This mattress feels like it is trying to eat me.
I walk to another mattress.
Who can sleep on this concrete of a bed?!
These are the thoughts that run through my head as I try to find a king mattress to fit the frame in the master bedroom. I took a taxi home last night, without anyone bothering me, and made it back around 3am. I slept in front of the furnace in the living room, well tried to sleep anyway. I couldn’t get comfortable. Maybe it was the floor, or being cold, but it was mostly what had happened the night before. I woke up around noon thinking it was all a crazy dream, but when I walked out onto the front porch there was a note by Arik telling me to watch my back. I crumpled the message and shoved it into my neon green hoodie, my favorite, and kept walking to the car.
Now I am here, the mattress store, trying to find something that I can sleep on for tonight in hopes to get the dark circles from under my eyes to go away before my first day of work on Monday. As if not sleeping wasn’t bad enough, I had felt paranoid since driving into Estes Park. I keep thinking that everyone is staring at me, and I could have sworn that I recognized some of the faces from last night. My nerves had to be pushed aside since I had errands to do and I would not leave my property for the rest of the night anyway. In fact, when I woke up I had made a resolution that I would not leave the property unless it was to get food, utilities and go to work. Easy enough.
After another hour of jumping from one mattress to another I finally find the perfect mattress. The one to take me to dreamland and back. Now for my favorite kind of shopping, blankets. For someone who gets cold quite easily, all things that had the ability/characteristics to keep me warm are a favorite in my book. I brought a few blankets with me on the move here, but none of them are plush enough to suit my fancy, they are more for nostalgia. The feeling of laying in clouds is the effect I desire.
The blanket hunting is successful and so is gathering the pillows. The last two items to get are some curtains to cover the bay window in the living room, the sliding glass door in the main room and one for the kitchen sliding glass doors leading to the back side of the house, and some pellets to burn for the master bedroom tonight.
The curtains are a bit difficult to find in the small town since it is mostly mom n pop shops, not that big of a selection. I must have visited five home good stores and the curtains were either the wrong length, width or just plain tacky, such as little daisies on pink fabric. If I want curtains, I need to go to Fort Collins and visit a chain store, guess that is what I am doing on Sunday. Last stop is to the Feed and Grain which is back in the canyon. My grandpa took me there when I came to visit him one summer to meet a possible ‘prospect’ as he called it, which meant hook-up his granddaughter with what he thought was a suitable man.
The Big Thompson River roars alongside the road and keeps me entertained since the traffic is a bit slower due to it being a Saturday. There are a few people playing along the river’s shore and a few fishing poles scattered as well. Driving in the canyon has to be the most calming experience, almost as good as driving down the Pacific Coast Highway, PCH. The difference is PCH never changed, but this canyon experiences all the seasons. It takes a matter of minutes until I come to a small turn off which indicates, to those who know, that it leads to a small farm also known as the Feed and Grain. Turning on this road there is a small wooden bridge that has a metal archway with horses engraved on the sides and FnG in the middle. Fall has engulfed this area and looks like a scene from a fairy tale with a brick road and a red barn at the end of that road.
Out front is a young girl in jeans and a plaid long sleeve shirt, raking leaves. There is a decent looking pile that is begging to be jumped in, I am almost positive that she is going to jump in it when she finished. I park off to the other side of the barn where she isn’t working and walk into the barn. The smell of hay wafts from the barn and at first glance the place hasn’t changed one bit since the last I visited it. There are products for every type of farm animal and there is even a domesticated section for dogs, cats, rabbits and so on. At the entrance is an older clean-shaven man with a gray crew cut hairstyle and a plaid long sleeve that is a bit tight around his stomach.
“Hello Miss, what’re you lookin’ for?” He speaks in a friendly tone.
I give him a small smile, “Just some pellets for the burner.”
“Ah. Do you know what kind you have?
“No, I just moved into the house. Owen’s place.”
“Mmm. I know what you need. Stay right here.” The older man walks off down one of the aisles and comes back with a huge bag that I could have confused with dog food. He sets it up on his wooden counter, types in some numbers into an old school cash register, and the total comes to twenty dollars. As I hand him the cash, he tells me a bit about the pellets such as how long one bag will last me, the fact that the pellet burner was a dual burner so it takes wood as well, how to care for the burner, so basically this man is a talking manual.
After the helpful run-down, the man loads my car for me and says he will see me in about a month. I give him my thanks and begin driving away, sure enough the girl is doing leaf angels in her now diminished pile. I can’t help but giggle at her, then I drive off to my home and to do some of the chores there.
