Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Until I spot the old lady standing behind Douglas with glowing white eyes and crooked teeth.
“Who the fuck—?!” I cry out as I stand up.
Then she’s gone.
I rub my eyes and blink a bunch of times. Nothing’s there. Who the hell was that? What the hell was that?
Did I see her at all?
Am I losing my fucking mind?
“Griffin …?”
I come to. Douglas and Mortimer are staring at me with concern. Byron is next to me with a soothing hand on my shoulder, rubbing gently.
They’re all waiting for my response.
“S-Sorry,” I say at once. I give another look where the scary old lady was. She’s not there anymore—if she ever was. “Sorry, I—”
“Is it your indigestion again?” asks Byron with a tiny wince.
I look at him. Is he giving me a lifeline? Or does he genuinely think that’s what’s happening right now?
“I’m good,” I finally assure him, then laugh it off as I glance at Byron’s dads. “Sorry. I’m okay now. Had a cramp in my, uh—It’s all good now.” I sit back down. So does Byron, his hand still on my shoulder. “Sorry for the scare.”
“That’s quite alright,” says Douglas. “Mortimer has a daily battle in the evenings with acid reflux I’m quite sure he won’t like me to discuss at the breakfast table.”
“You’d be quite right in being quite sure,” says the cold-eyed husband with a tightened smile, and everyone lets out an awkward laugh. Then everything returns to normal as we finish up brunch.
And I give short glances above Douglas’s head, just to be sure the scary old woman with glowing white eyes stays gone.
She does.
When brunch is over and Byron and I are taking all the plates and utensils to the sink, that’s when I learn I’m not quite in the clear yet. “Mortimer and I were just talking,” says Douglas as he strolls into the kitchen with a coy smile on his face, “and … we’ve decided we want to give you two your wedding gift early.”
I pause in the middle of rinsing off a plate. Byron is leaning against the counter next to me, his arms crossed. “Wedding gift?” he asks. “Now?”
Douglas chuckles. “I know. But we just felt it can’t wait. And besides, as we understand it, you may have a few other changes in your life quite soon, so …” The two dads glance at each other, then back at us. “We’d like to pay the down payment for your first place.”
Neither Byron nor I say a word.
The double daddies have officially struck us silent.
“Really, we can’t wait to see you two start your lives together,” he goes on, “and we want to help.”
“D-Dad …” murmurs Byron, at a loss.
“I know you plan to get yourself a new place quite soon,” he says, “so we are prepared to pay it as soon as next week. Have you two found the perfect home, yet? I know you’ve been apartment shopping.”
“I haven’t, uh—” Byron interjects, then draws quiet and grimaces.
I turn to him, surprised. “You’ve been apartment shopping?”
For a moment, Byron seems to shift uncomfortably on his feet. Then he turns on his dad. “I know you guys mean well, but we weren’t planning to move so fast.”
“Why not? Isn’t it time?”
“Dad,” Byron presses more firmly.
“We’ll even pay the lease breaking fee if there is one,” Douglas insists in a pleasant, encouraging tone. “I am happy to make this as easy for you both as possible. That’s what both of us want, Mortimer and I.”
Byron bows his head in frustration.
I look at each of them questioningly. “Is … Is there something going on here that I don’t know …?”
Byron and his dads all look at me. Then they each exchange looks with one another, as if holding a silent council about whether or not to answer me.
Finally, Douglas does. “As I understand it, you … were informed of who we really are.”
My skin is starting to crawl with suspicion. “Byron told me yesterday, yes.”
“Really, you should blame us for Byron keeping that from you,” he insists. “We try hard to maintain our anonymity as best as we can to protect us all. That’s of course why we use pen names and not our real ones. Mortimer and I … we know about this apartment. News of hauntings in this area are something we always pay close attention to, especially with our son living here.”
“Dad, can we please not do this now?” pleads a mortified Byron, burying his face in his hands.
“And we think it’s imperative, now more than ever as Halloween draws near, that you not tempt the restless spirit of Westley Harmeyer any more than you already have by living here.”
The name rings out like a bell, tolling for the world to hear, loud and crystal clear.
It does not escape Byron’s attention. He heard the name, just like he heard it before. And where once there was a mortified expression on his face, now there is just blankness and an unanswered question.