“We will show you to your rooms now. Your belongings await you. They have been searched, per the contract, to ensure adherence to the rules. No phones, no electronic devices of any sort. You will have two hours to settle in, you may explore the house and the grounds, except for the west wing which is well marked and off limits. As you’ve read in your contracts, there will be challenges and tasks for each of you to complete in order to continue on. Any task that is incomplete, any rule violation, will result in your expulsion from the contest. Now, if you will follow me, I will show you to your accommodations.”
She pushes her chair back and stands, running her hands down the sides of her hips, but her skirt is caught for a moment, high on the back of her thigh, and I nearly ejaculate from the sight of her creamy skin. Grunting with need, I shift on my seat as the youngest male contestant looks over enjoying the view.
Motherfucker.
I watch, fury rising inside me, as he takes a long look, every instinct telling me to remove his eyeballs and make him eat them for dinner.
Just as I’m about to throw it all away and march down there and throw him out of the house, her hands fix the fabric and she turns to Dalton.
“I have one last question.” The other three men look annoyed as she speaks, and I hate them all. “Is it true, the house is haunted?”
Dalton’s face is stone, but the other three look from Agnes to Dalton, waiting for his answer.
“I am not an expert on paranormal activity,” he starts, the script memorized. “I can confirm we have had many unexplained events here, witnessed by family, staff and guests. The history of Calmore is…unique, as well as tragic.” He breaks for a second, his eyes showing a flicker of the truth. But in a flash, he is back to his collected self and finishes, “If you wish to leave at any time, you have all been given a wrist band with the call button.”
That’s part of the set up. Each of them is wearing a wristband with a panic button. If they hold it down for five seconds, the security staff I have on call will retrieve them, pack their things and return them home before they can re-think their decision.
Except for her. When it comes to Agnes, all the rules have changed.
Chapter 5
Agnes
The prickling on the back of my neck hasn’t stopped since I walked through the front door.
I’m trying to tell myself that the squeaks and bumps coming from the ceiling, walls and floor in my bedroom all at the same time are nothing. Just normal house noises, especially in a place this old.
There is nothing to fear, except fear itself.
The bedroom I’m in is bigger than our entire townhouse, with tapestries on the walls and more portraits, along with other paintings that must date back a centuries.
There are thick, woven rugs on the wooden floors and the ornate curved plaster ceiling is painted like the sky, only the clouds show tiny cracks and their once white billowy brushstrokes have taken on an aged yellowing, making it all feel a bit sad.
Still, as I explored my room over the last hour, something felt familiar. Not comforting, but like I’ve read this all in a book somewhere before.
The instructions that came with the invitation included a suggested clothing list. Dinners are to be formal wear, which, of course, I had none, so Harlow and I hit up some thrift stores the day before I left. I also asked Thomas, the director of the local community theater where I have the lead in most of the plays, if I could raid the costume closet.
He readily agreed, even giving some personal suggestions. He thinks I’m wasting my life here in mid-Michigan community theater and has always been a huge supporter of mine. Tonight, I’m wearing one of the theater’s dresses, a gold sequined number that makes me look like some 1970’s Bond girl, with thin straps and a neckline I wished wasn’t quite so low, along with a thigh slit I wish wasn’t so high.
But, beggars and choosers and all that.
The grandfather clock on the wall next to the fireplace shows 7:50 PM and I take a deep breath, blowing it out as I slip on the black strappy heels Harlow lent me, checking my make-up and hair in the mirror one last time before I head back downstairs.
There’s a tightness in my belly, like I’m being picked up for prom with the object of my adolescent fantasies, whoever that may be. It’s that sort of feeling though, but certainly none of the other contestants are lighting the fire that’s beginning to warm me down low.