Page 46 of Grotesque Love

Quickly, I finish my breakfast, washing my plate and knife and leaving them on the draining rack. I decide to use the doors in the solarium to head outside, so that I can check on the plants on my way past. I’ve made a start, but the space needs a lot more work. Today though, it will have to wait.

Making my way out into the garden, I look back at the house and, shielding my eyes from the brightness of the day with my hand, look up and scour the statues, my heart pounding with anticipation.

My eyes flick from one gargoyle to another, never having noticed how many there are before now, searching for any signs of movement or connection. As the sun peeks through the clouds, casting a warm glow on the statues, I can’t help but marvel at their artistry. Their chiselled faces and grizzly expressions bring a sense of life. It sounds silly, but none of them seem like they’re ‘mine’.

Maybe I did imagine everything. The doubt creeps in once more, eating away at my confidence, but I refuse to back down. I have to find out the truth.

As I enter one of the overgrown gardens, I spot more hidden amongst the greenery. With one of the gargoyles, I can’t help but notice a slight misalignment in the stone. It’s barely perceptible, but it’s there. I reach out, running my fingers over the rough surface. The stone is almost warm to the touch, despite the cool air.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I find myself memorising the statue’s details. Curved wings, vicious fangs, sharp claws, and a fierce expression – it’s a monster from the depths of many people’s nightmares.

But not mine.

I stand there for a moment, captivated by the statue, my mind racing with all the possibilities. Maybe the monsters are real. Maybe this manor is haunted. Maybe it’s all just my imagination, my sickness manifesting in the form of horny creatures with wing slits and big dicks. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore which one is the truth.

“Good morning, Miss.”

Surprised, I spin to face the groundskeeper, who stands with a knowing smile on his craggy face. I don’t know how to take him. He's been with Carver for years and probably knows more than he lets on, but I’m yet to decide if he’s an ally or a spy. My gut is screaming at me not to trust him, but his actions seem to suggest that I might be able to reach his softer side.

“Morning,” I reply, slightly breathless from the fright he gave me.

“What’s got you out here so early?" he inquires, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Caught off guard, I stammer, “Oh, just...checking on things.”

He nods, not buying it for a moment. “Maybe you could keep an eye on the rose bushes. They’re looking a bit wilted.”

I manage a smile, grateful for the distraction. “I will, thanks.”

Turning back to studying the stone statues on the building, I expect him to leave, but I’m startled when he speaks again and he’s suddenly standing much closer than before.

“They’re works of art, are they not?” He tilts his face up towards where I’m staring.

I find myself nodding, “Actually, can I ask you something?”

“Ask away, Miss.”

“What’s the difference between a umm gargoyle and a…grotesque, is it?”

“The gargoyles are the ones with water spouts, designed to carry rainwater away from the building,” the groundskeeper explains, gesturing towards one of the statues that indeed has a spout in its mouth. “Grotesques, on the other hand, are purely decorative and don’t serve any functional purpose whatsoever.”

I think back to last night, the large grotesque teasing the mouthy one – Mal – about being a gargoyle, but how Mal was proud of the fact that the other two couldn’tgargle for shit.He seemed proud that he served a purpose.

As Mr Danvers continues to talk about the history and symbolism behind each statue, I find myself getting more engrossed in his words. He speaks with such passion and knowledge, it’s hard not to be drawn in.

“Have you ever seen these statues move?” I blurt out, unable to keep my curiosity contained any longer.

“Move? No, Miss.” The groundskeeper pauses, his expression unreadable for a moment before he chuckles softly. “Statues are known for their stillness.”

I nod slowly, aware that I sound more than a little unhinged, but there’s something more to these statues. I can’t shake the feeling that he knows more than he’s letting on. But before I can press further, he interrupts me with a question of his own.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

“Me? Yes. Why?”

“You appear to have…a bruise of some sort…” He points. “On your neck.”

My hands fly to my neck, immediately feeling the tender spot where the quiet, reverent one kissed and nibbled at me last night. Why didn’t I notice a mark earlier when I looked in the mirror?

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