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

woke up panicked, convinced that he was crammed in bed again with his mother.

"Sounds rough," Beth said. She opened a door to reveal a study. "This is the office. Everything in here was custom built."

"I don't see a router." Mike walked in, his eyes scanning the room. The shelves were packed with poetry books and different inspirational pieces. Fake flowers adorned every free inch of desk space.

"Your great aunt didn't have Internet."

"Well, I will." Mike frowned, checking out the window. He could see how overgrown the back yard had become. A large stone fountain full of muck had been overrun with weeds. "I build websites for a living. If I decide to keep the place, I will need to get it installed."

Beth was already making notes on her clipboard. "I will see what we can do. Just to remind you, this home is on the list of historical places, so we may experience some delays."

Mike waved a hand dismissively, kneeling beneath the desk. "I have my ways. Just get me some sort of high speed line, I'll do the rest." He stuck his hands behind the desk, feeling for an outlet. Determined to find one, he slid his hands into every crevice, using his phone as a flashlight and cramming his face against the wall.

"Let me show you to the guest room," Beth said, reminding him that she was waiting on him. Mike smacked his head on the desk as he stood. He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the top of his head as he followed her back into the hall. Beth opened another door, showing him a plain twin-sized bed with a large pink comforter. Daisies were embroidered across the top. The walls of the room were painted a robin egg blue, giving the whole space a dollhouse vibe.

"I have no words," Mike said, staring at the guest bed.

"I don't blame you." Beth opened the closet. "There are some spare linens, but they aren't any better."

"What use does a shut-in have for a guest room?" Mike inspected the closet. In the bottom, he saw another porcelain doll.

"My best guess is that it was a room your father stayed in as a child."

"You think?" Mike held up one end of the pink comforter.

Beth laughed. "I never said it was a good idea. Your dad had some cousins, and most were little girls once."

"I'm sure." Mike stared at the bed, his thoughts drifting. Was it actually possible that his own father had slept beneath this roof? The man had died not long after Mike was born, lost to an aggressive form of cancer. It was the same disease that had led his mother to drink. Thinking of his mother, he looked at the tiny bed, an enormous pit opening in his stomach.

No fucking way. He needed a larger bed.

"Where did Great Aunt Emily sleep?"

"In her room, down the hall." Beth paused. "She died in there."

"In the bed?" Mike was already wondering where he could unroll his sleeping bag.

"No, if that's what you’re worried about." Beth took him back into the hall. Mike found himself staring again at her butt. His eyes flicked up to hers when she looked back. "It's this one right here."

Beth opened the door. The room was large, the ceiling elevated. Mike realized he was in one of the round, tower rooms he had seen from the front. The bed was centered along the back wall, a large four poster with draping curtains all around. His gaze followed the curve of the walls, taking in the intricate molding along the mid wall and ceiling. Two dressers, a standing armoire, and a mirrored nightstand were all uncovered by Beth as she made her rounds. A large opening signaled the entrance to the bathroom. Towards the other side of the room, a giant oriental rug covered the floor.

"The rug is in an odd place," Mike said, pointing at it.

"It was some time before we found your aunt," Beth replied. “I’m afraid the... decomposition process creates a stain that is very hard to remove. We’re working on finding proper replacement material. It isn't easy to find hundred-year-old hardwood flooring that matches the surrounding floor."

"Why not replace it all?"

"Historical society, remember?"

"Ah." Mike stared at the bed. It was easily a king size. "Her heart gave out?"

"She was ninety six. It happens." Beth looked at her clipboard. "I made myself a few notes. I just need a signature to authorize some purchases."

"Of course." Mike walked in to the bathroom. "Holy shit, have you seen this thing?"

Beth laughed behind him. "I have. Impressive, isn't it?"

Mike stared at the largest claw-footed bathtub he had ever seen. Looking at Beth with wide eyes, he hopped inside it, lying down along the bottom. Neither his head or feet touched the ends. He reached his arms out. They were almost fully extended before touching the sides.

"I will admit, your great aunt's taste in decor is questionable in areas, but this is probably my favorite piece here." Beth sat on the bath, staring in at Mike. Mike sat up and looked over the side of the tub. The edge was to his chin.

"I feel like I'm sitting in a boat." Mike turned his attention to the spigot. Two separate faucets made of some sort of bronze fed the tub. "Does it still work?"

"I assume so. We had the home inspected in case we were selling it." Beth stroked one of the spigots. "I wish I could try it out."

"Hop in. Plenty of room." The words were out of his mouth before his brain could stop them. He looked away, pretending to fiddle with the faucets.

Beth laughed. "Afraid I'm too busy at the moment." Extending a hand for support, she helped Mike stand. He had to lift his legs high to step out of the basin - the inside was deeper than the outside. “Maybe I can house sit sometime.”

“I’ll leave you some bath beads.” Mike stepped back to admire the tub. “I’ve never been a fan of baths, but this may