Page 85 of Grotesque
There was nothing in that moment except for Corban. Beautiful, terrible Corban. The pleasure he had given me before dulled in comparison. This– This! was bliss. This wasrealmagic. Unbridled and wild. Decadent and sinful. My skin felt like it was on fire, my soul begging to be consumed.
Corban slid his hand around the back of my neck, his fingers nestling just beneath my hairline as he tugged my head back. “Look at how lovely you are.”
I looked up as the veil fell from his face, into the slitted eyes of a monster, and smiled.
Gravel crunched under the wheels of the dark blue Chevy as it came to a halt at the top of the drive.
Next to the sedan squad car. Why was there a police car at Glamis?
Brenda Grendel stepped out of the truck, her high heels sinking between the tiny black stones. She cursed under her breath, resting her hand on the door as she straightened.
Yellow tape blocked the front door, barring entry. Not that anyone would ever set foot inside Glamis Manor. The whole town knew that anyone who went in never came out. That whatever evil lived within drove you mad or drove you to death. At least, those were the stories Macky always told them as kids.
Brenda had been to Glamis once, but that was so long ago she could hardly remember what it had been like. Vaguely, sherecalled the gargoyles, but she could have sworn the house had been made of wood, not stone.
It was supposed to be a vacation home but after a single weekend that resulted in one of her brothers needing stiches from an animal scratch on his back, and the other being thrown down the stairs, Macky packed the family up and never brought them back. Once the kids were grown and moved out, Macky had gone away too. Brenda still didn’t know if she had been at Glamis Manor the entire time, or if she had bounced between the other broken-down shacks she owned. What she did know, was that Macky’s last days had been spent in this hell hole.
“Sorcha!”
It had been weeks since Brenda had heard from her daughter. She knew she’d been hard on her, but that’s how it went between them. They would butt heads more often than not, but at the end of the day they would be right as rain. Except Sorcha hadn’t called her back. Hadn’t answered any of her texts after their last argument.
Brenda flipped through her phone, double-checking the address to make sure she was at the right place. The selfie Sorcha had sent all those weeks ago showed a beautiful manor in frame behind her. This couldn’t have been the same building. It was decrepit, crumbling, quite literally falling apart at the seams.
Sorcha had described the house as being in pristine condition, elegant, and on one occasion, as magnificent. What stood before Brenda was a rotten structure thatcouldhave been all those things. Once.
Voices flitted past the fluttering yellow tape strung across the gaping front door. “I don’t know how we’re going to explain this to the community. How do five missing men turn into one hundred and twelve? There was no space at the morgue, they had to take the rest over to Providence County.”
Brenda’s heart faltered at their words as she stormed up the steps. “Hello?” She ducked under the yellow tape, her eyes skimming the dusty, dilapidated foyer until her gaze snagged on the black stains along the stairs leading to the upper levels.
The sound of footsteps came from her right, dragging her attention away from the dark spatter. An older gentleman, followed by a clean-shaven man strode through the long hallway. The older of the two was in a tan suit, pressed with sharp lines, while his companion donned the typical uniform of an officer.
“This area is blocked off, ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the older man said.
Brenda shook her head. “My daughter lives here. She hasn’t been answering her phone and—” her eyes snapped back to the stains, “—what’s happened?” It was all over the walls.
A flash of a memory darted through her mind. A spiral staircase, distinctly different from the straight, sweeping stairs before her.
The men looked at each other in blatant confusion. The younger one ran a hand over his face.
“You look a little young to be Maxine’s mother,” the first said. The officer beside him gave him a funny look.
Brenda scowled. “My daughter, Sorcha, inherited my mother’s place. Maxine’s place. She moved here about two months ago.” She stepped farther into the foyer, peering over their shoulders into the living room. There were more stains behind them, except these still held their color. The stains weren’t black, they were dark red.
“Ma’am, I need you to step outside. Come on now.”
Brenda planted her heels. As steep as they were, she didn’t waver an inch. “Where the fuck is my daughter?”
“Lady, your daughter isn’t here. There’s nothing but bod–” The younger officer snapped his mouth shut when the older man shot him a glare.
Brenda’s chest clenched. Her eyes flashed back to living room, to the second floor. “The… what?” Bod…bodies. The stains– it was blood. Blood dried black like that. “Oh my god, is my daughter…?” She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t breathe!
“I saw the house. She only sent me one picture of it, but it didn’t look like this,” Brenda insisted. “Where is she? Did something happen to her?” No, that couldn’t be the reason Sorcha hadn’t returned her calls.
The older man took her by the elbow and eased her outside as her knees buckled. “What’s your name?” he asked gently, settling her on the front porch
“Brenda. Brenda Grendel. My daughter, Sorcha.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her shaking hand dove into her pocket for her phone. Her thumb skidded across the screen several times as she let out a broken curse. “Here. This is her. This is Sorcha.” Brenda looked up at the young officer. “What happened? Has anyone reported her missing?”
The officer took the phone, his face paling slightly. Did he see the same thing she did? That the house was whole in the background?
