The Haunting of Twisted Oaks Inn (#9)

[Adelina]

“Ivy?”

There was no answer in the great room. She wasn’t outside. Maybe here…no, she wasn’t in her office, either.

Hurley leaned against the doorframe of Ivy’s office. He looked around the small room, taking in the dark wooden bookcases lining the walls, the navy blue velvet curtains, the plush maroon carpeting. The desk matched the bookcases, made of the same deeply-hued wood—a real desk, he noted, not some cheap computer desk from a discount store. It looked pretty old, perhaps a hundred years or so, about the same age as the house in which it resided. Clearly, Ivy was one who appreciated skilled craftsmanship. Here, then, was another trait they shared.

Hurley walked up to the desk to evaluate it more closely. He knocked here, bumped there, pushed a bit over here. Yes, very solid. He visually measured the height; by his estimate, it would reach about as high as Ivy’s hipbone.

Perfect.

Hurley’s face spread into a self-indulgent grin. It had been with great reluctance that he’d gone to work that morning. He thought it fortunate that Ivy was already up and about when he woke. If he’d seen her lying there, with her strawberry hair spread across her pillow, he surely would have forgotten that he was gainfully employed. Chuckling softly, he recalled the sight of her squirmy little body draped helplessly over his lap; a warm stream of desire crept into his loins at the mere memory of the adorable curve of her hips. He really hoped she’d be home very soon.

With a critical eye, Hurley’s gaze swept over the top of the desk, which was submerged under a shallow layer of assorted papers, folders, and catalogs. He could see there was a method to this madness; clusters of related pages overlapped one another, forming little sub-messes. It was like some fractal pattern, an organized chaos. Hurley had a hunch that Ivy knew exactly where everything was and could find whatever she might need in an instant.

Still… as a whole, the mess was unsightly. That would be reason enough—assuming he needed one—to feast his eyes on her beautiful form and help himself to a serving of rump roast.

Pondering his plan of attack, Hurley left the office and went downstairs to Ivy’s apartment—always unlocked, another item which he mentally tucked away for future use—to look for the one missing element. He found it right where he’d left it the night before, patiently waiting in the top drawer of Ivy’s armoire. With an air of subtle respect, Hurley took the wooden box from the drawer and opened the latch. It seemed as though the paddle was calling to him, begging to be let out to play; and Hurley was all too happy to oblige. He lifted it carefully from the case and cradled it in his palms. Thus armed, he sped back up the stairs and straight to the office to await the arrival of his new friend. “When she gets home,” he gleefully thought, “I’ll be ready for her.”

Much to Hurley’s surprise, someone was already waiting in the office. It wasn’t Ivy. He stopped dead in his tracks, numb with abrupt awareness as the forlorn figure lifted a pale hand and pointed to the paddle in Hurley’s grip.

“That is mine.”

********************************

Skip — skip — plunk.

Skip — skip — skip — plunk.

PLUNK.

“Too thick,” thought Ivy, scanning the beach for flat, thin stones. After a year of living on the edge of the lake, she’d become fairly proficient in the art of skipping. It was a wonderfully mindless pastime, one which gave her time to think while soothing her nerves. She had calmed substantially in the time that she’d been wandering along the shoreline, flinging hapless rocks at the rippling water.

Ivy’s mind churned with assorted emotions, tossing them about like floating leaves. Indignation mingled with awe; shock prodded at bewilderment. All of them rolled together into a big ball of uncertainty, and after an hour of thought, Ivy still felt no strong sense of what to do next.

Skip — skip — skip — plunk.

This was her house now, and her home. Yes, it used to belong to him, when he was alive; but not anymore. He was no longer king of the hill, and she was not some miscellaneous servant who lived to do his bidding, running after dustballs at the drop of a hat.

Ivy did not fully understand how this spirit had gotten her so worked up. He had this odd power, a penetrating presence which seemed to have little to do with being deceased. When he looked at her with those flashing eyes, she was mesmerized. As much as she wished to escape, she felt inexplicably drawn to him, as if he emanated some kind of magnetic pull.

Skip — plunk.

No. It simply would not do. Ivy was the rightful owner of the Inn, fair and square. It was hers. The matter was simple, really; she would just have to buckle down and steel herself against his demands. She worked plenty hard to keep the house and grounds well-maintained. She was not going to become a neat freak for his sake, fussing over dusty windowsills or untrimmed shrubs. And if he didn’t like it, well, that was too bad!

Skip — skip — skip — skip — skip — skip....

Ivy watched the smooth, round stone skid gracefully across the surface of the lake until it slipped out of sight. Then, holding her head high with resolve, she set out along the water, due east, toward her humble home.

[spanked~amber]

I'm really enjoying this series. Thanks for sharing it with us

[RG_]

Originally Posted by spanked~amber

I'm really enjoying this series. Thanks for sharing it with us

Toldja Adelina would be a real plus to the site! She's just starting to really kick in her talent.