Page 15 of Spooked
"Hence the Gothic overkill," she says with a smile.
"Exactly." I find myself relaxing slightly. "It's been in the family ever since, though it fell into disrepair for a while. When I...came back from overseas, it was basically derelict.”
"And you restored it."
"I needed a project. Something to focus on besides..." I trail off and she nods.
She leans forward. "How did you come up with the haunted attraction concept?"
"Necessity," I say honestly. "Restoration costs were astronomical. I needed income, and the place already looked like something from a horror movie. It seemed apropos."
"The monster in the haunted house?"
I nod. "If people are going to see me as a beast anyway," I say carefully, "I might as well profit from it."
"Is that how you see yourself?"
The question catches me off guard. I stare into the fire, watching sparks rise up the chimney. "How else would you describe this?" I gesture toward my masked face.
"As evidence," she says softly.
I look up sharply. "Evidence of what?"
"Of bravery. Sacrifice. The price paid for saving others." Her eyes hold mine steadily. "Ghost told me, you know. How you saved your men."
Anger flares. "He had no right to tell you."
"Maybe not," she concedes. "But I'm glad he did. Because it proves what I suspected from the moment I met you."
"And what's that?" My voice comes out harsher than intended.
"That the real monster of Marsden Manor is pure fiction. A character you play. The real Wolfe Marsden is a hero who's been hiding behind a mask so long he's forgotten there's a difference."
Her words strike something deep inside me, something that's been dormant for years. My eyes burn and I stand abruptly, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. "You don't know me."
"But I'd like to," she says simply.
I turn to face her. "Why?"
"Because I'm drawn to you. You’re smart, witty, and artistic.” The honesty in her voice is disarming. “And I think you’re incredibly sexy."
Did she just say sexy?
I swallow hard.
The tension between us pulls taut like a wire ready to snap. I should remind her that she's here for an assignment, nothing more. I should keep my distance as I have for all this time.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Show me the photos you took today."
She hesitates, confusion on her face, before reaching for her camera. “Sure.”
I move to her chair, leaning over as she activates the display. The first image appears—the gallery fog, ethereal and mysterious, not capturing fear but a strange, otherworldly beauty.
I find myself captivated not by the images themselves, though yes, they are extraordinary, but by how she's captured the manor. Not as a haunted house of horrors, but as a place of dark wonder. Through her lens, the theatrical elements I've created become art rather than mere scares.
"You have a unique perspective," I say, genuinely enthralled.
"I hope so. That's what makes a good photographer." She looks up at me, our faces suddenly very close. "Seeing what others miss."
