Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet)
Prologue
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
I just wanted to make it clear that this book belongs to its original writer which means H.D. Carlton.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
I'm just writing it here as some people can't really read it online. Including me.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
So I'm gonna write it here for people's and my ease.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
The pictures used in this and storyline is not mine. So, kindly keep that in mind.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
Also, feel free to ask any type of question you have in your mind.
The windows of my house tremble from the power of thunder rolling across the skies. Lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the night. In that small moment, the few seconds of blinding light showcases the man standing outside my window. Watching me. Always watching me.
I go through the motions, just like I always do. My heart skips a beat and then palpitates, my breathing turns shallow, and my hands grow clammy. It doesn’t matter how many times I see him, he always pulls the same reaction out of me.
I don’t know why it excites me. Something must be wrong with me. It’s not normal for liquid heat to course through my veins, leaving tingles burning in its wake. It’s not common for my mind to start wondering about things I shouldn’t.
Can he see me now? Wearing nothing but a thin tank top, my nípplé$ are poking through the material? Or the shorts I’m wearing that barely cover my a$$? Does he like the view?
That’s why he watches me, isn’t it? That’s why he comes back every night, growing bolder with his leering while I silently challenge him. Hoping he’ll come closer, so I have a reason to put a knife to his throat.
The truth is, I’m scared of him. Terrified, actually.
But the man standing outside my window makes me feel like I’m sitting in a dark room, a single light shining from the television where a horror flick plays on the screen. It’s petrifying, and all I want to do is hide, but there’s a distinct part of me that keeps me still, baring myself to the horror. That finds a small thrill out of it.
It’s dark again, and the lightning strikes in areas further away.
My breathing continues to escalate. I can’t see him, but he can see me.
Ripping my eyes away from the window, I turn to look behind me in the darkened house, paranoid that he’s somehow found a way inside. No matter how deep the shadows go in Parsons Manor, the black and white checkered floor always seems visible.
I inherited this house from my grandparents. My great-grandparents had built the three-story Victorian home back in the early 1940s through blood, sweat, tears, and the lives of five construction workers.
Legend says—or rather Nana says—that the house caught fire and killed the construction workers during the building structure phase. I haven't been able to find any news articles on the unfortunate event, but the souls that haunt the Manor reek of despair.
Nana always told grandiose stories that wrung eye rolls from my parents. Mom never believed anything Nana said, but I think she just didn’t want to.
Sometimes I hear footsteps at night. They could be from the ghosts of the workers who died in the tragic fire eighty years ago, or they could be from the shadow that stands outside my house.
The Manipulator¹
Sometimes I have very dark thoughts about my mother—thoughts no sane daughter should ever have.
Sometimes, I’m not always sane.
𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
📲 Addie, you’re being ridiculous.
Mom says through the speaker on my phone. I glare at it in response, refusing to argue with her. When I have nothing to say, she sighs loudly. I wrinkle my nose. It blows my mind that this woman always called Nana dramatic yet can’t see her own flair for the dramatics.
𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
📲 Just because your grandparents gave you the house doesn’t mean you have to actually live in it.
𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
📲 It’s old and would be doing everyone in that city a favor of it were torn down.
I thumped my head against the headrest, rolling my eyes upward and trying to find patience weaved into the stained roof of my car.
How did I manage to get ketchup up there?
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
📲 And just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t live in it.
My mother is a bít¢h. Plain and simple. She’s always had a chip on her shoulder, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
📲 You’ll be living an hour from us! That will be incredibly inconvenient for you to come visit us, won’t it?
Oh, how will I ever survive?
Pretty sure my gynecologist is an hour away, too, but I still make an effort to see her once a year. And those visits are far more painful.
I reply, popping the P. I’m over this conversation. My patience only lasts an entire sixty seconds talking to my mother. After that, I’m running on fumes and have no desire to put in any more effort to keep the conversation moving along.
If it’s not one thing, it’s the other. She always manages to find something to complain about. This time, it’s my choice to live in the house my grandparents gave to me. I grew up in Parsons Manor, running alongside the ghosts in the halls and baking cookies with Nana. I have fond memories here—memories I refuse to let go of just because Mom didn’t get along with Nana.
I never understood the tension between them, but as I got older and started to comprehend Mom’s sneakiness and underhanded insults for what they were, it made sense.
Nana always had a positive, sunny outlook on life, viewing the world through rose-coloured glasses. She was always smiling and humming, while Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vàgínå. I don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine—she was never raised to be a prickly bít¢h.
Growing up, my mom and dad had a house only a mile away from Parsons Manor. She could barely tolerate me, so I spent most of my childhood in this house. It wasn’t until I left for college that Mom moved out of town an hour away. When I quit college, I moved in with her until I got back on my feet and my writing career took off.
And when it did, I decided to travel around the country, never really settling in one place.
Nana died about a year ago, gifting me the house in her will, but my grief hindered me from moving into Parsons Manor. Until now.
Mom sighs again through the phone.
𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
📲 I just wish you had more ambition in life, instead of staying in the town you grew up in, sweetie.
𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴'𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁
📲 Do something more with your life than waste away in that house like your grandmother did. I don’t want you to become worthless like her.
A snarl overtakes my face, fury tearing throughout my chest.
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
📲 Hey, Mom?
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
📲 Fuck off.
I hang up the phone, angrily smashing my finger into the screen until I hear the telltale chime that the call has ended.
How dare she speak of her own mother that way when she was nothing but loved and cherished? Nana certainly didn’t treat her the way she treats me, that’s for dàmn sure.
