Chapter 1,part-1

Sometimes I have very dark thoughts about my mother—

thoughts no sane daughter should ever have.

Sometimes, I’m not always sane.

“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.

“Just because your grandparents gave you the house doesn’t

mean you have to actually live in it. It’s old and would be doing

everyone in that city a favor if it were torn down.”

I thump 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?

“And just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean I can’t live in

it,” I retort dryly.

My mother is a bitch. Plain and simple. She’s always had a

chip on her shoulder, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.

“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.

“Nope,” 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 snarkiness and underhanded

insults for what they were, it made sense.

Nana always had a positive, sunny outlook on life, viewing the

world through rose-colored 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 vagina. I don’t know why her personality

never developed past that of a porcupine—she was never raised

to be a prickly bitch.

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. “I just wish you had more

ambition in life, instead of staying in the town you grew up in,

sweetie. 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.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?”

“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 damn 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.

And I fucking love it.

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 it’s 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 rhododendron.

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.

The attic.

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 love that.

I can’t explain why, but I do.

Fuck 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 fuck I want, and I don’t give a shit 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 “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.

TO BE CONTINUED

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***