It wasn't until late that they had finally moved all of their boxes inside and arranged the boxes in a way as to avoid tripping over them in the middle of the night. Kady had never felt so tired and it was easy for her to fall asleep that night, hidden under the heavy pink comforter, dressed in her warmest pajamas, and her fuzziest socks. Had she been in Oklahoma, she would have just slept in a huge tee and panties, but it was far too cold here to do that. She was even cold after piling on a few more blankets, shivering in her sleep.
She dreamt that she was trapped in a blizzard that night, ice surrounding her on all sides and snow piled up to her hips, trapping her in place. Only, it wasn't the pure white color she was used to, this snow was as red as the clay beneath the house, the clay itself oozing through the ground and covering her bare feet. She kept moving, something told her that stopping would mean death. Her chest was tight, her gasping breaths appearing as white smoke, and still she kept walking forward with her arms wrapped tightly around her.
She felt as though a thousand needles were pricking her exposed skin, the sharp gusts of wind like a slap to the face that drove the air out of her lungs. But ahead, just a few paces beyond, was the warm glow of a fire and she needed to reach it. The deep drifts of snow made it hard, the slick ice made it difficult, but the sucking red clay nearly made it impossible. She needed the heat that the fire offered, needed to thaw.
The closer she got to the fire, the harder it was to move as the red clay rose further up her body, coating her numb feet and working its way up her legs, ruining the green silk of her pajama bottoms. Soon she found herself stumbling, her legs failing her and causing her to fall to her knees in the freezing snow. And then she felt the warmth of the fire, saw the glow brighten as it came towards her. It wasn't until there was a pale hand in front of her face that she realized the fire had been a person.
On instinct and hoping for the warmth it emanated, she placed her hand in the offered one, letting out a gasp when the long fingers close over her hand and help her to her feet. She couldn't make out the person's features due to the shadows surrounding them, but he was the warmest thing she's felt since coming to England.
"Let's get you inside, Miss Hastings." His voice was like silk, smooth and sensual with an accent that would leave you begging for him to say anything. With their hands still clasped, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and led her back to the monster looming before them, through the front door, up the wide staircase, and down the hall to her room. "Sleep now, dear one, for you have a lot to do here before you leave." As she closed her eyes and allowed the man to pull her comforter up to her chin, she wasn't aware that the man's pale hand wasn't just pale—it was almost transparent, seemingly filled with white smoke that curled whenever they touched.
"G'night," she managed, voice loud in the stillness of the house. The man smiles down at her, the deep gash under his right eye seeping with crimson smoke. He stayed on the edge of her bed, watching the teen sleep and ensuring that his great-great-granddaughter wouldn't wander out again. Moments later, a horrendous groaning sound echoed through the house, another sign that it was waking up after lying dormant all these years.
And Thomas Sharpe frowned when he heard the soft notes of the piano floating up from the parlor.
Kady woke slowly the next morning, aware of how warm it was in the room where it had been jarringly cold when she went to bed the previous night. She takes a moment to just stare at the wardrobe across the room before begrudgingly kicking off the blankets and getting out of bed. She was barefoot, so the second her feet came in contact with the wood floor beyond the safety zone of her rug, she let out a little yelp and jumped backwards.
"Son of a bitch," she hisses, running back to her bed and rooting around for the socks she'd managed to lose last night. When she finally has the pink and black striped socks on her feet and her robe thrown on over her PJs, Kady makes her way downstairs to the small kitchen. Unlike the other rooms in the house, the kitchen seemed to have everything cramped together.
No one else was awake yet, so Kady was free to do some cooking without August drooling or Milo complaining about the mess she might make. She wasn't sure what time it was, just that her internal alarm clock wouldn't let her sleep any longer and neither would her grumbling stomach. They had worked right through supper yesterday and she was starving for some omelets. Kady moves over to the iPod that was always kept in the kitchen and brings up her cooking playlist, her head bobbing along to the music as she gets out the needed ingredients, cooking spray, and a muffin tin.
"I had a barbeque stain on my white tee shirt," she sings along quietly, spraying the tin before adding in the diced ham and tomatoes," and she was killing me in that mini skirt, skipping rocks on the river by the railroad tracks…" Next she grabbed a mixing bowl and eggs, cracking a few of them open and dumping them in the bowl, tossing the shells in a nearby trashcan; after that, she stirred in some baking powder, milk, and vegetable oil. "She had a suntan line and red lipstick, I worked so hard for that first kiss…" She poured the mixture over the ham and tomatoes before adding shredded cheese and putting the tin in the oven. "And a heart don't forget something like that."
After setting the timer and pausing the song, she leaves the kitchen to explore the first floor a little better. The front hall is massive, allowing a good view of the landings and doorways that branch off from it; all of the wood was dark and it seemed the only thing that didn't suck in the light was the ancient elevator next to the staircase. Hanging from the wall on her right was an old fashioned mirror similar to the one in her bathroom; there were splotches in the bottom left corner and near the middle of it.
She moves to look closer, taking in the dark bruises under her eyes and the way the black of her Hufflepuff robe and the poor lighting made her tanned skin seem yellow. Her dark blonde hair reached her waist in a tangled mess and there was a splotch of something red on one of her cheeks. She moves a hand up to wipe it off, brow furrowing as the red stuff crumbles against her fingers. Clay. Her heartbeat sped up as she remembered the dream, the details hazy, but the sucking clay coming back with full clarity.
