*Hey all! Annabelle here with this third installment for you. As long as you keep showing me love in the comments and ratings, I will keep adding to the story.*
Chapter 03: Squatter's Rights
"Monsters. The guy who built this house collected monsters." Mike sat on the edge of the tub, Naia wrapping bandages around the deeper cuts on his body. He wore only his boxers, having stripped away his clothing. He was grateful that the bushes had caught him, but a bit miffed that they had taken their price in flesh.
"Yep. It started as an academic thing, but he had a really big heart. The world was changing too quick for us monsters to adapt, so he rescued as many of us as he could." Naia rubbed some Neosporin into a cut on his leg. Nymphs could do a lot of things, but healing magic was not one of them. "While there are people out there who would kill for the magic hidden in this house, the monsters here are a magical goldmine."
"How so?" He asked.
"Hard to answer. For instance, it wouldn't be hard to hold a nymph hostage and demand that she share her gifts. Cecilia's gifts wouldn't be worth much, because banshees only appear before someone dies, generally."
"Wait." Mike grabbed Naia's hand. "What do you mean banshees only appear before someone dies?"
"Cecilia is different. She'll appear to the owner of the house-it doesn't mean anything. She and Emily used to sit out there and watch the sunset a lot of evenings. Nobody needed to die, so don't worry about it." Naia dabbed some more Neosporin on his leg before wrapping it.
"Who built this place?" Mike asked. Naia froze, mid-wrap.
"I wish I could say." A tiny tear formed in the corner of her eye. "All I know is that I was extremely happy while he was here. Emily was nice and all, but I had a special bond with the man who built this place. It kills me that I can't remember him."
"But you remember Emily?" That was a mystery that he was going to have to think on. Why would the former owner need his identity kept a secret? How does one get into collecting monsters in the first place?
"Yeah, I do. And Natalie. She was our keeper before Emily. But the real master came before Bethany, and I can't even picture him." Naia sniffed, finishing the wrap on Mike's leg. "I wish I could remember."
"I hope you remember." Mike meant it. Anything she could remember was something he could use. The sooner the better. Seeing a banshee on the porch had spooked him, and bad. What other surprises did the house have for him? Naia made him feel good in so many ways, but was the trouble worth it?
"There. All better." Naia kissed him on the neck, sending chills down his spine. "Now go unclog my fountain. The sooner you do that, the sooner I can see the stars again."
"Fair enough. Thank you, Naia." Mike stood, tossing his bloodied clothes in a hamper by the bed. Cracking open his bags, he found a pair of athletic shorts and a clean shirt to wear. Walking down the stairs, he pondered the situation that had developed. Cecilia, the crazy bitch on his front porch, had nearly killed him for touching her swing. How many others like her were there? Was he going to get killed by something that was using a room as its lair?
He stared at the furniture, covered in white sheets. The house had been cleaned numerous times, and as far as he knew, no problems had ever been reported. Something to ask Beth. He found himself looking at the fireplace in the sitting room, some stray thought crossing his mind. Before he could focus on it, he heard the creak of the swing out front, the immediate memory of an angry banshee in his face sending chills down his spine.
Rubbing his face, he walked toward the back of the house, away from the sound of the swing. He walked to the kitchen table, grabbing the bucket and eager to go out back and deal with a problem he could handle. Lifting the bucket, he realized that it didn't feel quite right. Looking inside, he saw that it was empty.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" He shouted, throwing the bucket angrily. He sat down, putting his face in his hands. Should he go back to the store? It meant walking past the Swing of the Damned currently, and he knew he wasn't ready to deal with that. With a resigned sigh, Mike walked outside to the garden, hanging a left at the fountain. Key in hand, he unlocked the door to the garage, pushing it in.
Beth had warned him about the garage. Apparently his Great Aunt had been using it primarily for storage, and he immediately saw that the boxes had been piled high. He flicked on the light switch, which didn't actually help that much. The garage itself felt cavernous, somehow bigger than its two car capacity. The maze of boxes had him twisting to maneuver through them, hoping to make it to the other side. He expected to discover a tool bench on the opposite wall, and he was not disappointed. The bench was burdened with several boxes, so he lowered them to the ground.
"Fuck, these are heavy." He cracked open a couple boxes to reveal several paperback novels. The box he was looking in contained old sci-fi novels. He looked through the box, pulling aside a couple of classics that he intended to read for himself. He opened the next box, revealing a pile of romance novels.
"Bleh. Never mind." He closed the flap. Why were there so many books here? Pushing the thought from his mind, he got a good look at the tool bench. It had several drawers, all of which were empty when he opened them. Kneeling down, he opened the cabinet doors to reveal that they were also completely empty.
Who had a tool bench with no tools? Mike scratched his chin, double checking the drawers to make sure he saw right. He wondered if somebody had stolen them, but then thought of the girl on the front porch. If this place really had been built to harbor a monster collection, then ordinary thieves wouldn't have a chance. Looking at the boxes, he debated cracking them open, but was convinced that he would only find more books.
"Fuck, it's hot," he muttered, wiping sweat off his brow. The afternoon sun was turning the place into a bit of a sauna. He resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to leave the house again. Carefully moving through the stacks toward the door, he heard the sound of metal on concrete.
Mike froze in place, listening carefully. He closed his eyes, listening carefully. It was faint, but the sound of light fabric across concrete carried to him from the back of the garage. He moved slowly, quietly, maneuvering around the stacks of boxes. A narrow gap between some boxes concealed a small hallway in the back of the garage. Mike breathed out, barely fitting between the stacks.
The hallway U-turned, revealing a flight of stairs that went beneath the garage. He descended the concrete steps, moving quietly. Toward the bottom of the steps, he heard it, the unintelligible mutterings of someone up ahead. The voice was raspy, but feminine. He ducked his head, the space just barely over five feet tall.
There was just enough light that he saw the pull-cord dangling from the ceiling. He yanked on it, casting light into the dark spaces beneath. Unlike the room above, this room had plenty of space. Boxes along the edge of the room had been decorated with dirty fabric, and it was immediately obvious that the room was originally intended for working on cars-large pit covers up above were sealed and locked shut. Along the back wall of the room was a tool bench littered with tools, and Mike immediately spotted the supplies he had bought earlier. Off to the side was a tiny bed. The muttering he had been listening to had vanished.
Of greater interest, however, was the short figure between him and the bench. It stood at around four feet, dark green skin covered in dirt and grime. It's hair was so dirty that Mike couldn't make out any color, but did notice that it had been pulled to the side in a wild ponytail. The sudden light had frozen it in place, casting a comical shadow along the back wall. The figure dropped what it had been holding-the screwdriver that Mike had purchased earlier.
Mike tried to process what he was looking at. It wasn't see thru, so not a ghost (thank God). Where could he even go from here, now that he had discovered the creature's den.
