The Dark Life of Scott Winthrope, Part Two

Previous

The Manor sat on a large lot of land that had once been used as a plantation, with the house sprawling out over the grounds in an effort to house the once large Winthrope clan. But over the years the Winthrope name had run down to a trickle, ending with Scott, who had few plans on finding a woman to settle down with an marry, let along pop out a few children. Reaching the sweeping set of stairs leading from the second floor to the first, Scott paused and admired the gothic scenery around him.

Stuffed animal heads, lined with cobwebs, jutted from the walls next to dusty tapestries and aged stone busts of ancient philosophers. The black and white tile floor was dizzying if stared at too long, and the skylight set above the foyer was overgrown with vines that were slowly choking the house. All in all, it looked as if the Cryptkeeper might emerge from a corner with his signature laugh any minute.

In other words, not a place for the faint of heart.

Walking down the stairs two at a time, Scott moved to the front door, which was partially open from the night before, and picked up the skinny jeans that Sonya had peeled off once they’d entered the house. Throwing them over his shoulder, Scott moved through a small dining room to the kitchen, running his hand over a dirty fridge that bore old photographs taped on over wide cracks. Pulling on the handle, Scott eyed the inside of the fridge for a moment before reaching in and grabbing a bottle of beer.

“Wonder if she wants anything…?” Scott muttered to himself as he thought of Sonya. “I mean other than to get out of here and forget all about this.”

He heard the boards above his head groan with the weight of someone moving, bringing a smile to his face.

“So she’s brave enough to try and sneak down explore the room without me being around, eh?” Scott twisted off the cap of his beer, placing the chilled bottle to his lips and drinking away the last of his dry mouth. “Guess I’ll start on breakfast and see if she finds anything.”

Opening the fridge once more, Scott fished out a few eggs and a package of bacon, carrying them carefully over to the oven before setting them down. Reaching above to the hanging pots and pans, he pulled down a skillet and a pan, along with a spatula that was older than he was. Turning on two of the burners, he walked across the kitchen and picked up the small red packet of cigarettes, tapping them against his hand errantly before sliding one slim stick of sin out.

Pressing it against the heating metal, he smiled as it lit, allowing him to take a drag off of it, the smoke easing his tensed muscles as he blew it out blissfully. Taking another sip of his beer, he began cracking open eggs and pouring the contents into the pan, setting it on a burner that was set to medium. Pulling the raw bacon from the packet, he laid out six strips onto the skillet on the high setting burner.

Spending the next few minutes silently listening to bacon sizzle and flipping eggs in the pan while sipping his beer and smoking his cigarette, Scott waited for Sonya to make an appearance. She would have to come looking for him eventually. After all, he had her pants over his shoulder.

A creak from far in the house brought a wicked grin to Scott’s face as he stood in the darkened, windowless kitchen. He knew that particular creaking noise.

That was to the attic.

Minutes stretched on as Scott waited for the scream, the pounding of feet… but nothing came. Pulling the skillet and pan off the burner and switching the heated coils off, he heaved a sigh.

“Do I have to come and find you, little girl?” Scott muttered as he took a final swig of his beer and puff of his cigarette, dropping the shortened stub into the bottle with a flick of his wrist. “Swear to God, I don’t even know why I bother.”

Walking through the musty dining room and into the foyer, Scott gasped when he caught sight of Sonya, dangling from the banister from a length of rope he knew to be hundreds of years old. Swinging slightly as her eyes bulged, her hands scrabbling at the noose wrapped so tightly around her neck, she looked at Scott with pleading eyes, silently begging for help.

Scott sighed. “And here I made breakfast for two… guess that’ll go to waste.”

“Help… me…” Sonya rasped as she struggled for air, legs kicking about to find some sort of purchase.

“You went exploring in the house on your own, I’m not about to get in the way of my dear ancestors and their fun.” Scott said, pulling her pants from his shoulder, folding them into a bundle. As she let out a hoarse scream, Scott turned and put the pants on a cabinet against the far wall opposite the sweeping stairs.

Looking back, Scott flinched as he saw a cloud of darkness roiling behind Sonya as she swayed, a single eye staring out from it as two long, gangly arms as pale as fresh snow reached out, softly caressing Sonya’s soft legs. She screamed even louder upon realizing something was touching her.

Scott exhaled, shaking his head. “Grandma, are you responsible for this?”

The specter let out a low, mournful moan that led into a series of clicks, her hands moving up to rest on Sonya’s hips, patting them.

“I wasn’t looking for someone to have a kid with Grandma, just a fun night.” Scott explained, walking up to stare into the one eye. “Do you have to do this with all the girls I bring home? The local authorities already don’t like me as it is…”

Grandma, her blackened strands of tar-like hair drifting slowly around the thrashing woman, moaned pitifully once more as she caressed the side of Sonya’s face. A mad twinkle in the glassy eye peering from around Sonya’s desperate features made Scott heave a sigh.

“Let her go Grandma,” Scott grumbled, turning to head back into the kitchen, “I made breakfast for two and I want to have someone to talk to while I eat.”

Sonya cried out as the rope, taut over the banister, slipped allowing her to fall onto her backside, her bare legs splayed wide as she struggled to pull off the knotted noose from around her neck.

“Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes,” called out as he returned to the burners, turning them back on, “and I still have your pants and wallet, so don’t try and run. Grandma isn’t the worst person lurking these halls, and some of them would love to lay into you.”