Part 1
Shortly after my 26th Birthday I found myself on a visit to beacon hills for an extended stay with my Aunt, whom I had not seen for quite some time. She was mostly confined to a room in her house sitting in her wheelchair and lived a few states over. I felt bad for her being a prisoner in her own home, but visits were difficult with her being so far. My mother, her own sister, hadn’t even come with me. Getting time off work was difficult enough, especially for so long. Perhaps she’d sent me in her stead and had the same heavy guilt about her situation.
It was my first Friday with her, and while most nights of the week she sat at home watching murder mysteries and terrible made-for-TV romance films from the 1980s, tonight was her special night. Her night out. It was bingo night. She wouldn’t miss that for the world. While she had implored I go with her, I didn’t much like the idea of sitting in a stuffy hall with the smell of ointments and old people harassing my nose. I’d suggested instead that while she was out I take a walk, get some fresh air, and acquaint myself better with the surrounding area.
Beacon hills was a small community, an affluent community, but an old one too. The houses were all huge but being so far from any major cities they were well priced, if a little dilapidated. Along the winding path one house in particular stood out from the others. It was older, grander. Time hadn’t been kind to it though, and neither had its occupants. Staring through the wrought-iron gates I could see no movement, no light, no life through its grimy windows. Greying lace curtains hung haphazardly on the inside but stood still as though time didn’t move for this house.
It didn’t take long for me to decide to have a look around, after all there was nobody about on the streets and no sign of anyone having lived here for some time. The gate squeaked and cried as I opened it, it was a wonder it hadn’t entirely rusted shut. Gravel crunched and ground under my fur-lined boots as I approached the house, and I could see more of the neglect up close – paint curling away from wooden beams, cracked paving slabs and weeds emerging from everywhere they could.
I intended to take a look around the grounds. I made my way to the back garden to see what it looked like and imagine how it must have been while people lived there. Planters, a fountain, and a nice set of iron garden furniture, though the rotted wood had fallen through on the seats. Something caught my eye as I approached the dried fountain laden with autumn leaves – a flash of movement on the edge of my periphery.
Startled, I looked over to see somebody sitting by the back door of the house. Watching me. He hadn’t said a word yet.
“Oh, you startled me. I’m sorry! I didn’t think anyone lived here.” I started, stepping a little closer to the stranger. He must have been about 5’8 when he was standing. Tall, with an athletic build. Even through the shadowed awning above the back door I could make out his crystal blue eyes peering at me through the dark.
“What makes you think I live here?” he replied. That caught me off guard, and I stammered.
“I … uh, you’re sitting here by the back door. Usually people do that at their own house.”
He laughed a little. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I just came to take a look around. It’s a beautiful property.”
“It used to be.” Was all he said. For a few seconds he paused, eyeing me up and down. It felt like he was undressing me with his eyes.
“How long ago was that? Why doesn’t anyone look after it now?” I asked. “And who even are you anyway?”
“It was a long time ago.” He stood and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with a long nasal breath. “The name’s Peter.” He strode over to me and extended a large rough hand my way. I put my hand in his to shake it, but I couldn’t get past how small my fingers were in comparison to his.
“Isabelle.” I told him, softly. As he stared at me, my hand in his, I stared back. I couldn’t help but get lost in his deep eyes.
“If you’d like, we could go somewhere with less trespassing involved? You’re new to town, I can show you around.” He suggested. It wasn’t uncommon for everyone to know everyone in a place like this. I didn’t even know the guy. He could be a murderer for all I knew. “No, that’s ok. I’m just taking a look around.” Who is he to be hanging out here, alone?
“That’s a shame. I don’t bite, you know.” He seemed a little disappointed. “Not unless you ask.” He added with a wry grin about his face. I flashed red and my thoughts turned dark. I didn’t know the first thing about this guy but he had an air of confidence about him that I hadn’t seen before. He had a presence that I couldn’t put my finger on.
I thought about it for a minute, still staring at him. I had a few hours to kill with no particular goal in mind. I didn’t think I’d be seeing him again after this, and if he wanted to kill me it’d be easier to do it here than somewhere more public.
“… fine.” I finally answered. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.
“Good. Now follow me, Isabelle.”
He took me further along the road I was walking down, talking about the houses and all the stories he knew about them. It sounded like he’d lived here a long time and knew everybody in the area. Just seeing the houses was one thing, but the stories he told me made them feel so much more alive. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves at a diner on the corner of an intersection. The roads were quiet, and the place was nearly empty.
Picking a booth by the window facing the parking lot we sat and chatted over coffee and pancakes. Nothing fancy, but this was apparently the local spot for everyone to come and hang out. He talked to me more about the town and himself and asked me what brought me here to Beacon Hills. The conversation flowed from books and music, movies and shows and we talked into the night. He was an interesting man, older than I’d usually go for but as the diner closed he walked me back to the house where he’d found me.
“This is where I get off. It doesn’t have to end here if you don’t want it to, though.” He told me, standing outside the gate with his hands in his coat pockets.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, something tells me you’re the curious type. You probably wanted to take a look inside too. How about a nightcap in the loft? I can tell you more about Beacon Hills.” He was smouldering. I would never normally think about following a strange guy into their house, but something about him made me feel safe.
