Page 25 of Grotesque Love

He places his tea on the side before he bends down and starts a fire in the sooty hearth. The sparks quickly catch, and it isn’t long before there’s a small fire crackling away merrily, casting a warm glow over the ornate armchairs and worn rug.

“Thank you,” I murmur gratefully, taking a sip of the fragrant tea. It tastes of chamomile and honey.Perfect.

The groundskeeper settles back into a chair opposite me, his gaze studying my face, forehead furrowed. “You shouldn’t wander off on your own here, Miss. There are dangerous things in these woods.”

I raise an eyebrow at his cryptic words, curiosity piqued once again. “Like wild animals?”

He hesitates for a moment before speaking. “Hmpf. Wild creatures. And spirits. Demons. They roam these grounds at night, seeking to protect what belongs to them.”

I swallow. “Spirits?”

He nods solemnly. “Aye. Those who once called this estate home. Restless souls still linger here, guarding their secrets from prying eyes.”

The air in the room has been sucked out, and I struggle to catch my breath.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

The groundskeeper’s gaze flickers to a darkcorner of the room before returning to me. “I’ve seen things that I can’t explain, Miss. Things that would make your blood run cold.”

Despite the warmth of the drink and the fire, I tremble.

The groundskeeper leans in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “The people in town say it’s spirits seeking revenge for past wrongs, while others think they are simply lost souls searching for peace. But I know better. I know evil lurks here.”

I can’t tear my gaze away from him, captivated by his words and the conviction in his eyes. “Have you ever seen one of these spirits?” I ask.

His eyes darken, a haunted look passing over his weathered features.

“Aye, I have,” he admits quietly. “Sometimes I hear screams, lamentations carried in the breeze. I’ve felt their icy touch in the dead of night. Things move but there ain’t no one there.”

I hug my mug of tea closer for comfort. The crackling of the fire seems to echo the pounding of my heart in the heavy silence that settles over the room.

As if sensing my unease, the groundsman rises from his seat and stokes the fire, and we watch for a moment as the flames lick at the wood logs.

“You should retire for the night,” he suggests gently. “I’ll be along shortly with your medicine, Miss.”

As I make my way up the grand staircase to my bedroom, the creaking floorboards beneath my feet seem to echo in the stillness of the house. The groundsman’s words about spirits and lost souls linger in my mind. Was I just another lost soul, wandering around this huge house?

Once inside my room, I close the heavy oak door behind me and draw the velvet curtains shut against the darkness outside. I quickly change into my nightgown and settle into the plush covers of the four-poster bed, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and apprehension.

As I lie there in the silence, my thoughts drift back to theencounter in the woods and the mysterious figure I had seen. Who was it? And why did they vanish into thin air at the groundsman’s appearance?

Just as sleep begins to tug at my eyelids, there is a soft knock on my door, causing me to startle in bed.

“Come in,” I call out, knowing that it’s just the groundsman.

The door creaks open slowly, revealing the groundsman standing in the doorway with a small tray in hand.

“I brought your medicine,” he says softly, setting the tray down on my bedside table. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows on his weathered features, making him appear older than before.

“I don’t want them,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, surprising even me with my defiance as he holds out the tablets.

“It’s for your own good, Miss,” he insists, his voice gentle but firm. The groundsman’s gaze meets mine, his eyes shining with a mixture of concern and something else I can’t quite decipher.

Reluctantly, I reach out to take the pills from him, my fingers brushing against his roughened hand. A jolt of electricity shoots through me at the contact, and I jerk my hand back as if burned.

The groundsman’s expression remains impassive as he watches me closely, as if waiting for something. I reach for my glass of water on the bedside table, considering what I can do.

“Drink up,” he urges quietly.

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