Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Autumn

M y phone buzzes on the nightstand next to my bed and wakes me from the nap I had to take after work today. Despite being nothing out of the ordinary, the morning shift felt harder than usual.

The text messages pour in from Julie. I sit up, shaking the grogginess that's threatening to take over. While I love napping, I try not to go for over an hour or I’ll be up all night.

Julie

Did your headache go away?

Julie

Still going for a run?

Julie

Don’t sleep too long, or you’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow!

She knows me well.

Autumn

I’m up five minutes early because of you. And yes, I’m going running. I need to clear my head.

Julie

Alex still under your skin?

Autumn

Who?

Julie

Nice try.

He has been lingering in the back of my mind for the last two weeks. I know I said I never wanted to see his chiseled face again, but I search for him in crowds. With a single glance, that man buried his asshole self into me, and I can't shake it. I can’t shake him because he’s the man of my dreams in the goddamn flesh.

But he was a jerk and lied about my coffee. I don’t understand why and I want to know.

I grab the little notebook Julie gave me and have successfully written a haiku per day, noticing Alex has taken center stage. Fuck, I’m doomed.

He's under my skin

Haunting me like a damn ghost.

Floating in my mind.

I slide out of bed and put on my workout clothes. After I shove my phone into the deep pocket of my leggings, I stretch. This is the only time my mind is clear, and I need it.

Once my earbuds are in, I wrap the bear spray holster around my waist and leave. Whoever invented this running belt is a genius. I've only had to draw it once while out in the early morning.

Music floats out the wide-open glass doors of Vinyl Vibes, a new and used record shop I live above. It smells like lavender incense and old paper. Classic cars slowly cruise the main drag with their windows down. The locals love being outside in September, especially as the temperatures continue to fall.

I cross the street toward the trail, watching leaves rustle across the sidewalk. After the breakup, I cried every day as I ran. Then, one day, no more tears fell. But sometimes I pushed so hard my body wanted to break as much as my heart. Running told me I was still alive. I knew I’d survive when I felt like dying.

Once I'm at the base of the mountain, I start my smart watch. If I keep a steady pace, I’ll be home well before dark.

It’s two miles each way, and I do this three to five days per week. It makes me feel good, a mental reset of sorts.

My feet are light under my body and I keep my focus forward. I won’t stop until I’m at the top, breathing in the clean air and taking in the view from the lookout. At night, it's a typical make-out spot.

With little effort, I pick up my pace, passing a few walkers on the wide path. At the halfway mark, the trail turns into a single track that weaves through the dense forest. The cool autumn breeze brushes against my cheeks as I listen to my kick-ass playlist packed with up-tempo songs.

I push harder, wanting my thoughts to vanish. It’s almost like I’m in a trance as my attention skirts over the rays of sunlight reflecting through the branches, painting the ground.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, after an uphill run, I’m at the top of the lookout with burning lungs. I stand with my hands resting on my head, taking in the view of the distant mountains and gondolas that are carrying people to the resort. Some dark clouds loom to the west, but they might dissipate before it makes it here.

As I try to cool down, a few tourists stop me.

“Excuse me, can you take our picture?”

“Sure,” I tell them as the woman hands me her phone.

There’s a sign that shows the elevation at the lookout point and the three of them stand beside it. They look exhausted. I remember the first time I hiked up it at eleven years old. I thought my heart would explode because it’s a constant uphill climb. Going down is easier.

I take several pictures in different orientations for them then hand her phone back to her.

“Thank you,” the lady says and I give her a smile. When I glance over the woman’s shoulder, a flicker in the distance pulls my attention away.

“No problem! Have fun!” Then, I focus upward.

The lights are glowing in Hollow Manor, the black mansion that’s rumored to be haunted by a woman and her two children. All murdered by their father, who disappeared soon after. It’s eerie to see the house lit up. The yellow lights in the windows are like eyes.

I stare for a few seconds then blink hard to confirm I’m not imagining it.

