I Live Here Now: The Michael Gideon Collection

By Aaron Conaway

It's Halloween night at Wyngarde Manor.

The annual party, with all the trappings, is taking place. An old house -- the hands that built it long dead -- Wyngarde Manor knows you're there. It sees you inside, skittering along its rooms and hallways. Normally you'd be safe between its walls. But the house is sick. Someone has poisoned it with murderous intent, and now it must act accordingly.

None may see morning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Conaway
• Release date: Dec 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393592839

Aaron Conaway

Aaron lives in K.C., MO with his wife and fur babies. He makes up stories more than he eats, eats more than he sleeps, and has been given to frequent a Ferris wheel when occasion permits. He loves to experiment with tales, mostly flash pieces and short stories, and is a huge fan of myths and folklore. Waking The Weaver, his first novel, kicked off The Timberhaven Chronicles.

Book preview

Front Gate Drive

8:30 pm

The décor favored the undead, per the custom of the holiday. Specifically placed headstones, jack-o’-lanterns, and witches’ cauldrons that burned green flames beneath colored the massive front yard of the house. Each of the grand doors that served as the front entrance to Wyngarde Manor had spider webs strewn over its gothic iron hinges, completing the love letter to All Hallows’ Eve perfectly.

A black limousine drove slowly down the long driveway toward the house, the rear driver’s side window opened as it came.

Julie, look! an excited young man smiled, his head almost entirely stuck outside the window. Uncle Matthew did a fantastic job with the front yard!

Jason, we will be stopped soon enough. No need to act the role of Labrador. Julie said. Twin sister of the excited young man, which is to say she matched him physically if in no other way, she nevertheless glanced out his open window. It does look like Uncle has spared no expense. Her eyes caught on the turret of the west wing of the house. The visual picked at a scab of memory.

(She remembered the stairs; wooden steps, each only carpeted in the middle. She was young, a little girl, standing stuck between a locked door and a voice calling from up those stairs. She didn’t recognize the voice, and it wasn’t calling her name at first, but calling out to anyone who could hear. Then, somehow, the voice knew she could hear it. Suddenly, it had known her name and called it out from the darkened top of the stairs. She started up those steps. She hadn’t wanted to, but the voice demanded.)

I love Halloween! Jason yelled out the window. Grinning, he returned to his seat. He then looked at his sister, who quickly shook her head, distracted. His smile faded slightly. I hope you know that I think you’d make a wonderful steward, no matter the outcome of tonight’s ceremony.

Jason, don’t. Julie interrupted, holding up her hand. We’re not meant to discuss it, as you well know. The ritual is very clear on this topic. Though, I wish we could have postponed. I have so much work to do at the foundation.

Postpone Halloween? Jason laughed. I love you, favorite sister, but your strict adherence to a schedule makes me wonder if we’re truly related.

"I’m your only sister, Julie scoffed. The long car was finishing its trip up the drive. And I wonder the same after your mercurial whims. Have you thought through what it will mean to be Steward of Wyngarde? Fifteen years is a long time for you to be tied down, I would think."

I’d only have to stay here a few days every couple of months. That’s not so bad. Besides, if Uncle Matthew did it, so can I, Jason answered as they stopped. He opened the limo door just as his uncle, dressed as Count Dracula, came out the manor entrance to greet them. Jason’s grin returned. Well, speak of the devil.

And the devil appears! Matthew said, bowing. Come in, my children of the night. Come in!

First Floor, Grand Hall

8:32 pm

Mischief Managed finished playing Green Day’s Last of the American Girls, their post sound check song since Lauren started the band in early ’11. Echoes of their performance chased up into the highest corners of the hall and back down around each of the decorated tables within.

We sound awesome in here! Brandi beamed, letting her bass rest on its strap. She was wearing the red cape of a Sanderson sister, Mary’s. The trio had decided to perform for the party in a show of Hocus Pocus love.

We really do. Hannah agreed, twirling her drumsticks in Sarah Sanderson’s purple cape. We totally put the ‘punk’ in ‘pumpkin’!

That’s not – Brandi squinted in disbelief, smiling and shaking her head at Hannah. "No. That’s not how that works. We put the ‘punk’ in ‘spunk.’ That’s how it works. You can’t just dismantle the second word to make the first word fit properly."

Hey, Anal Much, Hannah said. Are you, ya know, anal much? She stuck out her tongue.

We are Mischief Managed! Lauren yelled into the mic, spreading out her green Winifred Sanderson cape and causing all three women to hoot and howl in solidarity.

Cellar

8:33 pm

This is a crash course, I know, Christopher, the balding, middle-aged caretaker of Wyngarde Manor said. He hurried Grant, his new hire, down the hall from the fuse boxes and toward the wine room. Anyhow, I think we’ll be all right, electrically speaking. If it can take a pounding from them girls’ guitars upstairs, he pointed toward the ceiling. "I figure it will hold the night. It’s good you know where the box is, in any case. I’ll show you the wine