Devotion After Dark

CHAPTER FOUR

Of all the creatures spoken of in old tales, the most dangerous were not always those with fangs or claws, but those who learned to live quietly among men. For a monster that howls in the forest is easily feared. It is the monster behind a window, watching in silence, that makes a story worth remembering.

By the fourth morning, Solenne had begun to forget what it felt like to wake up to an alarm.

At home, mornings had always arrived too quickly. There was always somewhere she needed to be, something she had forgotten to do, an email waiting to be answered, or another question from a relative about what she planned to do now that she had graduated.

Here, morning seemed to have no interest in hurrying.

The old wooden windows of her grandmother's house allowed the sunlight to spill across the floor in pale golden rectangles. Somewhere outside, a rooster had been making an unnecessarily dramatic announcement since dawn. Birds chattered from the mango tree in the backyard, and from the kitchen came the familiar sounds of metal utensils knocking against one another.

Solenne lay still for another few seconds, staring at the ceiling.

Then she smiled. Maybe this was what she had needed. Not another plan. Not another deadline. Just a morning that did not expect anything from her.

She finally got out of bed, tied her hair loosely, and made her way downstairs. Her grandmother was already in the kitchen.

“You're awake,” her grandmother said without looking up.

“Unfortunately.”

Her grandmother glanced over her shoulder. “Then you can help me.”

“Of course.” Solenne sighed.

That was how her second week in the province began—not with some grand revelation about adulthood, but with carrying grocery bags, sorting vegetables, accompanying her grandmother to the small market, and being sent on errands that somehow always involved at least three other tasks.

The first few days, Solenne had complained. By the fourth morning, she had stopped. There was something strangely comforting about it.

She followed her grandmother through the narrow streets, greeting neighbors she barely remembered from childhood. The town was small enough that everyone seemed to know everyone else. People sat outside their houses in the afternoons, children played along the roadside, and sari-sari stores served as both shops and unofficial gathering places.

Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be, yet nobody seemed particularly desperate to get there. Solenne found herself liking that.

She liked the old women sitting beneath umbrellas and talking over cups of coffee. She liked the tricycles rattling down the road. She liked the smell of freshly cooked food drifting from houses as they passed.

Most of all, she liked that nobody here seemed particularly interested in asking what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

At least, not yet.

Her grandmother was different. She never asked directly.

Instead, she would occasionally look at Solenne over her glasses while she was reading or drinking coffee, as if silently reminding her that two months could not last forever.

Solenne pretended not to notice.

In the afternoons, she developed a routine. After lunch, when the heat became too heavy for doing anything useful, she would take one of her books outside and settle beneath the enormous mango tree near the back of the house.

The tree was older than she was. Its branches stretched outward like enormous arms, creating a wide patch of shade over the grass. Occasionally, a mango would drop somewhere nearby with a dull thud, startling her out of whatever world she had disappeared into.

She loved it there.

Sometimes she read for hours.

Sometimes she barely made it through ten pages before falling asleep.

On particularly quiet afternoons, she simply sat with the book open on her lap and listened to the wind moving through the leaves. It was during one of those afternoons that she noticed the house next door again.

As what rumors says, ‘The Haunted Mansion.’

Solenne lowered her book. From where she sat beneath the mango tree, only part of the property could be seen through the old stone wall separating the two lots.

The house itself was enormous. Far too large for the quiet neighborhood surrounding it.

Its exterior was a faded shade of gray, darkened further by years of rain and neglect. Tall windows lined the second floor, most of them hidden behind dusty curtains. Ivy climbed the walls, creeping around the windows and swallowing parts of the old architecture. The iron gates at the front were covered with rust. Several sections of the fence were nearly hidden beneath wild vines.

The entire property looked abandoned. But something didn't quite fit. Solenne narrowed her eyes. The garden. She had noticed it before, but never paid enough attention to it.

Now that she did, she realized how strange it was. The house looked forgotten. The garden did not.

The grass near the flower beds had been cut recently. The bushes along the stone pathway were trimmed neatly, despite the rest of the property appearing almost completely neglected.

There were even flowers. Small white flowers grew along one side of the garden, their delicate petals standing out against the dark greenery.

Solenne stared at them.

Someone was taking care of the garden.

For several minutes, she simply watched the property. Nothing moved. No gardener appeared. No car came through the gates. There wasn't even the sound of anyone inside.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been there recently. She looked toward the second floor. Nothing.

“Stop staring at the house.”

Solenne nearly jumped. She turned around.

Her grandmother stood several feet away, carrying a basket of freshly washed clothes. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

Solenne looked back at the mansion. “I was just looking.”

“I noticed.” Her grandmother's voice was different. There was no teasing but rather a seriousness.

Solenne slowly closed her book. “Could you tell me about that house, Lola?”

Her grandmother placed the basket on the nearby bench. There was a brief silence.

“That was Montrose house.”

The name seemed to change something in the air.

Her grandmother's expression tightened, this go unnoticed by Solenne. She had seen that expression before, usually when someone brought up a subject her grandmother didn't want to discuss.

“What about it?” Solenne asked.

“Nothing.”

“Lola,”

“Solenne.” That was enough to tell her that it was definitely not nothing. Solenne turned toward the mansion again.

“Is it really abandoned?”

Her grandmother didn't answer immediately. Finally, she said, “It belongs to the Montrose family.”

“Okay.”

“Stay away from it.”

Solenne blinked. “That's it?”

“That's it.”

