Page 5 of Scary In Love
“I suppose you’ll want to know who I am then?” he huffs, then imitates a hacking cough right over Peter’s shoes. At least, I think it’s fake.
“Yes, please,” I nod eagerly.
“I’m not him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Jessop’s the name. Been working for the Miller family for as long as I can remember, you know? Seen it all. Heard it all, too.” He leans in close. “Every wicked word. Even when they think I’m not listening, I am.”
He taps the side of his nose and gives me a conspiratorial wink.
“And trust me, we know all about your gossiping and yammering about‘Old Man Miller’all over town, but none of you really knew, did ya?”
Weaving the fictional experience with the very real and mysterious lore is a smart move. I still have no idea what’s about to happen.
“All these years you thought there was just one man living here, but there was a whole family for a time, and they’re just waiting to meet ya. Look.”
He beckons us into a dim hallway, lifting his lantern to illuminate a gallery wall of family portraits. Men, women, children. The attention to detail is incredible.
“Lady Miller was beautiful, wasn’t she?” he says, hovering over a wedding day portrait. “Was the best wedding we’d ever seen round these parts. Everyone agreed. Picture in the paper and all.”
I follow him, studying the portraits closely, captivated by his storytelling. I swear one painting blinks, and I hold my breath to see if it does it again.
“The good Lady had a sister move in with her, the husband too, and there were children. Oh, so many children. Should have been a blessing, but Miller, well, he was never much of a people person. And he just loved ’em so much he wanted to keep ’em all for himself. Tucked away and out of reach of the evils of this world. Closed the curtains. Locked the doors. The boy—”
“What boy?” I ask, and he whips his head round.
“Oh, wait until you meet the boy,” he cackles. “Never seen the light of day. So pale you’d think you’d seen a ghost. Floats around this place, all quiet like. But his thoughts? They’re dark as pitch, and if he catches you…”
Peter makes a mewling sound. “I don’t want to be caught by the boy.”
“You’ll never hear him coming,” Jessop tells us, his voice turning sinister as he waggles one haggard, bony finger in our faces. “But he’s not the only one you want to watch out for. You see, terrible things happen to people when they’re hidden away their whole lives. Their bodies may be long gone, but their poor, poor souls… They’ll be stuck here forever.”
“Jesus Christ,” Peter mutters.
“Jesus won’t help you here,” Jessop snaps. “This could have been a house full of love and happiness and laughter, but old Miller messed with their heads. Turned ’em cruel and wicked. Spiteful and mean. Tricksters, the lot of ’em. And they love to play games, so tread carefully.”
He takes a step towards us. Peter takes two back, but I refuse to move, even though my adrenaline is thumping. I love this.
“Best keep your wits about you, and a word of warning that you didn’t hear from me. Whatever they offer you, say no. These are people who’ll be kind to your face while spittin’ in your tea. Oh, they’ll take offence, no doubt, but they’ve no respect for themselves, or each other. And definitely not for the likes of you, Miss.”
He leans in close and sniffs my neck. My pulse sings. I’m not turned on by this guy, but I’m definitely stimulated in other ways.
It’s not that it’s sexy, but it is intimidating, and like I said, I’m a revolting creep. The line between fearing getting hurt and being excited by the loss of control isn’t so much a line, but a big grey expansefor me. I hold my head high, defiant, and a small smirk appears on his face.
“Oh yes, the eldest son will love you.”
He does the same to Peter, and for the briefest second, I think he’s about to lick his cheek. Haunt actors are strictly hands off, but good ones will make you forget that and play on your fears.
“And you,” he sneers. “You keep your filthy hands to yourself or you’ll never see the sky again.”
“I want to go home,” Peter says.
“You are home,” Jessop drawls, moving behind us and hustling us along to the end of the corridor. “Go on then. You mustn’t keep the lady of the house waiting.”
Peter refuses to budge, so I shove him ahead of me.
“I don’t want to go in there,” he whimpers, and I roll my eyes.
Yep, I’m definitely the protector here.
“Peter, it’s fine. Nothing bad will happen to us. It’s all acting, remember? Just stay close behind me.”
