“You’re welcome to read anything else in here, though. I know you’ve already been sneaking some books when I haven’t been around.”
My cheeks warm. “I’ve had to keep myself entertained somehow, and the door is always open.”
He chuckles. “That’s fine.”
“Have you lived here your entire life?” I ask. The massivecollection of books would suggest so, but I can’t imagine living for so long and staying in one place.
“No. This has been my home since I was a young man, but I’ve lived in many places over the years—England, Italy, Spain, and all over the United States. This is simply the place I consider to be my true home, so I always end up coming back. Since I don’t age, I have to leave here every twenty years or so, and stay away long enough that the townspeople don’t start to get suspicious.”
“That makes sense. But I guess I don’t really get that feeling. Nowhere has ever really felt like home for me,” I admit.
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. They’re just places I’ve lived, but none of them have ever given me that sense of comfort I’d want from a home. Though I’m sure that has to do with the fact that I’ve never been truly wanted in any of those places, either. I went straight from living with parents who didn’t want me to living with a husband who only wanted me for the power it gave him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, his eyes flashing with something soft and understanding.
“It’s okay. I’ll find my home eventually,” I say, desperate to believe that’s true. After I’m able to leave here, I’ll find a place to call my own and turn it into the home I’ve never had.
Maybe then, I’ll be able to put this all in my past. I can only hope the future will be kinder to me.
CHAPTER 19
I’ve been exploring the woods surrounding the house more often, following small paths and game trails, but each time I’m drawn to the abandoned church. There’s something about the sacred atmosphere surrounding it that allows me to think about the things I’m too afraid to consider when I’m alone in my bed at night.
Here, considerations of good and evil, life and death, don’t seem too overwhelming. This place was meant to bear the weight of existential thoughts.
I wrap my arms around my torso in an attempt to shield myself from the cool breeze. Summer has slipped away, and autumn has crept in. The leaves have begun to turn from deep, vivid green to pale gold and orange. It’s always been my favorite time of the year. There’s a beauty in the way nature fades slowly in its temporary death, only to be reborn in the spring.
I’m just about to round the last bend of the trail when my skin prickles, some primal instinct immediately setting me on edge. It takes a moment for me to realize what causes it. The woods have gone completely silent. No chirping crickets orcicadas, no birds calling in the distance, no animals rustling through the underbrush.
Nothing.
An eerie, unsettling paranoia falls over me, and I glance over my shoulder, suddenly sure that someone is watching me.
Then, in the terrifying silence, a low whistle pierces through the trees.
My mother’s words from when I was a child surface in my mind. It’s a warning most kids in Appalachia have heard: “If you hear a whistle in the woods, pretend you didn’t, and calmly walk the other way.”
Once I got older, I realized it was likely a warning meant to avoid the moonshiners and growers hiding out in the mountains, not some mysterious supernatural force.
But now, I’m doubting every assumption I made. The forest doesn’t go silent from human presence.
I slow my steps as I round the bend, and as the church comes into view, so do two figures standing at the end of the trail. They’re both facing me, waiting for me.
My heart lurches into my throat, and I’m all too aware that I have nothing to defend myself with out here. I don’t even have the necklace on, though I’m not sure it would help me out here, anyway.
I cautiously approach the two men, who are unnaturally still and calm.
It’s only when I’m close enough to see their faces that I notice they give off the same inhuman beauty Ambrose does. But while their features mimic his in the sharp angles and unnatural beauty, the resemblance ends there. Both are wearing white and beige clothing that doesn’t look entirely out of place in front of this church, and their expressions are kind, though the taller one shifts on his feet like he’s nervous.The shorter one is only a couple inches taller than me, and his white-blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfectly straight teeth fixed in a smile all seem unnaturally bright.
They seem friendly, but their presence still sets me on edge. The stillness of the forest is uncanny.
“Who are you?” I ask cautiously.
“I’m Samuel,” the blonde one says, then gestures to the taller man with tanned skin and dark hair. “And this is Elias.”
Elias gives me a hesitant wave.