Had she really gone for a late night stroll last night? She parts her robe in order to see the bottoms of her pajama pants, the green now russet from the clay that seeped up through the ground. "What the fuck," she breathes out. Then something was moving quickly out of the shadows, making her spin to look behind her and finding nothing. Something was in here, something big, and she bet it wasn't friendly. Shaking the uneasy feeling off, Kady runs back to her room, getting dressed for the day partly because August didn't like his kids running around in pajamas and partly because she wanted to get rid of any evidence that last night's dream was real.
It was Saturday—House Pride Day in the Hastings household—so she dressed in a gray skirt that stopped around her knees, dark blue winter tights, a white button down under a dark gray sweater, a yellow and blue tie, dark blue heels to give her some height, a Twenty-One Pilots bracelet, and a blue and yellow headband to keep her hair out of her eyes. She slid the headband on after she managed to tame her thick hair, then she went back downstairs to the kitchen seconds before the timer goes off. After that, she's too busy to notice much of anything, taking a couple of the omelets into the parlor with her where a piano sat in the middle of the room.
There were several boxes piled up against the far wall and fresh white paint on the walls that still made her nose crinkle at the smell, but what captured her attention was the fire place that took up a large portion of the left wall, made up of stone with words carved into it. Ad montes oculos levavi. Was it Latin? The fireplace had to be part of the original house since no one she knew even tried to write in Latin anymore. She moved over to it and ran her fingers along the words, wondering what they meant.
"What'cha staring at, Kady-bug?" Milo's voice makes her jump, the teen laughing when she turns to glare at him. "Relax, kiddo."
"Don't call me kiddo, you're only a year and a half older than me." Milo just grins, coming to stand next to her and stare at the words she was just studying.
"To the hills we turn our eyes," he proclaims in a deep booming voice, puffing his chest out and furrowing his brow to look tough.
"Is that what it says?"
"I should know, I did take Latin my Freshman and Sophomore years." He basically deflates, returning to his relaxed stance and softer tone. "It's a pointless class, by the way, don't get drawn in by the cool sounding words." Kady smiles up at her brother as he looks around them, finding the familiarity in his features comforting. No matter where they went, Milo didn't seem to change too much and she could always count on that. The front of his dark brown hair—their mother's hair—stuck up under the beanie he wore, his lips were thin, hazel eyes identical to hers in their almond shape, but his nose seemed a little too big.
He was dressed in Slytherin green and black with a dark green sweater that had 'Slytherin Quidditch' printed on it in silver with crossed broomsticks, black sweats with the Slytherin coat of arms and house name printed on one leg of it, a green and silver scarf to help fight the cold, his green and black robe nearly identical to the Hufflepuff one Kady still had on, and a pair of black sneakers.
"Kids," August calls out from the front hall, voice echoing loudly in the house," where are you guys?" Milo and Kady share a look before leaving the parlor and walking into the kitchen where August had wandered, their father already biting into one of the four leftover omelets. "Kady, I'm so glad you can cook."
"Someone has to," she remarks, sitting down at the table. "The salsa's in the refrigerator if you want some." She never understood the appeal of ruining perfectly good eggs with salsa, but that was one thing August and Milo agreed on, so she kept her mouth shut. "I'm not cooking lunch, though, y'all can heat up some of those mini pizza things in the freezer." Milo winks at her, not able to speak since he had a mouthful of food. August doesn't tolerate bad manners; it would only get us locked in our rooms for three days with welts on our asses from his leather belt. August Hastings fully believed that disobedient children deserved punishment, and it didn't take long for Milo and Kady to learn what would get them swats.
"Kady, I want your room unpacked by supper."
"Yes, sir."
"That goes for you, too, Milo." He sends a stern look in Milo's direction, one of his eyebrows cocked up. He was on the verge of cop mode and Kady hoped Milo wouldn't say something that would get him in trouble. Milo met Kady's gaze first, hazel eyes locked and he read the plea she had there. Don't anger him.
"Yes, sir," Milo finally said with a respectful nod at their father. "I'll start as soon as I finish eating." August gave a nod back, going back to his breakfast. It always amazed Kady how fast August's moods could shift, their mother always joking he could go from happy to mad in half a second. He managed to hide that pretty well until Kady broke a vase when she was four, then she went around with a red ass for a week.
"Kady, I'll do the dishes since you cooked, but you should go start on your room." She makes a noise of acknowledgment, sending Milo another look before walking out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs to her room. It wasn't as messy as August would say it was, mostly just boxes stacked up in the corner, but she didn't want to be grounded, so she set to work quickly. Clothes went into the wardrobe, the few books she had were stacked neatly on her desk, her laptop was set perfectly in the middle of it with a cup full of markers and colored pencils beside it; her sketch pads went in the top middle drawer while the erasers and calligraphy pens went in the top left drawer. The pink teddy bear she's had since childhood goes on the other side of her laptop and the toiletries go in the bathroom.
All in all, it took her a good three hours to get everything the way she wanted it, but what caught her attention was that she was still cold even after the sweat-inducing work. Am I sick or is it really so cold in here? Next door, she heard someone moving things around and she wondered why anyone would be nosing around in a room they'd left empty. She walks out of the bedroom and stops in front of the closed door of the room next to hers, wiping her sweaty hands on her robe. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, similar to the one she had as a kid. Don't be stupid, the Boogeyman's not real and he's certainly not on the other side of this door. Still, she hesitated as she reached out a shaking hand to turn the knob and swing the door open. Instead of some horrible creature hunched over with bright red eyes that was sacrificing a helpless farm animal, she found nothing but dusty floors.
"Who ya gonna call," she mumbles softly.
As she closed the door and walked back to her room, a pale man comes out of the shadows and begins to pace once more.