There is no way of telling if the other neighbors are home since the natural hedging and trees block the view of everyone’s property from one another which is fine by me. I bring the few things I had bought inside the house, struggling with the bag of pellets, and the delivery truck for the mattress comes along with some beefy men to carry the mattress up the small bit of stairs and into the master bedroom. It doesn’t take them long at all; in fact, the whole thing took less than 15 minutes. I sign a paper and they are off, so the last thing to do is to tend the small greenhouse in the front yard.
Sadly, the greenhouse contains mostly peppers; I am not a fan of grandpas selection of habaneros and ghost peppers. I don’t mind the occasional spicy food, but I prefer sweet flavors over a burning sensation in my mouth. There are other vegetables, such as arugula, carrots, cauliflower, and some herbs like rosemary and sage. Not too bad grandpa. Research needed to be done before I try pulling the plants up. The freshness of the plants is a bit distracting since grandpa has passed away about a month ago. I wonder if one of the neighbors has been taking care of them? I walk to a nearby carrot and gingerly touch its leaves, and I begin talking to the plants just like my grandpa had done. He also used to sing them Johnny Cash, I never knew why.
“You guys know it is a miracle that you have survived this long?” I say to all the plants.
“Well, he did have a green thumb so maybe that’s why…” I wait for a response I make up in my head.
“... I miss him too. I don’t know a lot of Johnny Cash, but ya I can sing something to you."
I chat and sing to grandpas plants that I don’t realize time has slipped by in the greenhouse, the sky becomes darker as the sun falls behind the mountains that surround the canyon and, before I knew it, I am in twilight. I finish my conversation with the plants by stressing the finer things in life and to hold on to that life, probably more for myself than them.. As I exit the greenhouse and say my goodbyes to the plants, I see Rhoan is standing outside of the greenhouse with a pair of blue jeans and a forest green tee on. He has his arms crossed which stresses the shirts sleeves and chest, hair strewn in a sexy way and an expressionless face. Did he hear me giving the plants a pep talk? Oh god…
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I walk up out of the sunken greenhouse stopping a few feet away from Rhoan’s mass.
“How are you feeling?”
My heart skips a beat hearing the care in his voice, but I don’t really feel like talking about what had happened last night. I just shrug and walk past him down the left driveway that goes down to the Big Thompson River that runs through the backyard and by the workshop area; Rhoan follows silently. Stopping at the ledge of the bank, I look to the river that lays 15 feet from me in absolute stillness.
I can’t see, but I feel Rhoan’s eyes boring into my back, waiting. I’m not sure what he is expecting me to say or do. Hell, I don’t know what to expect anymore. Just as I am about to ask what he wants, he says, “You’re safe,” in a hushed voice breaking the long silence and those simple yet reassuring words strike a chord with me. Safety, something I have taken for granted before. My dad and my two brothers always looked out for me. When I had been allowed to go out without an “adult” I knew one of the three were following me, watching my back. I never had a reason to be afraid. Now I am not sure what to anticipate, but with those two words it felt like Rhoan is making a promise. My little bit of composure I can feel is falling apart, and when I look over to the wood pile my grandpa had gathered, the pull at my heart is deep. My eyes are welling with tears, but I will not let him see me cry. I’m sure Rhoan can tell I am emotional since I can’t control the shakes in my shoulders.
I’m sure he is also confused what to do with a crying woman, not many men know when to leave her alone or try to comfort her. So, the delay in action and speech is understandable. “If you need us, we are only a yell away.” I can hear Rhoan’s footsteps as he makes his way up the gravel driveway and as soon as I hear his feet clear my drive-way I get as close to the river’s edge in hopes of the spurring water to cover my sobs. This whole situation is messed up. I don’t even know what I am anymore. When I had looked at the wood pile, I felt so much anger towards my grandpa for not telling us anything, but…sadness swept that feeling away. I would never see him again. Never see him work on his projects. Never hear his voice sing me happy birthday in that raspy voice over the phone. No more stories of my dad, or my grandma. The smell of those awful cigars he would smoke. Nothing. Numbness is what I get to look forward to if a thought of him pushes its way up. I had grieved for him before this time, but the whole moving process put those feelings in hiatus and now that I am somewhat settled in, this is the first time my mind has had a chance to wander as well as my emotions.
The river calms my sobbing, I look out with no thoughts in mind. Just an empty vessel experiencing coldness…when would the sense of loss go away? Would I ever find out what happened to him? Before, the worst possibility was a bear got him while he was out collecting wood but knowing what I did now there are much worse things that could have happened to him. I pause my train of thought once I notice that it is almost completely dark outside. My eyes hurt from the sobbing and I am currently empty of any more tears, so a quick pat on the cheeks and I am up the stairs leading to the kitchen. I lock the kitchen sliding door behind me and I do the same to every window and door. The mundane task gives me time to get over my self-pity.
