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

Taking a wide berth around the rug in the bedroom, Mike followed Beth through the remaining rooms of the house. Beth made several notes on her clipboard, noting necessary adjustments. Mike’s great aunt had left behind a very large sum of money, and her will stipulated that her oldest surviving relative be given full opportunity to make the house livable before selling it. Mike was well aware that one offer to buy was on the table already, a group of women who wanted to turn the place into a local museum. He had never been able to set roots down, rarely living anywhere longer than six months.

Beth stood at the front door, going over her checklist. Mike stared out the front window, watching the hanging chair rock in place. She had said his name twice before he snapped back to reality.

“Sorry, lost in thought,” he apologized. “What did you say?”

“I said I can swing by tomorrow to take you shopping. Your great aunt had a car, but I’m afraid it got sideswiped eight months ago, a total loss. You’re going to need to get some essentials if you’re going to make this place a home.” Beth let the clipboard relax. “Which I hope you do. It was her utmost wish that the home stay in the family. I know you have already voiced some concerns over maintaining the property, but I really think you should give this place a shot.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mike gave her a small smile. “This is a unique opportunity, after all.”

“Good. You have my business card, so don’t hesitate to contact me for anything.” Beth picked up her purse from the coffee table.

“Actually, there is something.” Beth waited patiently as Mike walked over to the fireplace and removed the porcelain doll. “I don’t care how, just get rid of it.” He handed it to her.

Beth stared at the doll and laughed. “I’m on it. Have a good night, Mike.” Taking the doll, she handed over the keys, then walked out the door and down the steps. Mike watched her as she went, the clicking of her heels on the pavement echoing across the deck. He waved as she got in her car on the street and drove away.

The swinging chair creaked softly. Mike stepped onto the deck, staring at the offending piece of furniture. He unhinged the chains and lowered the seat to the deck. He let the front door shut softly behind him.

NIGHT CREPT UP ON MIKE as he whittled away his evening on his laptop. Using his neighbor’s unprotected Wi-Fi, he checked on several sites he had been maintaining, answered some of his emails, and opened up his bank statements. None of the money his great aunt left him had been transferred in yet, but he pictured the new amount in place of his current one and wondered.

What would he even do with all that cash? If he were to sell the home, he would be walking around with several million and nothing to spend it on. He had been poor as a child, poor enough that by the time he worked his way through college, he was simply used to the survivor’s lifestyle. All the clothes he owned would easily fit in two suitcases, and the bulk of his belongings were made up of a couple of desktop PCs and a tablet at his apartment.

He finally noticed the time near the bottom of his screen and shut down for the night. It was nearing eleven, and he still hadn’t even eaten dinner. A quick search on his phone revealed a nearby pizza place, and he ordered himself a medium sausage with a two-liter bottle of Sprite. He wandered the lonely rooms, eventually tossing his bag in his great aunt’s bedroom. He drifted through the house, picking up random belongings, trying to envision the woman his great aunt was.

He had looked her up online. She had inherited the house from her own aunt (a notorious spinster) at a young age, living off of several very old railroad bonds that had paid off big in the 1940’s. A job as a librarian supplemented her income through her fifties, and then she had simply shut herself away.

Not completely, though. Mike noted that some of the purchases in the home must have been made in the last couple of years. A few of the books in the library had tipped him off. She must have left on rare occasions, or at least hired somebody to shop for her.

To be honest, the thought was pretty appealing to him.

The doorbell startled him out of his reverie, and he nearly dropped a clown figurine he had pulled from a shelf. He put it back and walked to the front door.

“Hi!” The pizza delivery man was, in fact, a gorgeous blonde girl, likely a college student. Her hair had been swooped back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a stylish pair of black rim glasses. The name tag on her jacket said Dana. “Your house is beautiful, by the way! I’ve always loved it!” She handed him his soda.

“Uh, yeah.” He fumbled with his wallet and dropped it. “Um, if you wanna come in, I don’t want flies.” She stepped into the entryway, and the door closed behind her. She looked around while he picked up his wallet, then nearly dropped his soda when he looked up into her crotch. Blushing, he opened his arms to help her take the food from its special cooler, and accidentally brushed against her breast through her jacket with his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever delivered here before,” she added, staring past him at the stairs. “Are you new in town?”

“First day.” He handed her a pair of twenties. As she dug into her pocket for change, he caught a whiff of her perfume. His world started closing in. “No worries, keep it.”

“Seriously?” Her eyes were huge as he nodded.

“Yeah, no problem.” He ushered her out the