I rip a page from Mom’s book and let loose a melodramatic sigh, turning to look out my side window. Said house stands tall, the tip of the black roof spearing through the gloomy clouds and looming over the vastly wooded area as if to say you shall fear me. Peering over my shoulder, the dense thicket of trees are no more inviting—their shadows crawling from the overgrowth with outstretched claws.
I shiver, delighting in the ominous feeling radiating from this small portion of the cliff. It looks exactly as it did from my childhood, and it gives me no less of a thrill to peer into the infinite blackness.
Parsons Manor is stationed on a cliffside overlooking the Bay with a mile-long driveway stretching through a heavily wooded area.
The congregation of trees separates this house from the rest of the world, making you feel like you’re well and truly alone.
Sometimes, it feels like you’re on an entirely different planet, ostracized from civilization. The whole area has a menacing, sorrowful aura.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
Well, I don't know if the characters really match with the story line I actually selected or not but, I will change it if it does not match with the time passes.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
For now let's just go with flow as I'm also reading it for the first time while writing.
The Manipulator²
The house has begun to decay, but it can be fixed up to look like new again with a bit of TLC. Hundreds of vines crawl up all sides of the structure, climbing towards the gargoyles stationed on the roof on either side of the manor.
The black siding is fading to a gray and starting to peel away, and the black paint around the windows is chipping like cheap nail polish. I’ll have to hire someone to give the large front porch a facelift since it’s starting to sag on one side.
The lawn is long overdue for a haircut, the blades of grass nearly as tall as me, and the three acres of clearing bursting with weeds. I bet plenty of snakes have settled in nicely since its last been mowed.
Nana used to offset the manor’s dark shade with blooms of colorful flowers during the spring season. Hyacinths, primroses, violas, and rhododendrons.
And in autumn, sunflowers would be crawling up the sides of the house, the bright yellows and oranges in the petals a beautiful contrast against the black siding.
I can plant a garden around the front of the house again when the season calls for it. This time, I’ll plant strawberries, lettuce, and herbs as well.
I’m deep in my musings when my eyes snag on movement from above. Curtains flutter in the lone window at the very top of the house.
Last time I checked, there’s no central air up there. Nothing should be able to move those curtains, but yet I don’t doubt what I saw.
Coupled with the looming storm in the background, Parsons Manor looks like a scene out of a horror film.
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, unable to stop the smile from forming on my face.
I can’t explain why, but I do.
Fú¢k what my mother says. I’m living here. I’m a successful writer and have the freedom to live anywhere. So, what if I decide to live in a place that means a lot to me? That doesn’t make me a lowlife for staying in my hometown.
I travel enough with book tours and conferences; settling down in a house won’t change that. I know what the fú¢k I want, and I don’t give a $hít what anyone else thinks about it.
Especially mommy dearest.
The clouds yawn, and rain spills from their mouths. I grab my purse and step out of my car, inhaling the scent of fresh rain. It turns from a light sprinkle to a torrential downpour in a matter of seconds.
I bolt up the front porch steps, flinging drops of water off my arms and shaking my body out like a wet dog.
I love storms—I just don’t like to be in them. I’d prefer to cuddle up under the blankets with a mug of tea and a book while listening to the rain fall.
I slide the key into the lock, and turn it. But it’s stuck, refusing to give me even a millimeter. I jimmy the key, wrestling with it until the mechanism finally turns and I’m able to unlock the door.
Guess I’m gonna have to fix that soon, too.
A chilling draft welcomes me as I open the door. I shiver from the mixture of freezing rain still wet on my skin and the cold, stale air. The interior of the house is cast in shadows. Dim light shines through the windows, gradually fading as the sun disappears behind gray storm clouds.
I feel as if I should start my story with…
𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈
It was a dark stormy night...
I look up and smile when I see the black ribbed ceiling, made up of hundreds of thin, long pieces of wood. A grand chandelier is hanging over my head, golden steel warped in an intricate design with crystals dangling from the tips. It’s always been Nana’s most prized possession.
The black and white checkered floors lead directly to the black grand staircase—large enough to fit a piano through sideways—and flow off into the living room. My boots squeak against the tiles as I venture further inside.
This floor is primarily an open concept, making it feel like the monstrosity of the home could swallow you whole.
The living area is to the left of the staircase. I purse my lips and look around, nostalgia hitting me straight in the gut. Dust coats every surface, and the smell of mothballs is overpowering, but it looks exactly how I last saw it, right before Nana died last year.
A large black stone fireplace is in the center of the living room on the far left wall, with red velvet couches squared around it.
An ornate wooden coffee table sits in the middle, an empty vase atop the dark wood. Nana used to fill it with lilies, but now it only collects dust and bug carcasses.
The walls are covered in black paisley wallpaper, offset by heavy golden curtains.
One of my favorite parts is the large bay window at the front of the house, providing a beautiful view of the forest beyond Parsons Manor.
Placed right in front of it is a red velvet rocking chair with a matching stool. Nana used to sit there and watch the rain, and she said her mother would always do the same.
The checkered tiling extends into the kitchen with beautiful black stained cabinets and marble countertops.
A massive island sits in the middle with black barstools lining one side. Grandpa and I used to sit there and watch Nana cook, enjoying her humming to herself as she whipped up delicious meals.
Shaking away the memories, I rush over to a tall lamp by the rocking chair and flick on the light. I release a sigh of relief when a buttery soft glow emits from the bulb. A few days ago, I had called to get the utilities turned on in my name, but you can never be too sure when dealing with an old house.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
Does it explain the situation better with pictures?
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
I tried to find the best pictures as I could and also I'm a little curious to read further.
𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖
So, I didn't search much but still enough to explain the situation?
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