Radley's Home for Horny Monsters, Annabelle Hawthorne [howl and other poems TXT] 📗

Radley's Home for Horny Monsters

Horny Monsters, Volume 1

Annabelle Hawthorne

Published by Wet Leaf Press, 2018.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

RADLEY'S HOME FOR HORNY MONSTERS

First edition. October 23, 2018.

Copyright © 2018 Annabelle Hawthorne.

Written by Annabelle Hawthorne.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Testing the Waters

A Swing and a Miss

Garage Goblin

Made of Stone

Firing Squad

Memories of Emily

What About the Creepy Doll?

La Petite Mort

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

Soul Survivor

Unwanted Company

Welcome Home

Afterword

Sign up for Annabelle Hawthorne's Mailing List

About the Author

About the Publisher

This book is for the misfits

the dreamers

and the believers

Testing the Waters

Mike stared at the Victorian style home in awe, the sheer scale of it overwhelming him. Tower-like structures gave the blue dwelling a medieval touch, and the house was ringed in simple gardens with waist-high shrubs that were in desperate need of a trim. Stone lions guarded the walk to the front door, and a cobblestone path disappeared around the back.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Mike, startled, dropped his sleeping bag. He bent to pick it up, warmth flooding through his cheeks.

"I'm afraid you have quite a task ahead of you, Mr. Radley."

Mike let out a nervous laugh as Beth, his great aunt's estate representative, walked past. The woman was taller than him, very attractive, and all business. Her dark hair wrapped up in a bun, she paused to check something on her clipboard. Mike took the opportunity to admire her backside through the thin layer of her pencil skirt. Very faint panty lines ran around her buttocks, lines that Mike had trouble taking his eyes away from.  She turned to face him, and he pretended to struggle with his sleeping bag.

"I doubt you'll need that," she pointed out, lending him a hand. She smelled like peaches and something floral, a scent he couldn’t quite place. "The house has plenty of space."

"I’ve been a Boy Scout since I was six. Be prepared. That's my motto."

"Uh huh." Beth helped him secure the bag under his arm. "Trust me when I say you won't need it." She led him up the stairs, the wooden deck creaking slightly under their weight. Mike stared briefly at the swinging chair on the front porch, moving slightly in the breeze. As Beth produced a key, she looked at Mike. "This must be like a fairy tale to you."

"No such thing as fairy tales. Just a weird coincidence," he said, careful to keep his eyes above the lacy top of her blouse. Women, as a rule, made him nervous. Particularly pretty ones.

"You hear about these things all the time," she said, sliding the key into the lock. "But you never get to see them play out." The door stuck in the frame, and Beth leaned her shoulder in to give it a shove. A strand of hair came loose from her bun as she pushed her way inside. "A long-lost relative dying and leaving everything to you."

"Yeah. Lucky me." Mike followed her inside. The house was cool, and dark. Beth opened up some of the windows, allowing the light in. The furniture in the home was all covered, giving the sitting room the eerie appearance of a haunted house. Beth pulled the cover off of the couch, sending a small layer of dust into the air.

"You don't seem very keen on the idea, Mr. Radley." Beth uncovered the coffee table, and set her purse and clipboard down. "It is a very nice house."

"It's not the house. And call me Mike." Mike threw his sleeping bag on a clean portion of the floor along with his backpack. Out of habit, he slipped off his shoes at the door.

"Well, Mike, we went through an awful lot of trouble tracking you down." Beth uncovered a nearby love seat. "This home was only weeks away from being liquidated by the firm."

"Which I understand is still an option?" Mike asked, staring at the pale yellow curtains.

"Correct." Beth picked up her clipboard. "Only if you decide not to keep it."

"Right." Mike looked down the long hallway to the kitchen. "I'm not used to having so much space. Gives me the creeps."

"By nature, homes of this style are actually quite cozy." Beth led the way to the kitchen, the heels of her boots clicking on the hardwood floor. “There is quite a bit of space for you to spread out.”

"I've never lived in anything with more than two bedrooms," Mike responded. Beth checked the appliances to make sure they still worked, and showed Mike where the fuse box was. A brief tour of the kitchen turned up several jars of preserved jellies, an old box of cat biscuits, and an empty tub of ice cream in the freezer.

"So, where is the cat?" Mike asked, shaking the box of biscuits.

"As far as we know, she didn't have one. Your great aunt conscripted our services long before my parents were even out of high school, and rarely contacted the firm. According to our sources, she was largely a shut-in. It's likely those treats are older than you or I."

"As long as she wasn't eating them," Mike muttered, throwing the biscuits back in the cupboard.

"So, you've only lived in apartments?" Beth stood now at the bottom of the stairs. She climbed up, and Mike paused to look in the living room. Sure enough, a creepy fucking porcelain doll sat right above the fireplace, legs draped over the mantle. He shivered and looked up the stairs. Enough of Beth's legs were showing that he could see the top of her stockings. Jesus. He pulled hard on the railing, eager to catch up.

"Yeah. My mom was always unemployed, so we were always staying with friends." Memories of being crammed away in the back of someone else's home made him shudder. Long nights pressed up against his mother as they shared a bed, the smell of alcohol oozing from her pores and stinging his eyes. Years of therapy might have helped him over the worst of it, but he still had nights where he