In my younger years, I was obsessed with the lore of Hollow Manor and researched the place until I was blue in the face. I tried to find as much information as possible but always fell short. Many locals believe the owners of the ski resort covered up the truth because they were related. I’m unsure if any of that is true.

What I know is the house and land have been registered to a management company since it was built. The yard is always landscaped and the driveway is shoveled and cleared during the winter months, even though no vehicles have ever been seen coming or going. Not even maintenance workers or lawn care. It’s a mystery.

Maybe the ghosts maintain it? The thought makes me laugh.

The ski lift gives a perfect overview of the property and I’ve always been drawn to it with its black exterior and high pitch roofs, not to mention the eggplant-purple door.

I move closer behind the lookout informational sign and glance at the game trail that leads up to the house. It’s a steep climb, one I haven’t taken in over a decade. However, it doesn’t seem overgrown.

When we were teenagers, we'd hike up, drink tequila from the bottle, then dare someone to run up to the house and twist the knob. Each time I've done it, the door has always been locked, but I’d secretly hoped that it wouldn’t be.

The inside is a mystery to everyone and the dark curtains are usually drawn tight. Over the years, there have been pictures of the front of the house with a female figure standing in the upper window posted in our town gossip group on social media. I’ve never seen such things though.

As I turn around, I take in how many people are nearby. There are a lot because it’s one of the best places to see the seasons changing. At least I know if something happened, I could blow my rescue whistle for help.

I walk past some tourists snapping selfies of themselves with the yellow leaves shimmering in the breeze. The single-track trail leading up to the house looks well maintained, and it makes me wonder if the younger generation kept the tradition going.

After one quick glance at my watch and the time, I know I can make it to the top and back down here in forty-five minutes and be home by dark.

Nostalgia mixed with nosiness is a dangerous combination, but it takes hold and I make my way up. It's steeper than I remember, or maybe age has caught up with me. My heart rate increases, but it's great for endurance.

When I get there, I stop and stare at the house. I feel nineteen again. I'd come home from college for Halloween. We snuck up here and it made me homesick.

After moving away for undergrad and experiencing the city life, I decided I always want to live in Cozy Creek. I don’t want to be anywhere else in the world. This is home.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and open my camera, taking another picture. Seeing I have cell service, which is a miracle, I send it to Julie. The message hangs for a few seconds, and when hope is lost, it shows the delivery receipt at the bottom.

“She got it,” I say, checking my watch and laughing.

When I see her text bubble pop up, I wait with bated breath for her words to come in.

Julie

Are the lights on?

Autumn

Yes.

Julie

Maybe it's the ghost of the Hollow family.

Autumn

I'm going to check the door. See if it's unlocked.

Julie

What if someone is there?

Autumn

I'll introduce myself and ask them a million questions about the house and will finally solve the mystery of who owns it.

Julie

What if some weird man captures you and takes you to his dungeon? What will I tell the police?

Autumn

If you don’t hear from me in three hours, call the authorities, okay?

After it is delivered, my cell service drops.

Shit.

As I hold my phone up to the sky, I step out from the overhead canopy and search for one bar. When I look up over the peak, dark clouds move in. Random storms aren't uncommon at this altitude and I've been rained on more times than I can count, but this wasn't predicted. I have no rain gear with me.

Double shit.

Thunder roars in the distance and I look down at my watch. Sunset is in three hours. Sprinkles fall and I have one minute to decide. I can head down the mountain right now and potentially get soaked or wait it out on the porch of the house for thirty minutes.

I choose the less risky option because the last thing I need is to chafe.

The house sits in a clearing of bright green Bermuda that's mowed like a golf course. It has the best view of the gondolas and ski resort, and I stroll down the paved driveway that circles to the back of the house. My heart rate is calm as I cross the soft grass and take the wide cement steps. The gas lit lanterns flicker, and the moment I'm under the covered porch, the bottom falls out of the sky.

