizabeth was giving him a mad-school-principal vibe, then Sarah was a cop who had pulled him over and was ready to bust a taillight.
“I’ve been by myself most of my life.” The feeling in his gut manifested now as a cold ball of ice. What the hell was going on? “I’m not sure why it would change anytime soon.”
“Well, this is a pretty big place for just one man, Mr. Radley.” Elizabeth’s smile didn’t make it to her eyes. “And I can’t help but be offended that you didn’t even consider looking at our offer.” Sarah had taken a step back from her mother to get a better view of the second-floor windows.
“Why are you so interested in this place?” Mike asked, leaning against the column.
“It was one of the first homes built in the area,” Elizabeth told him. “Constructed by a mysterious architect, and paid for by an unknown benefactor. This home is a mystery hiding in plain sight, and the Historical Preservation Society is interested in not only answering these questions, but preserving the home’s original beauty.”
“Well, if that’s your primary concern, then you should know I have no intention of changing anything about this house.”
“But caring for such a place will be hard for a single person, don’t you agree, Mr. Radley?” Sarah had backed down the steps all the way, squinting at the shadows under the porch.
“I’ve already got someone to help with that.” Mike crossed his arms. “Can I help your daughter with something?”
Sarah was crouched down, inspecting the bushes Mike had fallen into yesterday, gloved hands gently touching their branches. Surprised that Mike was watching her, she stood up suddenly.
“She’s been fascinated by this place since she was a little girl,” Elizabeth informed him. “I would like for you to actually look at our offer this time, Mr. Radley. Strongly consider it. I promise you that this home will only become a burden, one that the women of the Society will be more than happy to take on.” She held the folder out.
“I’ll look, but no promises.” Mike took the folder, and Elizabeth’s finger briefly touched his. He felt a tiny spark, and suddenly Elizabeth’s smile finally reached her eyes.
“We’ll be in touch,” she said, moving off the steps and down the walkway to the street. Sarah smirked and followed her mother out to a sports car parked on the street between the stone lions. He didn’t bother waving as they roared out of the neighborhood. The cold feeling in his stomach faded, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
“What a couple of fucking weirdos,” he muttered. He opened the file, revealing a set of legal documents and a monetary offer that was entirely too large. The offer pertained to the contents of the house as well.
“Okay, gotcha.” Mike closed the folder and walked inside the house. Naia had made it very clear that there were people who wanted the home for its artifacts, and the odd behavior of Elizabeth and Sarah now made perfect sense.
Well, almost. Obviously, Sarah was hoping to get a peek at one of the inhabitants, and her behavior had been anything but normal. Elizabeth acted pleasant enough, but he had recognized the mask she wore all too well. His own mother had donned it every time they needed a new place to sleep for the night, every time she needed to bargain just another week on the couch. This was a woman who was used to getting her way, and Mike wasn’t playing along.
He sat at his computer and pulled up the website for the Historical Preservation Society. There were photos of the Society, and a little digging revealed that Elizabeth and Sarah were indeed high-ranking members. He frowned, staring at their smiling faces. After looking again at the folder, he tossed it in the trash. If those two knew there was more to the house than he was letting on, he needed to figure out how to get the point across that he wasn’t leaving.
That could wait, however. He walked out front, hoping to strike up another conversation with Cecilia, but the banshee didn’t appear. He grabbed his toolbox and wandered back through the house and out into the garden.
The fountain was flowing freely now, and several small birds were bathing in the upper basin. Naia, floating in the water, had one hand in the air with two small finches chirping happily to her on her fingertips.
“What are they saying?” Mike asked, setting down the toolbox. Naia’s fountain was clean, but the surrounding area had been covered in dirt and muck from her blowing out the lines and overflowing the fountain yesterday.
“They’re telling me about the visitors you had,” Naia said, giving her hand a flick. The birds took flight and landed in the basin to join their brethren. “You felt sick around them, yes?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“That
touch of precognition I told you about. Those women were trouble, and I sensed your apprehension.” Naia rose, the water pushing her into a seated position. “What did they want?”
“They want to buy the place. They know something is up, because one of them kept trying to peek in the windows.”
“She wouldn’t have seen anything if she had. Unless you invite someone in, the geas protects us from outside observation. Tink could stand naked in the doorway of the house, and it would appear empty to them.”
“Spooky.” Mike sat on the edge of the fountain. “Yeah, when they wanted to come inside, I felt super uncomfortable.”
“That’s from the magic. Listen to it always.”
Mike nodded. “Don’t worry, I will. Oh, I talked with Cecilia. She didn’t shriek at me this time, and we chatted a bit. That was kind of cool, not having the shit scared out of me.”
“Emily always told me that Cecilia was very kind.”
“Yeah, well, it was nice to talk to her. Are all the monsters here like that? Are you all friendly?”
Naia shrugged. “I want to say yes, but I can’t be certain. It would make sense that we all respond well to being taken care of-this was meant to be our haven, our stronghold. Gone are the days when monsters roamed the world freely. For mankind, that’s a good thing. Several of us treated mankind as a food source, or our playthings.”
“Well, humans do the same thing to each other, actually.” Mike scowled at the water.
“Like your mother?”
Mike nodded. “In the worst way. I spent years thinking that she would one day love me back, accept me, show me kindness. I’m glad she’s dead, but that makes me feel bad, so it’s a cycle that can’t really be broken. I’ll never get that closure, so...” Mike waved his hands dismissively. “It is what it is.”
Naia sat next to Mike and ran her hands down his arms. “I can think of a way to take your mind off of it.”
Mike chuckled. “That sounds like an amazing offer, but if I’m going to take care of this place, I actually need to do some stuff first.” He pointed at the dirt surrounding the fountain. “This is just gross, by the way.”
Radley's Home for Horny Monsters Page 7