2. a mystery so dark & a town so quiet

Lucynda

October 9th

I feel it again. Someone is watching me.

I've had this eerie feeling invade my senses since the day I moved into my cute little apartment that sits right above the Blythewood Bookstore on Mainstreet of Shadow Creek, Maine. A town that I'm certain no one would know existed unless they drove through it themselves.

Population seven-hundred and twelve. Well, now, seven-hundred and thirteen.

It's full of wonder and vintage history, ghost stories and old buildings that look better with age. Most of the families who live here were born here, but then you have people like me who move to a town so mysterious just to get away. And despite being surrounded by people who seem to hold more secrets than I do, it’s pretty quiet for the most part. But I can't seem to escape the feeling of eyes on me everywhere I go, even though I don't know a single person in this town. It’s a deep chill that creates this idea that I am being followed.

My hometown in Vermont is only about five hours away, and though I would have loved to move further in distance, something about this quaint and peculiar town drew me in.

My father left the family home in my name, to everyone’s surprise. I could have just stayed there, but I signed it over to my dead father’s perfect wife and her spoiled daughters because I would rather hurl myself off a bridge than remain rooted in a home that reminds me of nothing but cracked truths and broken lies, abuse, and abandonment.

When my father's lawyer presented his will, it wasn't believable to learn that everything was left to me. Bigger things including the house and a hefty savings account were put into my name. Some smaller things like jewelry and such were also left in my name and the only thing that he left to his wife was his wedding band which, unfortunately for her, was buried with him.

I’ll never understand why he did what he did. I honestly did not expect a single thing from him after what he did to me, nor did I want anything. Of course, my father’s wife was livid and held it over my head the entire time I was forced to live with her, or rather she was forced to live with me, but the funds weren't available to me until my eighteenth birthday. I was forced to spend two years of my life enduring any ounce of pain they tried to inflict because I knew my time would come. I knew karma would make them eat their own brains one day. Or so I'd hoped.

The day before my eighteenth birthday, there was an ad that popped up on my phone for an apartment for rent in the charming, small town of Shadow Creek. That day I signed a lease and then I signed the house over to my antagonist because I wanted out as quickly as humanly possible.

The ad didn’t lie, it really is charming here. What I love more is that every day seems to be a picture out of an autumn-obsessed magazine painted onto a postcard sent by Wednesday Addams herself. Beauty is laced on every corner and the sky is usually a mix of some shade of gray with tiny rays of sun attempting to peek through the ominous dark clouds.

Shadow Creek is a marvel. Dark maroons and rustic oranges mix with vintage accents, stone walkways, and those daunting black metal street lamps with four glowing glass orbs scattered up and down Mainstreet. All while dark green ivy presses against the decaying red bricks of historic boutiques and Victorian houses.

I lift my face up to the little sliver of sun that peaks through the dark clouds cuddling together in the sky as I exit the therapist building. The same one I swore never to go back to, but after realizing that I was a bully to Dr. Laramie a few days ago, I went back to try out teeth-sucker one more time—the crippling anxiety and self-doubt started to become unbearable—and to my surprise, she wasn’t that bad. Maybe she really took what I said to heart. I also kind of wanted to apologize even though I don’t really regret what I’d said, but I digress.

Heat spreads across my cheeks at the feel of the inviting warmth radiating from the sky. The October sun is my favorite because it’s not too warm but it’s bright enough to create an illuminating glow against the gloomy seasonal colors.

I decide to head back toward Mainstreet which is about a thirty-minute walk from the Shops of Shadow where the therapy office is alongside the town’s grocery store and police department.

One thing I love about this little town is that everything is within walking distance. I’m one of those souls that likes to feel nature lick my skin as my thoughts get lost in the horizon, enjoying people watching and the feeling of Earth moving beneath my feet.