She could feel restless radiating from her, wanting to learn more about that mysterious mansion. “Why?”

Her grandmother looked toward the house. For a moment, she said nothing.

The afternoon breeze moved through the mango leaves overhead, casting shifting shadows across her face.

“I simply don't want you going there.” Her grandmother said it quietly, but there was something firm beneath the gentleness of her voice.

She stood beside the old wooden bench with one hand resting on the handle of the laundry basket. A few loose strands of silver hair had escaped from her bun, brushing against her cheek as the afternoon breeze passed through the yard.

She wasn't looking at Solenne. Her eyes remained fixed on the Montrose property.

To the eyes of outsider, the Mansion looked haunted, yet her grandmother was looking at it as though it were something far more familiar.

“Because it's old?”

“No.” The answer came almost immediately.

Solenne's eyebrows rose. She studied her grandmother's face.

There was no irritation there. Instead, her grandmother looked strangely guarded, as though she had accidentally been asked a question she had spent years avoiding.

“Because it's dangerous?”

Her grandmother's fingers tightened around the basket handle. Only briefly.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.”

That earned Solenne a pointed look.

Her grandmother had always been difficult to read, but Solenne knew the small signs. The slight narrowing of her eyes. The way she pressed her lips together when she didn't want to answer. The habit of looking somewhere else whenever a conversation became too personal.

She was doing all three now.

Her grandmother sighed and shifted the basket against her hip. “You've always been curious.”

“That's a polite way of saying nosy.” Solenne's mouth curved into a teasing smile.

“I was going to say stubborn.”

“That too.”

For the briefest moment, her grandmother almost smiled. It softened her entire face, bringing back the familiar warmth Solenne remembered from childhood. Then the expression faded as quickly as it came, replaced by something more thoughtful.

“The Montrose family has lived there for a very long time,” she said.

Solenne glanced toward the house again. “How long?”

“Long enough.”

Solenne gave her an incredulous look. Her grandmother simply adjusted the folded clothes inside the basket. Solenne had the distinct feeling that she was being deliberately difficult now.

Which only made her more curious.

“There are things about that house that are better left alone,” her grandmother continued.

Her voice had changed. It wasn't a warning given to a child who might wander onto someone else's property. It sounded more like advice from someone who had learned, through experience, that certain questions were better left unanswered.

Solenne's playful expression faded. “What kind of things?”

Her grandmother finally looked at her. For several seconds, she seemed to consider her answer. “Old things.”

Solenne stared. “That's incredibly specific.”

“Good.”

Solenne let out a quiet laugh and shook her head. Her grandmother didn't join her. Instead, she looked toward the Montrose Mansion once more.

The afternoon sun illuminated the upper windows, revealing the faint outline of curtains behind the glass. The house looked almost beautiful from this distance. Its old architecture had a strange elegance beneath all the neglect, and the garden surrounding it seemed unusually well kept compared with the rest of the property.

Solenne remembered the trimmed hedges. The newly watered flowers. The clear pathway through the garden.

Someone was maintaining that place. Someone cared enough to keep the garden alive.

“Does someone still live there?” she asked.

Her grandmother's expression changed again. She caught it immediately. A brief flicker of recognition then caution.

“I told you to stay away from it.”

“That wasn't an answer.”

“It was the answer you're getting.”

Solenne sighed. “You're making it sound like there's a ghost living there.”

Her grandmother gave her a dry look. “Don't be dramatic.”

“I was joking.”

“I know.”

Solenne smiled faintly.

Her grandmother turned toward the house. “Just promise me you won't go near it.”

The request sounded different from the warning. More personal. Solenne studied her for a moment. She wanted to ask why.

She wanted to know what had happened between the Montrose family and her grandmother, why the mere mention of the house had changed her entire demeanor, and why an abandoned mansion with a carefully maintained garden seemed to matter so much.

But she also knew her grandmother. If she wasn't ready to talk, forcing the answer out of her would accomplish nothing.

So, Solenne nodded. “Fine.”

Her grandmother looked at her. “Fine?”

“I won't go there.”

“Good.”

She picked up the basket and started toward the house. Solenne remained beneath the mango tree as she watched her grandmother disappear through the back door before turning her attention toward the property again.

The restless feelings still there crawling inside her. She gently shook her head as she returns her attention to her book. She tried to read but after a few lines, her eyes drifted back toward the house.

She frowned. Perhaps she should stop being curious. Perhaps her grandmother had a perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps the Montrose family really was nothing more than an old family with an old house and an old garden.

Solenne turned another page. Then she glanced at the mansion one last time.

When she saw briefly, a curtain on the second floor had moved. Just slightly. She froze. When she looked again, it was perfectly still. Solenne stared at the window for another moment before lowering her book. Maybe she really was being nosy.

But she had a feeling the Montrose house was going to make staying out of trouble considerably more difficult than she had expected.

Solenne frowned and returned to her book once again. She told herself she would forget about the Montrose house. For now.

She had come to the province to rest. She had two months to do nothing important. Two months to read, two months to sleep, and two months to stay out of trouble.

And, apparently, two months to learn that the one thing her grandmother had forbidden her from being curious about was the only thing she could think about.

This time Solenne was able to be back imagining a fantasy world written in texts as she was now able to turned another page.

Behind the old stone wall, somewhere among the carefully trimmed bushes and overgrown paths, a single white flower moved in the afternoon breeze.

She didn't notice the curtain on the second-floor shift. Just slightly. As if someone inside the house had been watching her, too.