Chapter 14

Isit up in bed, my heart racing as I glance around the room.

Everything seems…normal, just as it was before.

But I am not the same.

The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the familiar surroundings. But the memory of the monsters looms large in my mind, vivid and unsettling.

My nightgown has been replaced with care, the ribbon tied perfectly. More perfect than I could ever do it, in a neat little bow.

Did I imagine it being undone last night? But then, how is it neater after a night of tossing and turning in my bed?

My head isn't hazy, my memories of last night aren't fuzzy. The fog that has clung to me for the last however many months isn't present and a repeat of last night plays out in my mind in vivid technicolour detail.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand up hesitantly. I stretch out on a quiet exhale, and my body feels loose and relaxed. As I reach out to touch the smooth sheets, a wave of confusion washes over me. These are fresh, no longer torn and tattered by careless claws in the throes of passion.

The room, my nightgown, the sheets…it all suggests that last night didn't happen. That the monsters were never there.

But I know it did.

I can't explain it, other than to say it's a feeling in my gut, an instinct, something I can't ignore.

Were there clues before that I'd ignored? Maybe I'd turned a blind eye, but I can't go back to pretending.

Ignorance isn't bliss.

Monsters are real.

And last night, two of them fucked right in front of me, while a third…

My cheeks heat.

I'm a virgin. I've never even had a boyfriend. Surely, my brain wouldn't conjure a vivid, warped fantasy like last night.

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady my nerves. Maybe it was just a dream after all.

I'm not exactly sane these days, my mind addled by grief and the cocktail of drugs Carver has been pushing on me.

Maybe my dreams were so vivid because I'd chased my way to a release in the garden yesterday, on the back of that giant stone statue. Using a garden ornament to get myself off isn't exactly normal behaviour.

But as I make my way to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, I can't shake the feeling that something is off. It's the ribbon on my nightdress. It's bothering me, like an incessant nagging in the back of my mind. It's too neatly tied.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, searching for answers in my own eyes. When I find none, I finish washing, brush my teeth, return to my room and dress, ready to face the day.

The large house is eerily silent. The only noise comes from the floorboards creaking as I make my way down to the kitchen.

My thoughts are a jumbled mess as I lean against the worktop, staring at the fresh vase of wildflowers on the table. The beautiful splash of colour amongst the faded backdrop seems to mock me, their sweet scent filling the cold kitchen.

Did I make it all up? The flowers in my braid even?

No, I can't have.

As I pour a cup of tea, I try to make sense of my wild, chaotic dreams. Maybe it was all just a vivid hallucination from waking up in the woods and thinking that something was chasing me, or the stress of everything that's been going on. Or even a side effect of not taking my medication. But the feeling of their claws and their earthy smell still lingers on me, like a shadow that refuses to dissipate.

I take a sip of my tea, the soothing taste making me relax a little. The jolt of caffeine does its job, helping to clear my foggy brain. I reach over to the toaster, ready to pop some bread in and start my day, but my heart sinks when I notice the counter is already prepared with a plate of bread ready to be toasted, and a jar of jam.

Who else has been here? The groundskeeper hasn't made a habit of preparing me breakfast, and Carver would never allow me to eat jam. Too much sugar. Besides, if he were back, he would have made his presence known already.

The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine.

As I stand there staring, my heart beats a little faster. The thought of some unseen presence in this house fills me with dread, the groundskeeper's tales always in the back of my mind. Why would anyone go to such lengths to make sure I had breakfast waiting for me – and a nice one at that? And where did it come from, if not from Carver or Mr Danvers?

I put the bread into the toaster and press the lever down, then I pace around the room until it's done. Once it pops, I butter the toast and add the strawberry jam before taking a large bite. It tastes heavenly, more so because it's prohibited.

Today I feel so alive, I'm almost buzzing with energy. It's the best I've felt since coming here, I'm sure of it. I imagine I could make it all the way to the beach today if I wanted to. But something stops me.

It's them.

The monsters. Or gargoyle and grotesques should I say. I want to see if I can find them. One should be in the garden, right? The same place it was yesterday. Obviously, Ari, statues can't move. But I need to know the truth, to know I'm not going crazy. I need to find them.

Quickly, I finish my breakfast, washing my plate and knife and leaving them on the draining rack. I decide to use the doors in the solarium to head outside, so that I can check on the plants on my way past. I've made a start, but the space needs a lot more work. Today though, it will have to wait.

Making my way out into the garden, I look back at the house and, shielding my eyes from the brightness of the day with my hand, look up and scour the statues, my heart pounding with anticipation.

My eyes flick from one gargoyle to another, never having noticed how many there are before now, searching for any signs of movement or connection. As the sun peeks through the clouds, casting a warm glow on the statues, I can't help but marvel at their artistry. Their chiselled faces and grizzly expressions bring a sense of life. It sounds silly, but none of them seem like they're ‘mine'.

