Page 3 of A Pack of Pumpkins
As Winnie pointed out, this could all be a scam. But judging by the main floor, things look legit. No mold. No creepy stains. No cameras.
What’snotamazing is that the omega suite used to be the attic on the third floor. Which means I have to lug everything I own up two, full flights of stairs. Thankfully, I don’t own much.
I huff up the stairs, a duffel slung over one shoulder and a potted plant cradled in the other arm. I pause on the landing, where a row of bedroom doorswaits, quiet, closed, still untouched. This floor will belong to my future roommates, but for now, it feels like a hallway in a story I haven’t read yet.
The omega suite is gorgeous. Picture-frame molding spans the focal wall behind a massive bed, framing mural-style florals. The entire room is painted in teals and blush pinks. It's right on the edge of gaudy, but somehow still stunning.
A chandelier with ivy-shaped metalwork makes me squeal. One of the many things I brought for my new home that I can’t live without is my plant babies. I even have a watering can that saysPlant Mom.It was a gift from Winnie at our Book Club Christmas exchange last year.
Two tall windows let in the last of the fading light. One overlooks the driveway and treetops, just high enough to glimpse downtown in the distance. The other opens onto the bluff.
And that view? It steals the air from my lungs.
Dune grass grows wild along the edge, which drops abruptly into a sandy beach below. Beyond it, Lake Michigan stretches endlessly, the surface catching the dying light like scattered copper coins.
Before I moved to Lakeside Point a few years ago, I’d known the Great Lakes were big, but thought they weren’t much different from other lakes. That you could see the opposite shore and maybe even swim it. I hadn’t understood until I got here that the Great Lakes may as well be oceans for how vast they are. Not only can’t I see the opposite shore, I couldn’t swim it if I tried. The water goes on infinitely.
A desk with a teal chair sits near one window, and I can’t believe my luck at getting my own writing area. The rug is plush under my feet.
A door on the far wall creaks open into a smaller, dimmer room. It's blank except for a recessed nook and a skylight overhead.
The nest.
Unlike the main bedroom, this space is undecorated. That makes sense. Omegas usually build their nests alone or with their alphas. They’re private spaces, meant to be instinctual—safe.
A door on the wall adjacent to the nest leads to the en suite bathroom. It has pale green tile that flows from the floor halfway up the wall, a claw-foot tub, and a pedestal sink. Again, it straddles that line between pretty and tacky, but stays just on the right side.
Before I can get comfortable, I unpack my crystals, dream catchers, and a few chimes, placing them strategically around the room to channel the best energy.
Last, I prop the stained-glass panel Winnie gave me against the window. The sun has fully set, letting the moonlight shine through its autumn leaves and jack-o’-lanterns. Warm color spills across the room.
Then I hustle down to my car for the rest of my bags.
When I return to my room, I stop dead in the doorway.
The crystals are no longer where I left them. They sit in a perfect, deliberate line leading straight to the nest.
Not only that, but the scent in the room has changed. Instead of fresh paint and wood, there’s now a distinct and overwhelming smell of baked bread. Thick, spiced, impossible to ignore. It floods my senses, making my mouth water and my knees weak.
Heat pools low in my belly. No one else is supposed to be here. I quietly close the door and speed-walk down every flight of stairs. By the time I reach the front porch, I’ve already dialed the police.
I call the non-emergency police department number.
Sheriff Corbin answers on the first ring. He’s new in town, replacing the last sheriff who retired just last month.
“Sheriff Corbin.” His gruff voice flows down the line.
“Hi, Sheriff. This is Clara—I, um, I’ve served your coffee at the Evergreen Café.” I remind him quickly, in case the name alone doesn’t ring a bell. My fingers twist in the hem of my dress sleeves while I pace across the porch boards.
“Yes, Clara. How can I help you?”
I shift from foot to foot, eyes darting to the heavy black door of the house. “Well, I just moved into a new place today. You know the big black Victorian on Beach Street?”
He makes a sound of assent.
“Well… I’m supposed to be here alone tonight, but…” My voice wavers. I swallow hard. “There’s a scent.”
On the other end of the line, I hear the faint creak of leather, like the sheriff is leaning forward at his desk.