The time has come to take this new life by the reins and make it mine. I don’t know what happened to grandpa, but after last night I suspected something was off. My mission in the town now is to figure out what had happened to him, and if it is a person, person being used lightly, they would be punished, and if I am lucky, I would learn more of what I am. Or do the best I can. I still feel only human after all. What I know how to do best is research. I have plenty of books that I brought, I could review them and see if any correlated with what is fact and what is fiction. The plan is clear, break!
When I secure the last lock, I walk into the master bedroom, flip the lights on for the chandelier and scavenge through the boxes of books; sorting them into different genres such as geographical and fantasy. Of course, all the books I seem to have that contain anything paranormal are books on romance between super naturals. I wonder how much of this is true? It doesn’t matter, all I have are these books, my laptop will be more useful when I get the wifi going and my neighbors, but they seem reluctant to talk for now and the only way for me to feel right is to get some control of the situation. That is something I can obtain at Jabberwocky on Monday, a detailed book on the supernatural or what someone thought was real.
None of these books are realistic! They are just some fangirls fantasy of being ravaged by a super being. UHG! I flop on my back in irritation at how the majority of the books are not as helpful as I would have liked, but it is my fault for getting romance novels. The only book that seems somewhat legit is a story by Anne Rice. The book dealt with customs and history instead of just a romantic aspect which is greatly appreciated for my current dilemma. I also notice that a lot of books focus on vampires more than the other paranormal. I wonder why that is.
My eyes start to get very heavy with sleep. Pulling out my phone it reads ten o’clock, I look back at the books and decide that I got all the info I could from them, also I couldn’t focus anymore. My long XL green t-shirt I wore as pajamas last night hung off the bed post. With a quick scooping action, I make my way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I wash my face, brush my teeth and run a brush through my hair to complete the ritual I perform for bed. My hair is getting long…almost time to cut it. I think as I look into the mirror,then as I imagine what haircuts I could get, the most God-awful noise comes from the master room. Like someone had a blackboard and was running their nails across the surface.
Fear creeps through me and my breath is caught. After the initial shock plus the fear subsiding, slightly, I walk quickly out of the bathroom and see three people standing in front of the sliding glass door of the master bedroom. There are two men and a woman, who look to be in their early thirties wearing jeans, shorts, and shirts with different logos on them. When I walk out in the open there are no expressions on their faces, but a quick flash of tongue swiping a bottom lip conveys hunger.
“You’re the hybrid.” The girl on the right says.
I walk up to the glass door and stand about two feet away from it. “That is what I have been told,” I speak with tension in my voice and try to sound tougher than I am, “what do you want?”
The man in the middle with a Metallica shirt speaks, “there was a rumor you were all alone, thought we could keep you company.” He smiles and I see fangs extend. Shit!
This needs to be nipped in the bud. “Go away.” My voice is flat.
All three stand with no movement. The Metallica vamp makes an expression of agitation. Well, tough! At least one thing is consistent in the stories I read; vampires could not enter unless invited, or I assumed that since they hadn’t made any movement of coming in. Still, it is creepy. I don’t have curtains, so they have a view of my bed, as well as all the other rooms in the house. There is no way I could sleep with them staring at me like a cheeseburger after a hard workout. Grabbing one of the new fluffy blankets off the bed, I walk to the closet off the master bedroom, open the accordion door I step in and sit down with the blanket over my shoulders. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
I hear snarling when I sit down in the closet and a loud crash. The noise is startling, but not enough for me to get back up and check it out. I wasn’t going to give them the benefit of seeing me again. Another crash rings through the empty house. They can’t come in. They can’t come in. They can’t come in. This is my mantra as I hear more crashing, I shut the accordion door, and cover my ears and head with the blanket. My knees are drawn up to my chest as I scoot to the furthest corner in the closet which isn’t all that far away. This feeble position feels very familiar. My mind races to when I was a little girl trying to hide from monsters by putting a blanket over me.
CRASH… BAM…WHAM…
“GO AWAY!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I can feel tears welling up as frustration and fear overwhelm me. They are going to tear apart grandpa’s house until it is a pile of rubble and there is nothing I can do.
I didn’t notice the sounds had stopped right away and are replaced with an eerie feeling. There is a light thud on the hardwood floors that cover the hallway to the master bedroom. The footsteps soften as the intruder reaches the carpet. They can’t come in even if they break down a door. Could they? My breathing becomes shallow while the footsteps come closer to the closet. I tighten the blanket over my body in hopes to mask whatever they smell and to hush my breathing even more so. The accordion door flies open and my heart drops, I suck in my breath. I am going to die… in a closet. My body shakes terribly as I wait for the inevitable, but after what seems to be an eternity nothing happens.