Maybe I did imagine everything. The doubt creeps in once more, eating away at my confidence, but I refuse to back down. I have to find out the truth.

As I enter one of the overgrown gardens, I spot more hidden amongst the greenery. With one of the gargoyles, I can't help but notice a slight misalignment in the stone. It's barely perceptible, but it's there. I reach out, running my fingers over the rough surface. The stone is almost warm to the touch, despite the cool air.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I find myself memorising the statue's details. Curved wings, vicious fangs, sharp claws, and a fierce expression – it's a monster from the depths of many people's nightmares.

But not mine.

I stand there for a moment, captivated by the statue, my mind racing with all the possibilities. Maybe the monsters are real. Maybe this manor is haunted. Maybe it's all just my imagination, my sickness manifesting in the form of horny creatures with wing slits and big dicks. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore which one is the truth.

"Good morning, Miss."

Surprised, I spin to face the groundskeeper, who stands with a knowing smile on his craggy face. I don't know how to take him. He"s been with Carver for years and probably knows more than he lets on, but I'm yet to decide if he's an ally or a spy. My gut is screaming at me not to trust him, but his actions seem to suggest that I might be able to reach his softer side.

"Morning," I reply, slightly breathless from the fright he gave me.

"What's got you out here so early?" he inquires, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Caught off guard, I stammer, "Oh, just...checking on things."

He nods, not buying it for a moment. "Maybe you could keep an eye on the rose bushes. They're looking a bit wilted."

I manage a smile, grateful for the distraction. "I will, thanks."

Turning back to studying the stone statues on the building, I expect him to leave, but I'm startled when he speaks again and he's suddenly standing much closer than before.

"They're works of art, are they not?" He tilts his face up towards where I'm staring.

I find myself nodding, "Actually, can I ask you something?"

"Ask away, Miss."

"What's the difference between a umm gargoyle and a…grotesque, is it?"

"The gargoyles are the ones with water spouts, designed to carry rainwater away from the building," the groundskeeper explains, gesturing towards one of the statues that indeed has a spout in its mouth. "Grotesques, on the other hand, are purely decorative and don't serve any functional purpose whatsoever."

I think back to last night, the large grotesque teasing the mouthy one – Mal – about being a gargoyle, but how Mal was proud of the fact that the other two couldn't gargle for shit. He seemed proud that he served a purpose.

As Mr Danvers continues to talk about the history and symbolism behind each statue, I find myself getting more engrossed in his words. He speaks with such passion and knowledge, it's hard not to be drawn in.

"Have you ever seen these statues move?" I blurt out, unable to keep my curiosity contained any longer.

"Move? No, Miss." The groundskeeper pauses, his expression unreadable for a moment before he chuckles softly. "Statues are known for their stillness."

I nod slowly, aware that I sound more than a little unhinged, but there's something more to these statues. I can't shake the feeling that he knows more than he's letting on. But before I can press further, he interrupts me with a question of his own.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Me? Yes. Why?"

"You appear to have…a bruise of some sort…" He points. "On your neck."

My hands fly to my neck, immediately feeling the tender spot where the quiet, reverent one kissed and nibbled at me last night. Why didn't I notice a mark earlier when I looked in the mirror?

Because you were distracted, Ari.

But this must prove that last night wasn't a dream. Once I fell asleep they must have fixed my nightshirt and changed the sheets…somehow. I think back to how strong they were and realise that one of them was holding me while the others changed the bed. It isn't too hard to imagine.

"Have you ever been inside the west wing?" I ask, trying to divert his attention away from my neck.

His eyes flicker with hesitation, "The west wing is off-limits to everyone, Miss. It's best not to venture there."

His cryptic warning only fuels my curiosity further. What secrets could be hidden in the west wing that they – he and Carver both – are so adamant about keeping it locked away?

"I understand," I reply, trying to sound casual. "I was just interested in the history of the place. I hoped to see some more of the house."

He studies me for a moment, as if assessing whether to trust me with more information.

Finally, he lets out a sigh and relents. "Tis useless. The west wing has been locked up for decades after a tragic incident."

Something in his expression makes me wonder if he's…not lying exactly, but maybe not being entirely truthful with me either. But before I can say anything, he continues, "Some say it's haunted by the spirits of those who once resided there."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at his words.

Haunted? That's the second time he's talked of spirits, but he doesn't think statues can move? How does that figure?

This place just keeps getting more mysterious – and contradictory – by the minute. I thank him for the information and make a mental note to find a way into the west wing later. But not today. Today I want to catalogue the statues until I find my monsters.

As the groundskeeper bids me farewell and heads off to tend to his duties, I'm left alone in the garden once again. The statues loom over me like silent sentinels, their stony faces watching my every move. And I can't shake the feeling that there's more to them than meets the eye.

"I…I don't really know what to say to you," Arianwen mumbles, sitting down cross-legged before me. She avoids looking at me, reaching instead to pick daisies and pull at random tufts of grass. She squirms with embarrassment, but she'd see no judgement if she'd just glance up and look at me.

