Page 28 of Grotesque Love

This isn’t real.

This is the result of the groundsman’s stories. And stories are all they are.

There’s no such thing as spirits.

Monsters don’t exist.

There’s nothing out there that can hurt you…

Choking, I wake, sitting bolt upright in bed, struggling to catch my breath.

What on earth was that?

I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and it comes away wet. I’m soaked, my nightgown sticking to my legs when I try to kick off the covers.

What a horrible dream. A cool breeze caresses my skin and I shiver even as I welcome it.

That’s when I notice the drapes stirring in the breeze coming from the open window. What is going on?

The door is also open…just like in my dream.

I glance around the room, letting the early morning light chase away the remnant shadows of the dream.

The open window draws my attention like a magnet and as I approach, my eyes land on something beyond the windowpane.

The manor house had been built hundreds of years ago, and expanded over the centuries. My room looks out across the moors towards the sea, but it also overlooked other parts of the house.

There, perched on the edge of a sill almost directly opposite my room, is another gargoyle statue. With a mixture of awe and wonder, I lean closer, studying the intricate details of the statue’s craftsmanship.

Its eyes, though carved from unyielding stone, seem to gleam with a hint of warmth, as though they hold some hidden secret waiting to be uncovered.

It’s not scary or fearsome like the bathroom gargoyle was. This one seems…softer somehow. Gentler. To my surprise, the gargoyle’s expression seems to shift, its stony features softening even further.

Driven by an impulse I can’t quite explain, I push the window open wider and lean out onto the ledge. The gargoyle gazes downat me with a steady, unwavering gaze, its presence somehow comforting.

“Miss? It’s time for your medicine,” the groundskeeper calls as he climbs the staircase.

I snort to myself. Warm gargoyles?

Maybe I really am crazy.

Mr. Danvers left after giving me my pills this morning, grumbling about going into town. I’m strangely grateful for my nightmare, because he didn’t stand over me this time, clearly thinking that I’d be docile and exhausted.

I’m feeling more like myself than I have in a long time. And so, the plant pot is hiding yet another secret in the dirt and I’m dressed in another pretty dress. This one stops just before my knees and is a pale buttery colour.

Once Mr. Danver’s Jeep vanishes down the long driveway into the woods, my morning is only getting better.

I make my way downstairs, where I find a container of yoghurt and fresh fruit in the fridge with my name scrawled on a scrap of paper stuck to the lid. Delicious.

Then Carver calls, leaving a message to say that he is going to be delayed in London for the rest of the week. He tells me to behave, listen to the groundskeeper and most importantly…take my meds like a good little princess.

I’m glad I’m not expected to speak to him, I’m reluctant to give him more of my words when I’m only just starting to get them back. I’m not going to swallow anything other than the food in the fridge.

My appetite is coming back with a vengeance, and after spending a few hours wandering around the huge rooms, I find myself back in the kitchen making a late lunch.

It’s strange, cooking after so long, so I turn on a small radio,ignoring the news of a missing woman in Devon, and an octopus who escaped a zoo, as I season some chicken breasts and make a simple salad.

After eating my fill, I make myself strawberry tea and wander around the solarium while my food settles before coming back into the kitchen. Rinsing my empty mug and washing up the dishes I used to make my lunch, I decide it’s time to venture back outside.

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