Luxuria Dark Reflections Ep 01

Episode 1: Welcome Home

The car glided down the curved driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel that had long since surrendered to the encroaching weeds, and came to a stop. Emma and John stepped out, their hearts pounding with excitement and anticipation as they stood hand-in-hand in front of the towering Victorian house. It loomed before them, a majestic yet neglected silhouette against the backdrop of the pale winter sky, its once vibrant colors dulled by years of disregard. The overgrown garden, with its tangled vines, bushes with gnarled branches, and desiccated wildflowers clinging lifelessly, wrapped around the house.

"Look at this place!" Emma exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with wonder as they surveyed the intricate architecture--the gothic motifs, the steeply pitched roofs, and the ornamental trim. This place was loved by someone, once. "It's like something out of a storybook."

"More like a horror novel," John chuckled nervously. He brushed his dark hair off his forehead, then quickly added, "My aunt and uncle found this place and lived here for...something like twenty years." His eyes wandered around the facade as memories of happier times played at the corner of his mouth. "We came here a lot when I was growing up. My aunt and uncle loved this place." Then his grin faded, "But I think they were in over their head. They left, vanished, a couple of years ago, and this was left abandoned. My parents wanted nothing to do with it."

"Vanished? Like a mid-life crisis?" Emma asked as she started to walk around, admiring the house.

John's eyes, shadowed, looked down as something flashed through his mind. He drew in a deep breath then leaned back against the car, folded his arms over his chest, and brought his eyes back to Emma. He smiled. She looked like a kid waiting anxiously outside for the candy store to open. "Don't know," he finally replied. "About three, four years ago we noticed tension building between them. My parents said they were struggling with money, couldn't afford the mortgage, and taxes; and supposedly, barely had enough money to feed themselves. It got to a point where they hid from everyone. We didn't hear from them for about a year, wouldn't let anyone come by. And never responded to calls or texts. Then..." Again his mind drifted as he looked up at the house.

"Then?" Emma walked excitedly back up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and looked up at him. It seemed like something was gnawing at him, wanting to be said but held back. "What happened?" concern at the corner of her eyes.

"Then, seemingly overnight, they were back in the world of the living." His face brightened, the dark cloud of memories had passed, and smiled down at her. "They were happy and full of so much energy and love. More so, actually. Aunt Clara and uncle Thomas were pretty reserved people. Suddenly they were kissing and teasing each other everywhere they went. Sometimes it was a bit much, a spank here, a pinch there, as one or the other whispered into the other's ear with a flick of their tongue." John laughed to himself. "Shit, sometimes those whispers were not so quiet. I remember I had just got off work, this was a couple of months before I knew you, and my aunt and uncle invited me and my parents over for dinner. Well, I think what turned their life around was them finally letting loose their inhibitions and enjoying...well, enjoying more of the taboo."

John looked into Emma's eyes and raised his eyebrows as he said those last words. "We were sitting around the table, aunt Clara was bringing plates out to the table and had just set uncle Thomas's plate down when she cried out, standing back up quickly, she smacked my uncle across his face. My parents and I sat stunned in silence as my uncle brought his hand out from under my aunt's dress, licked his fingers, and said, rather casually, 'More please.' Well, I had never seen my mom and dad turn so red before. I couldn't contain myself and laughed out loud. My aunt pressed her hands down her dress as she looked at my uncle and said, 'Only good boys get their dessert.' As she walked back into the kitchen my uncle winked at me with a devilish grin on his face."

"They were getting a little frisky?"

He nodded, his voice softening as he spoke. "They certainly were. Maybe even more than they should have been, but it was a good thing. They appeared happier than I'd ever known them to be." His words trailed off, accompanied by a bittersweet smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"You miss them?" The question came gently, almost hesitantly.

"Yes, I do," he confessed quietly, a wistful note in his voice.

Emma looked up at him as she tried to think of something to brighten his mood. "They just disappeared, huh?" He looked down at her as if her question was more accusatory. "I think those lovebirds, finally realized how boring your parents are, of this small town, and of all the pleasurable fun they kept from each other all these years, that they said, 'Fuck it,' and are probably laying naked on a white sand beach enjoying those sweet deserts." She brought a hand down and squeezed John's crotch.

He smiled down at her, then kissed her. "I hope you are right." Doubt laced those words.

"Of course they are." She took his hands in hers and walked backward, pulling him, towards the door of the Victorian house. "This place needs some serious work, but I can see the potential." She squeezed his hand, urging him closer. "Think of all the amazing memories we could create here. A bed and breakfast--our dream!"

"You're right," he said as he started walking.

Yet, as they moved toward the house, toward the front door that lay deep within the shadowed porch, a chill crept along Emma's spine, a faint but undeniable sense of something forbidden settling in her chest. She didn't feel it before, but as she drew closer to the house it seeped in. The heavy, tantalizing allure of that dark stranger teasing you and piquing your curiosity, and the unknown dread that lurks in their shadow hung in the air. An ominous cloud that seemed to grow denser as they got closer to the house. To Emma, it offered a welcome that was as enticing as it was malevolent.

John seemed to be revived by it as they drew closer. Shaking off the fog weighing him down, he grew excited. "Are you ready for this?" John asked, tilting his head to gaze into her green eyes, searching for any signs of doubt.

"Yeah, I am," Emma replied, though her voice wavered slightly.

They stepped onto the porch, their footsteps echoing against the hollow wood planks that groaned under the weight of their bodies. The structure seemed to protest their intrusion, the sound of their arrival cutting through the silence like a blade. The porch was a graveyard of neglect; dried leaves had piled in the corners, trapped by the wind and left to decay. Cobwebs hung from the eaves in delicate, complex patterns, that bellowed slowly in a slight breeze.

The front door loomed before them. Darkness seeped through the windows, the panes clouded with a thick patina of dust and dirt, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the filthy veil. It was as if the house itself sought to hide from the scrutiny of the outside world, cloaking its interior in shadows that whispered of mysteries untold. John reached out, unlocked the door, and opened it. The door creaked open. Before them, the shadow-draped foyer stretched into the bowels of the house.