Calmly, I reach for the doorknob that I've twisted a hundred times over the years. When I turn it, the latch clicks and my adrenaline spikes. I stand frozen in place.

Then I glance around, searching for cameras just to make sure nothing has been installed. I suck in a deep breath, knowing that I have to enter or curiosity will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

Every warning bell blares in my head, but I ignore them. After a deep breath, I slowly open the door and enter. A gasp escapes me as I look up at the tall dark ceilings and long windows that line the fifteen-foot walls. Sunrays float across the wooden floor as rain splashes against the glass. A sweet cinnamon aroma fills the space and I don’t know what I expected to find here. Maybe a pile of skeletons? Regardless, it wasn’t this.

I tiptoe and laugh at myself, moving to a normal stride. It's so quiet my ears ring from the silence. If I yelled, my voice would echo back. Vintage images of the moon and stars are hung on the gray walls, a dark chandelier hangs from above, and I look up at the black marble staircase that belongs in a palace.

I take my phone from my pocket and snap a picture because Julie will never believe me. I make my way to the second floor, noticing the intricate embellishments carved into the handrail. At the top, I look both ways down a long, wide hallway with more chandeliers and more tall windows.

I take pause, staring outside noticing the view.

“Wow,” I whisper.

Several closed doors pique my interest, so I start at the opposite end. I reach for the handle and enter a magnificent room full of bookshelves filled from ceiling to floor. To my right is a light switch and I flick it. Dim golden yellow light splashes across the space. It reminds me of the New York Library with its dark wooden walls and shelves.

On one side is a gigantic fireplace and a comfy couch.

I walk to the shelf closest to me and my eyes scan up and down the spines. Many are classics, and the genres range from fairytales to horror.

“Who do you belong to?” I whisper, moving around the perimeter, wanting to read every title, and mentally catalog each one.

It's a collector's haven. A secret special edition collection hidden inside of a haunted house. It's a perfect space.

As I move forward, firm hands grasp my wrists, and a fist is in my hair, pulling me backward and adding enough pressure to keep me locked in place.

I don't struggle. I've learned to stay calm in situations like this, but my mind is a tangled mess. This is a worst-case scenario, and the only person who remotely knows where I am is Julie. Maybe she will call the police when she hasn’t heard from me in three hours.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” The deep growl is low in my ear. I can't see behind me, but I also don't look.

“I'm sorry.” I keep my voice flat.

“Explain yourself,” he growls, and I understand how dangerous this is. But his scent surrounds me and he smells so damn good, like fresh mountain air. Only fuck boys smell like this.

“I was curious and the door?—”

“Why are you here?” Now he’s angry.

My breath hitches and he finally lets me go. Seconds later, I pull the bear spray from the pack around my waist and unarm the safety. When I turn, I hold the can upward and meet Alex’s deep blue eyes.

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, almost daring me to discharge.

My mouth slightly parts, but I can't find the words to speak. His presence sucks the air from the room, especially my lungs.

“ Autumn ,” he says, matter-of-factly, like he knows me.

Spraying it inside the house would be bad for both of us.

“Not you ,” I whisper, but the truth is I’ve wanted to see him. I’ve wished for it.

“The feeling is more than mutual.” His jaw clenches.

The only explanation for this is I’m still asleep. My alarm hasn't gone off yet and I never went for my run. Right?

There is no way I'm in Hollow Manor standing in front of the douchebag that has plagued me for two weeks.

“Is this real?” I finally ask. When I say that in my dreams, my subconscious always wakes me up.

“More like a goddamn nightmare,” he snaps, and I’m not ripped away, but this time I wish I were.

His stony gaze stares through me like I’m invisible.

A few more seconds pass as he studies me. I holster the bear spray and glance away from him.

This man is my curse, with his high cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and bad attitude. Alex has haunted me since the moment he stormed out of Cozy Coffee.

For once, I should've listened to my best friend and not turned that knob. Or maybe I'm supposed to be here. Everything happens for a reason, right?

“You shouldn’t fucking be here.”