Page 2 of Monster Daddies
"Okay," I breathe, trying to steady my heart. "Okay, Avalon. You're here. You're doing it. No turning back now."
I square my shoulders and step out of the car, my boots crunching against the gravel. The air is colder than expected and thick with the scent of moss, old wood, and something else I can’t quite name.
I look up again at the imposing house, my eyes immediately drawn to the gargoyles.
They stand sentry on either side of the manor's tall turrets—massive, terrifying creatures carved from dark stone, wings unfurled and claws gripping the rooftop like they are waiting for something.
Or someone.
I pull my coat tighter around my slight frame, and the breeze tugs at my long, loose, strawberry-colored curls. Turning back to the car to grab the keys from the passenger seat, I swear it looks like one of the gargoyles moved.
No.
Just no.
"You're just statues," I whisper, even though my skin prickles and a shiver runs down my spine.
The breeze turns into a fierce wind, the cold piercing against my skin in warning.
The key in my hand suddenly feels heavy as I step up to the ornate front door. The intricate, curling vines and runes etched into the blackened metal draws me even closer. No matter how scared or worried I am, Ineedthis. More importantly, I need a bit more positivity in my life. Things have been too dark, too icky, and way too morbid for far too long now.
And as Uncle Ichabod had said, maybe I could bring some life back into the manor.
The moment I slide the key into the lock, a slow creaking groan echoes through the air around me.
The door opens with a soft sigh.
Okay... maybe I need to come back on a warmer, sunnier day.
Because the inside is dark.
Cold.
Still.
Basically scary as all heck.
At least everything inside gleams, and it smells clean. Fresh.
The attorney's letters said that Uncle Ichabod's cleaning service continues to come through weekly. And that they would also keep the kitchen stocked in preparation for my arrival.
Before I can contemplate my next move, the large, heavy, wooden door slams shut behind me.
I jump, spinning around, my heart racing.
But no one’s there.
Obviously, there is no one there.
Just the very dramatic door.
"Okay, Stonebound Manor. I get it. You're spooky," I mutter, brushing my curls out of my face.
The foyer around me stretches up into shadowed arches and an upper balcony with dark wood balustrades. Dust mites dance around in the faint streams of afternoon light cutting in through high, narrow windows. But the strangest thing is—it doesn’tfeelunpleasant.
It doesn’t feel haunted. Not in a sinister way, at least. The house feels... quiet. Settled. Like it’s holding its breath, waiting.
I take a tentative step forward. Then another. The heels of my boots echo faintly on the polished floor. The air inside is cool, but not freezing. And that mystery scent I noticed outside is even stronger in here. Wood polish, cinnamon, and something almost floral.