When the sun rises, we revert back to our stone forms. Over the centuries we've all become accustomed to knowing exactly when the sun will rise, and so it's easy for us to position ourselves wherever we want to spend the day.

When Ari was bed-bound, we would take it in turns to perch outside her window to watch over her. When she started to move around the manor we'd be outside the bathroom, the solarium, maybe even the kitchen.

Now that she's more herself, she wants to explore, to come outside and stretch her metaphorical wings, and so we enjoy the sun on our stone while still getting to spend time with her.

I had a feeling that Ari would come looking for us today, and I figured the easiest way for her to find me would be if I returned to yesterday's spot – for her, I'd willingly spend my eternity locked in one place if she would only visit and look upon me.

A soft sigh falls from her lips, snapping my attention back to her.

"I guess I should apologise."

A gorgeous soft pink blush blooms across her cheeks and it delights me. Not because she's uncomfortable, but because for months I've had to gaze upon her colourless complexion dying to be able to breathe some life back into her.

"I shouldn't have done what I did."

I fight against my bonds, desperate to hold her, to reassure her that there's nothing to forgive, nothing to apologise for. She can climb all over me and use me to her heart's content and I will blissfully take it all. Even today, even after last night, the scent of her is ingrained into my skin, into my soul. I could never regret yesterday.

"But it did feel good."

My heart soars at her words. Of course my main goal is, and always will be, to protect and cherish Ari, but once that's accomplished, my secondary focus will always be bringing her pleasure. To know that she doesn't really regret yesterday pleases me greatly.

She sighs again and turns her attention back to the small pile of daisies she's gathered in her lap.

"I'm guessing one of you got breakfast ready for me this morning. The flowers were a nice touch too. And changing the sheets."

I have no choice but to stay silent and listen, but I don't mind at all.

"I'm trying to work out who did what. Obviously not the mouthy one – I doubt he'd do anything nice for anyone. He would probably sneak a peek at me in my sleep though. I know you're the big one. The bossman. You're definitely the leader. Protective too." She hums thoughtfully. "I can see you insisting on changing the sheets so that I was more comfortable. You would probably make me eat too. But…the other one…the smaller one. He's so kind. So gentle. I can see him bringing me flowers."

She leans in, as if whispering some big secret. "I think he's the one who braided my hair and fixed my nightdress. I just wish there was a way to know for sure."

I watch, entranced, as she weaves the flowers into some sort of chain. She's completely absorbed in her task, talking with ease now, almost as though she's forgotten I'm here, that I'm watching.

"I'd like to go to the beach. I love the ocean. That's where I was heading that day on the moor. I'm starting to wonder if one of you brought me back. It was boggy and I can't imagine him traipsing through the mud to carry my body back to the manor. He hates the beach."

Her voice drops, coming out much quieter. "But my mother loved the sea. When I was younger we'd go all the time, the first hint of a sunny day at the weekend, we'd go. We'd spend all day in the water, and when I got cold and wrinkly, we'd build sandcastles and decorate them with shells… That all stopped when they got married. I think I'd feel closer to her now if I could dip my toes in the sea."

I vow to myself to make that happen. There might not be any sun-filled days frolicking on the beach within our future, but I can show Ari the beauty of the moonlight rippling on midnight waves. We will take her to the beach.

"I don't understand it. I won't pretend to. But I refuse to accept that last night was a dream. Maybe I'm crazy…but I don't think I am. I feel more myself than I have in months, and I think the three of you might have something to do with that."

Internally at least, I twitch with happiness.

"I wonder if you'll come back. Tonight I mean. I'm thinking that you're maybe stuck like this during the day for some reason, but at night you change…you can move more freely. So will you be back tonight? I'm not scared. I want to see you again."

Warmth spreads through my chest at her words.

"I have questions."

Of course she does. Last night she seemed to accept our existence with some strange scepticism, believing she'd gone crazy. Today, she knows it isn't the case, and even though she doesn't understand it, she's willing to accept us as real.

She gets to her feet, holding her small circular chain of daisies in one hand, brushing grass from her dress with the other. She steps towards me and rises up onto her tiptoes to place the delicate flower crown carefully over my horns so that it rests on my head, her breasts pushing right up into my face as she does so.

Standing back to admire her handiwork, she smiles to herself, satisfied and brushes her palms together. "I guess if you can only come…out at night, I better go take a nap so that I'm ready for you."

Then she takes me completely by surprise, leaning in once more, to place a soft, warm kiss on my stony cheek. She strokes one of my horns gently and I shiver all the way down to my toes, not that she knows it.

"I hope to see you later…Daddy Sax."

I preen so hard that something inside snaps, and I think I feel some of the bonds begin to break, even though it's not midday yet. The others like to call me Daddy Sax to tease me about the way I care for them, but coming from Ari…there was no teasing in her softly murmured words…and I love it.