Page 3 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Underworld

It’s2AM by the time I turn onto my street. I’m exhausted. All I want is a hot shower and a long sleep-in.

The trouble with these old roads and their equally old houses is that they weren’t made for cars, let alone orc-sized utes. There’s no parking spots left on the road at all, and none in my driveway, and I swear under my breath, slowing down as I try and figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. I’m too tired for this shit.

The abandoned house has an empty driveway. My car idles in the middle of the quiet street as I debate to myself about what I should do. The nearest parking is halfway up a steep hill on the adjacent road, and I don’t feel like walking.

“It’s not haunted,” I mutter as I pull into the empty driveway, my headlights illuminating all the weeds that grow out of the cracks in the concrete. They scrape the underside of the vehicle, making me wince.

The night is still as I jump out, grabbing my duffel from the passenger seat. I’m slinging it over my shoulder when I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and jerk my head towards the empty house.

The blood chills in my veins.

Behind the planks of wood covering a boarded-up window is a face, partially obscured, the one visible eye watching me. The face is a very pale, very translucent, ever-so-slightly-glowing green.

A ghost.

I stand frozen, heart in my throat as they disappear. A second later the old front door opens wide with a loud bang.

I panic,running.

“You’reon rubbish duty this week, big man. The bathroom bin is fucking gross too; Josh’s girlfriend left all her used period shit in there.”

I cringe — not at the sanitary items, but at the teenage immaturity — as Heath grins at me. He’s the youngest of my flatmates, only nineteen, and it shows. He’s studying sports science, but to be honest, I get the feeling he’ll be dropping out before the year is done. He doesn’t seem cut out for study — at least not yet. Give the kid a few more years to live life first and figure out what he really wants to do.

“It’s fine.” Dragging the bins from the backyard out to the footpath is something I’ve been avoiding all evening, but it needs to be done. I just don’t want to walk pastthathouse again. I’ve been opting to catch public transport the last few days, telling myself I was saving money I’d otherwise spend on parking in the inner city, but the reality is that I’ve been too afraid to go near my car.

I’ve played it over in my mind a hundred times in the last few days. The way I’d had a sense that something was there, watching me. The face — definitely feminine from what I could see, maybe even pretty, and one hundred percent see-through — glowing softly. They hadn’t looked sinister, but the situation had scared the shit out of me. Especially when the door had opened.

But ghosts aren’t real.

There are still a lot of species that humans don’t know exist. Hell, there’s a lot that I don’t know about; I’ve never been to the First Realm myself, and I’ve got no fuckin’ clue about what goes on there. My family — on both sides — have lived in New Zealand for generations, and before that my ancestors had emigrated from Scotland, where there’s still a large orc population.

I may not know much, but I do know thatghostsare not on any list of supernatural, paranormal, non-human, or monstrous beings — whatever people want to call us — anywhere. Ghosts are a myth. Ghosts aren’t real.

But I know what I saw.

I empty the rubbish in the house, my nose scrunched against the smell of rotting food, and carry it all outside to the big wheelybin out back. It’s another freezing night, and the waxing moon lights a halo around it in the clouds.

Ghosts aren’t real, I remind myself as I drag the bin down the path that runs between the house and the fence.That place isn’t haunted.

As I set the bin on the footpath, that same cold, creeping feeling settles on my neck. I freeze, too scared to turn around, until the loud bark of a dog makes me jump.

“Fuck.”

I’m pretty sure I’m the biggest guy that lives on this street. I’m also the biggest coward, too scared to even glance at an empty house.

At some point I’m going to need to use my car again.

I keep my head down as I walk — quickly — to the back door.

On Friday nightI finally use my ute again to drive to the strip club. I manage to jump in and pull out of the driveway without any creepy ghost women looking at me, and I feel both relieved and strangely disappointed after working myself up for six days straight.

The club is less of a club and more of a small theatre. There’s only a small bar to one side, a raised stage with a runway extending halfway into the room, and many circular tables, all squeezed together. I can imagine it feels pretty crowded in herewhen the show is on. Right now it’s dead quiet, with not a soul in sight.

It looks neat, tidy, and clean. There’s posters on the walls with rules — decorated in cutesy pink sparkles — about having funrespectfullyand keeping hands where instructed, and others with information on taxis and rideshares, and the free sanitary items available in the bathrooms. I can’t quite read the other display at the back, except for the wordsEMPOWERMENTandTAKE CONTROL, but I do know what I’m looking at once I spot the pictures underneath, the variety of dildos and vibrators adding to the impression that it’s one big advertisement for sex toys.

I can see why Kayla likes this place.

“Hello?” I call out, stepping further into the space. The instructions, texted from Kayla’s cousin earlier today, were to“come right in,”so here I am, walking around theAuckland Menheadquarters, feeling a little out of place, but more relaxed than I have been all day.

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