Page 8 of Mated to the Monster Under my Bed
DANNI
A peek outside the Red Lion Inn showed me that the sun was beginning to get low on the horizon. If I was going to look for the vacant lot which might not be vacant, I ought to go do it now, I decided.
Wrapping my robe tightly around me for warmth, I made my way down the porch steps and back out onto the sidewalk. I could have walked in the middle of Main Street if I wanted too—I didn’t see any cars or busses anywhere—but I wanted to be able to read the addresses on the shops as I went to be sure I was going the right way.
After one wrong start, I turned myself around and headed in the other direction and the numbers started going the right way. I passed by the grocery store, what looked like a bath boutique, and an old-fashioned looking general store before I came to a few regular houses. Well, I say “regular” but all of them had a kind of otherworldly vibe about them. You could well believe that supernatural creatures lived there—not plain humans.
Speaking of being a plain human, that’s what I was—wasn’t I? I didn’t care what Goody Albright said, there was no way I was a witch.
Are you sure about that? It was that same, irritating little voice I’d been hearing ever since I woke up that morning. What about the engine of Duke’s car that time? What about the time the wind knocked Geordie Baker over when he was bullying you? Or the time?—
“Enough!” I said aloud. I was very aware of the memories that were trying to crowd my head—I was pushing them back as hard as I could. A lot of weird and unpleasant things had happened to me when I was a kid and I had worked hard to forget them.
I kept walking and a moment later I saw the address on a house that read, “1207.” Since the even numbers were across the street, the next house should be 1209. But when I walked a little further and looked…there was nothing there. Just a white wooden picket fence around an empty yard.
I don’t know what I had been expecting—that there would be a cozy cottage waiting just for me? But I couldn’t help feeling a burst of disappointment as I put a hand on the gate. There was no place for me here in Hidden Hollow. I would have to go back to Goody Albright and beg her to find me a room for the night. And then I would have to find a way home. Which was probably for the best. After all, I couldn’t just leave the real world behind to live in some fantasy land where fairy tale creatures walked around in broad daylight and?—
My thoughts cut off abruptly as something strange started happening in the empty lot. First it was just a shimmer which I could barely see. But then it grew and grew until the whole yard seemed to be filled with silver sparkles.
And then the sparkles seemed to solidify into a shape. A moment later, the shape turned out to be a house. Or rather, a cozy little cottage which was actually trimmed in thatch like something out of a fairy tale.
I stared in amazement. Honestly, the whole appearance had reminded me of one of those old episodes of Star Trek where they used the transporter to beam down to a planet. Only instead of a person, a whole house had just appeared out of mid-air.
I looked at the neat little place, which showed no signs of neglect. The thatched roof looked fresh and new, and the outer walls were painted a warm honey-color. There were window boxes in front of both the front windows filled with a riot of petunias and perennials. The front door was round—just like the door of a hobbit hole—and it was painted emerald green.
Along with the house, a front walkway had arrived. It was lined with the same kinds of flowers I saw in the two flower boxes. And then the front gate swung open, as though it was inviting me in.
I stared in disbelief. Could this charming little cottage actually be my Grandma’s old house? If so, why would she leave it? I had vague memories of my grandfather, who had died back when I was just seven or eight. He was a nice enough old man, but just look at this place—it was adorable. I didn’t think I’d leave it for any man.
But before I could leave, I had to find out if I could stay. Goody Albright had said if my key fit in the lock, it was mine to claim. I needed to see if it fit.
Heart pounding, I slid the second, smaller key—still on its silver link chain—over my head and walked down the front walk. There were two little steps that led up to the front door and they creaked in a friendly way as I stepped on them.
I slid the second key into the keyhole, and it turned easily, twisting in a smooth circle that ended in a small click as the lock opened. And then, as though it had been waiting for me, the round green door swung open, revealing a cozy-looking living room.
“Welcome home, child,” I thought I heard a whisper breathe in my ear. And then I stepped over the threshold and into the house that was, apparently, mine.
7
DANNI
I know I keep using the word “cozy” to describe the cottage I had apparently inherited, but that’s exactly how it felt inside.
The living area had walls lined with bookshelves. There were a few books there, but mostly they were empty. The perfect place to put both my collection of books and my knitting paraphernalia, I caught myself thinking. I had a whole craft room back home crammed with different kinds of wool and knitting needles and everything else you need to be a semi-professional crafter. (I’ve heard someone say once that buying new crafting supplies and actually doing the crafting are two separate hobbies and I tend to agree.)
Besides the shelves, there was a roomy overstuffed couch upholstered in sturdy, faded denim. It was studded with crimson, dark green, and burnt orange cushions, all with a button in the center which made them look a little like plump, colorful donuts.
Across from the couch were two chairs, also upholstered in denim. It may sound like a strange choice, but for some reason it really worked. The walls were cream colored and the ones that weren’t covered by shelves had posters with different knitting stitches detailed on them. I wandered closer to the shelves beside the fireplace, where a low flame was crackling, and saw there were stacks of knitting patterns.
Well that makes sense—it was Grandma who taught you how to knit in the first place, that little voice whispered in my head. And suddenly I remembered her doing exactly that—sitting beside me and patiently guiding my fingers as I worked the needles for the first time.
“Wow…” I whispered to myself. I had forgotten that. It was one of the good memories from my childhood. I wondered randomly if I had suppressed more good memories in my effort to keep the bad ones hidden as well.
The living room was surprisingly spacious, considering the size of the cottage. It could have held another couch and several more chairs if need-be. Though what need would I have to add even more chairs? I didn’t even really know anyone in Hidden Hollow yet, so I wasn’t sure why that thought popped into my head.
A warm smell coming from the kitchen at the back of the house caught my attention and made me leave the living room. As I entered the warm, homey room I realized the smell was baking bread. I opened the oven and sure enough—a brown, crusty loaf was right there.
I frowned—did that mean there was someone else here in the cottage? There must be, right? I mean, how else could there be a fire in the living room fireplace and a loaf of bread in the oven? Also, was the bread done? It looked done and I remember my Grandma saying, “When you can smell it baking, it’s almost done,” when teaching me how to bake. Wow—there was another memory I had forgotten about.