There’s no sidewalks down the twisty road of Hollow Echo Drive, the strip of road between Shops of Shadow and Mainstreet, so I walk the edge of where the dirt-grass mix kisses the side of the road, keeping closer to the looming trees that line the forest next to me. I work my way West to head back home and I hear the crisp, serene sound of the namesake itself, Shadow Creek. It cuts through groups of trees and swishes under a small bridge. But what captures my attention the most beyond the haunting mix of spruces and pines is Hollows Trace Manor.

Hollows Trace is eerily beautiful. Alluring. Enchanting. I can't see the whole of it from where I stand, but I don't dare trespass further than the outskirts. As captivating as the castle is, I’ve seen my fair share of scary movies and I have a feeling that whatever is on the other side of the property line is nothing but danger.

On each side of the large, ornate mansion are other smaller buildings scattered around the land between bunches of dark trees. I've heard no one speak of the property, not that I expect many conversations regarding another person's home, but it seems so extensive and too mystical to not be a topic of some sort. One of the other things that I was drawn to when I relocated to this curious town.

A few days ago, I tried looking it up on a home listings website and there was zero information on it. Kind of like the address doesn’t even exist and no pictures of proof linger on the internet so the only knowledge I have on the residence is from what I can see with my own eyes.

I stop right in front of the wrought-iron gate. Its bars end with pointed tips, and the gate doors are held by deep red brick columns laced with that infamous dark green ivy. Beyond the gates is an ominous driveway made up of dark gray stone, encased by a mix of towering Black Spruces, old Spanish Cedars, and enchanting Monterey Cypresses. The castle itself is made up of all light grey brick and limestone with black trim, the roof steeples into turrets throughout the structure. There are arched windows and spacious balconies placed all around the building and a pair of black double doors open up to a set of stairs that lead down to the stone driveway. A water fountain with a gargoyle statue in the middle is the staple of the front yard, the driveway wraps around it in a circle shape before branching out to where I stand.

I think the most elusive part is that the castle backs up to a cliff that overlooks the sea, known as Cliff Island.

I’m staring out into the bewitching scene before me as the wind starts to howl and the little sunlight that was given is now descending into the darkness behind the clouds. I don’t let my eyes shy clear of the mansion though until I catch the glimpse of bright yellow lights breaking through the fog that layers the horizon. I look down the road to see a car traveling right toward me.

It's not like cars don't travel this road—it's the main road to get into or out of Shadow Creek. But as the sun dips below the line of darkness allowing night to fall like a blanket over the town, owls and night winds seem to be the only sounds this town welcomes. That and the secrets of the night-walkers—people who walk the nightly hours presumably to rid their head of all the problems and stresses they're burdened with. Regardless, since the time I’ve been living here the one thing I noticed was most peculiar is that cars are never on the roads at night, so I immediately feel a lump forming in my throat at the idea that…

At the idea of what, Cyn? I think to myself. No one is out to get you.

I clutch my backpack straps over my shoulders and steady myself to prepare for the walk back home, already having lost some time by gawking at the ghostly structure of Hollows Trace. But the closer the dark window-tinted car gets, the heavier my feet seem, remaining planted to the gravel.

I lock my knees, trying to hold absolutely still as if whoever is in the car won’t see me but I know that’s just not the case. And unfortunately, it seems to slow down to a creep, the tires crunching over the gravel. Then, it stops.

The headlights are almost blinding, but I don’t dare do anything short of breathing. My warm breath can be seen in the form of cloudy steam as it leaves my lips and enters the cold sky. It’s getting chillier and I’m only wearing a leather skirt and a chunky-knit sweater, so it’s safe to say I have goosebumps forming along my legs.

I feel like minutes pass by while I hold a staring contest with the ominous car and there’s no sign of human life inside. No one gets out. No one honks the horn to try and scare me and the engine rumbles quietly as it stays parked in the middle of the road.

Finally, I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, cautious of my movements. I focus my eyes straight in front of me to see the road ahead while I move forward. I don’t dare turn my head to give the stalled car another glance, actually kind of creeped out and wanting to get out of this situation badly. So I keep walking until the car is behind me and that’s when my heart pounds in my chest in tandem with my feet as I decide to take off toward Mainstreet in an all-out sprint.