Chapter 1: Be Careful What You Wish For

Charlotte's POV

PRESENT DAY

When I first saw the place, I just knew. It was perfect for me. It was like coming home. The locals all warned me, bad things happened there. Whispers of suicides, of madness. But at the price they were offering, it was madness to turn down. And I still believe that. Even now, after everything that has happened. I wouldn't change a thing. The nurse is calling me, telling me I need to take my medication. I don't mind really. It doesn't change what I know to be real. They just don't understand. He was the only one who understood. And now he's gone. I guess I was screaming again. I can't always tell when I'm doing that.

***

ONE YEAR AGO

When the realtor showed me the house, she launched into the speech. I could tell, she never for one minute believed I would be interested in it. In my state, realtors have to disclose if it is a "stigmatized property". This is the law, can you believe it? In my case, this meant an uncomfortable conversation about how it is believed to be haunted. But at $500 a month? As I told her, ghosts are the least of my problems. I never believed in those things. Ghosts, boogeymen, things hiding under the bed. What I believed in were things I knew to be real. Debt collectors, cable bills, and an embarrassingly high Macy's balance. Ghosts? Ridiculous. I asked her if I could mandate that the spirits contribute toward the rent. She stared at me blankly.

"Just a joke," I muttered. She laughed, uncomfortably.

Like I said, people don't always get me. The price was right, the location was right. I worked at the town library, and it was just down the road. Ten minutes away, maximum. It was an old house, built in the 1880's. Situated on a little hill, in the middle of nowhere, really. The entire town pretty much consisted of a few tract housing developments, the library, the school, a convenience store, and this house. It was perfect for me. ***

My life before him, before all of this, was pretty normal. Lonely, sometimes sad and boring, but normal. My entire existence, in fact, was nothing if not predictable. Work at the library, then home in time for dinner and a walk for Baxter, my dog. Evening in front of the television, or with a book (I liked to say that was my version of taking work home with me). Then I moved into the new place, and things began to change. It started with little things. I would hear noises. At first I thought it was the television. Or maybe just the old house, sighing in the evening breeze. I wasn't worried. Not really. Like I said, I didn't believe in ghosts.

Not then. Or I would see something, just a flicker, out of the corner of my eye. I would be making dinner, and I would see a glimmer of a shadow. Just for a second, and then it was gone. Baxter would be barking like crazy. Whatever it was, he could see it too. Just for an instant. But I decided we were both overreacting. New environment. New noises. Nothing to worry about. I would give Baxter a treat, settle in with a stiff drink, read a book, and forget about it.

The first time I saw him, he stopped my heart. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I honestly don't even know what I said to him that first time. I WOULD use a world like destiny to describe the feeling. However, when you spend time in an asylum, you learn quickly that it's best not to get terribly colorful in one's descriptions. That is what it felt like, though. Destiny.

***

Baxter met him first. He was in the front yard, barking his head off at someone. One of the advantages of the house was the beautiful wrought iron fence around the property, so I knew he couldn't get out.

However, the gate wasn't locked, so someone could come in. Realizing this, I hurried out the door and saw.

Him.

Standing by the fence in the violet twilight was the most perfect man I had ever seen. Probably the only perfect man I had ever seen.

Black hair, his long lean body stretched over the fence to pet my dog. My heart stopped.

"Good evening," he said, in a voice like velvet, a hint of the South along the edges, pooling like honey around his words, "I hope I am not disturbing you. I was on my evening walk and I met this little gentleman." Long fingers stroked Baxter's belly, while he wiggled in apparent glee. "We're neighbors, I think. I'm Stephen," he extended the hand that wasn't making my dog happy, "I live around here."

I THINK I took his hand, my body on autopilot. Like I said, I was too stunned to speak, and I just don't remember much of what I said to him that night. I must have introduced myself, made appropriate small talk, and I am certain I remarked on his apparent way with animals. I thought he looked melancholy, for just a moment, but I may have been imagining that. The doctors say I imagine things a lot, and knowing that messes with my head. I sometimes wonder what's real and what's not real, and how to tell the difference. But I guess we all struggle with that, in one way or another.

"I had a dog a long time ago. He was a great friend of mine," he replied with his head down, engaged in playing with Baxter, "I miss him still…" "What was his name," I asked, charmed by the way he had made friends with my own dog so quickly. Additionally, if I was honest, I enjoyed hearing that voice of his. Deep and rich, it made my toes curl. I'm a sucker for a man with a sexy voice.

"King, he was an English Bulldog," Stephan replied wistfully, "He was my best friend, really." Then he straightened, and gave me the sexiest smile I had ever seen in my life. God he was gorgeous, I thought, blushing like crazy. Then I suddenly remembered my manners, thank God. What was wrong with me, I wondered. Seeing a man so incredibly attractive seemed to have completely melted my brain!

"Would you like to come in for a drink?" I asked him, tentatively, noting that the sun was setting, so it wasn't an unreasonable thing to suggest. "I have coffee, soda, vodka, bourbon…"

"Thank you, that would be wonderful," he replied, to my relief. I guess I haven't scared him off yet, I thought wryly, it's a miracle. "Bourbon sounds perfect, if it isn't too much trouble."

I somehow remembered how to unlatch the gate, and he entered my yard with Baxter at his heels, smiling at his new friend.

***

I set about fixing the amber liquid in some antique crystal glasses I was secretly hoping I could use someday for this very purpose, (or something like it) when he surprised me. "If you don't mind me asking, what was it that drew you to this place," he asked, and took a long sip of his drink, ice clinking softly against the glass. "Are you not afraid of the ghosts?" I laughed in response, I couldn't help it.

"No, I'm afraid of my Macy's bill," I replied in jest. Yet I noticed that he appeared to be pensive, and I had to ask, "What, you aren't, are you?" "What, afraid of your Macy's bill?" Stephen asked, clearly perplexed by the question, "I'm not even sure what that is."

Good for you, I thought, I wish I didn't know what it was. Creditors had been calling me for weeks about mine, which was information that he definitely did NOT need to know!

"No, of ghosts," I replied with a smile, "Are you afraid of them? Of things that go bump in the night?" It seemed unlikely, but I guessed that it was possible. Everyone had a weird fear or two, I reflected. I'd once had a friend who couldn't bear to be in the same room with even the tiniest of spiders. It certainly wasn't a deal breaker if he was afraid of spiders OR of ghosts.

"Yes," Stephen replied gravely, "Yes I am afraid of ghosts." He strode to the picture window and looked out into the deepening twilight, his back to me. "Perhaps you should be as well. And perhaps I should go. It's getting late."

He stopped to pet Baxter at his heels, giving me what seemed to me a mournful smile. Strange, I thought, but again, not a big deal. Plenty of people were afraid of the supernatural. Of what they didn't understand. If only I'd known the truth...

"Well, I do hope I see you again soon," I told him. I was out of practice flirting, and I hoped I didn't sound desperate. I cursed my lack of experience with real men. Men who weren't characters in books.

"I am sure you will," he responded, again with the strange smile, "I thank you for the drink. Your bourbon is excellent. I will have to return the favor." "Anytime!" I called out, but he was already heading down the road, swallowed by the shadows before I could even see which way he went.