“… Alright, but if you kill me I’m going to haunt you so bad.” I joked at him. He laughed and pushed the heavy gate open with one hand, leading me back inside. It was going to be an interesting night.
Part 2
Peter walked me inside the home beyond the gates. At one time it would have been a stunningly beautiful property with its tiled floor in the entry hall and chandelier scintillating above the sweeping staircase but having been untouched for so long it was now a hazy memory of its former self. Tiles had been cracked and the chandelier had fallen to a loose pile of crystals tossed around the floor. The house emanated a musky smell that molested my nose, not overpowering, but the earthy smell of trapped humidity and water damage from years ago. Judging by the fabric used on the furniture and the colours and patterns of the wallpaper it hadn’t been touched in decades.
“This is where the magic happens.” Peter ironically boasted, motioning with his hands out at the filth and detritus around him.
“I think it could probably use a little more magic…” I answered, following him to the staircase. We both slowly ascended to the top and he pointed out a few of the different rooms as we passed them. There was another set of stairs leading up into the attic at the far end of one of the wings of the house with a door hidden away in a recess.
“And this is where I live.” Peter said with a wink as he pushed it open, taking care not to stand in the way of the view. It was a mighty space that spanned the whole area of the house with a small separation for the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the house it was clean, modern, and fresh. Every breath I took had a different taste, a different smell here than the rest of the house. It was musky, spicy, with a subtle sweetness. It smelled like him. I took a deep nasal breath to get my fill without even noticing I was doing it and turned a bright red as I realised he might be watching. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice and simply strolled further into his space.
“Can I take your coat?” He purred, holding out a huge hand with thick, muscular fingers. His t-shirt clung to his muscles tightly as if he had painted himself. I still hardly knew him but my body was screaming at me to tear it off of him and explore every inch.
“O-oh, yeah of course.” I stammered, trying not to let him notice me checking him out. I slipped out of my coat and swung it over to him. While he was hanging it up I took a good look around. I saw a guitar by a windowed alcove and pictured him sitting on the ledge and watching the world go by as he plucked the strings with those fingers that I’d love to have all over me. There was a set of weights by his bed and a little pile of books on his bedside table. He hadn’t made his bed, but he wasn’t expecting visitors.
He guided me over to his sofa that he’d positioned between two windows and in front of his television set. Beneath it was a games console hidden in the shadowed recesses of the wooden table that it stood on.
“So what’ll you take?” he asked me with a caring tone to his voice.
“Hmm, do you have any tonic?” I asked him. Maybe he had a can or two. He leaned into a little minifridge hidden on the other side of his bed to search.
“Yeah, there’s a can in here. Gin and tonic then?” Given the tonic there was really only one of two things it could be, but he got it right.
“Yes please.” I chirped in thanks.
He brought me a gin and tonic and grabbed himself a whiskey.
“You said your family has ties to beacon hills?” He stared directly into my eyes as he asked me and I could hardly bear to look back at his. With such an intense, deep blue staring back at me it felt like he was staring directly into my soul and could understand everything about me without so much as saying a word.
I told him about my grandparents and their grandparents, about why my parents moved out of town and how my aunt was the only one left here. He mentioned that there could be more distant relatives still here, and about his own family and their own ties to Beacon Hills. It was all his family had ever known and they’d been there right since the town’s inception.
We talked for what seemed like hours and yet it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t even been a day but it felt like I’d known him for years, as if he was some long lost childhood friend who wished to rekindle a friendship that’d been absent since the house was last occupied.
Finally, thankfully, he leaned in and kissed me. It was a little bit of a shock at first to see him staring right at me, motionless as he smirked. His eyes glistened in the dying light that cascaded through the windows, illuminating tiny particles of dust like thousands of stars swirling around us. He leaned into me slowly, cautiously, but with his confidence and mystery I couldn’t refuse him.
Immediately I started kissing him back, needing more and more of him. I’ll never forget the way he tasted, or the strength of his tongue. His powerful arms pinned mine back as his mouth explored my own, reaching deep and leaving no space untouched. His vast body lingered over me but I felt no fear, only exaltation as he began to grind himself against me. At last I got my wish and his fingers began to explore my sides, tracing the sweeping curve of my waist and tracing my hips beneath his fingertips.
Just as he started to growl into my ear and bite his way down my neck to my collarbone I felt a vibration from my pocket. My phone, at a time like this. I either wanted to ignore it or throw it across the room.
“Arrrugh” I moaned out, breaking the mood.
‘hi isabelle I got home from bingo come home safe love you’ read the message, lack of punctuation and all. It seemed my aunt was home and expected me back. I hadn’t noticed just how fast the time had been moving with Peter.
He told me that I was welcome to stay, and should I find the time while I was here in Beacon Hills I was welcome to visit him again. He even walked me to my aunt’s house and took my hand outside the door to give it a gentle kiss, his eyes staring up at me and locking into my own.
Perhaps, I thought, I’d take him up on his offer.