2
They walked the rest of the way, Sam following Jerrod's lead as the sun warmed the eastern horizon to their right. Neither said much, for the evening's activities weighed heavily on both their minds.
Sometime after dawn, they arrived at their destination: an eight foot concrete wall surrounding the back courtyard of 803 Whitaker Street. A tall, brick-faced Victorian mansion dating back to the late 1800s, the house was idyllically macabre, each of the it's three stories possessed a degree of sinister beauty that harmonized perfectly with its fellows. The elevated half-wrap-around porch was complete with ornate terracotta pillars, which culminated in ten foot archways adorned with elaborate wrought iron grating. The floor of the porch was solid hardwood, long suffering, the boards were weatherworn and falling apart. Above that, balconies, stained glass windows, mosaic adornments, and chimney stacks in sufficient quantity to assume there was probably a fireplace for each room. With its large oak door with two slim window panels, complete with a heavy wrought iron door knocker, the house tugged at the all too human inclination for curiosity – come, it said; the monster's lair on the inconspicuous street corner; come in, we've been waiting for you…
Jerrod unlocked the back gate, and swung the heavy wooden door outwards. Sam stood at the threshold, gazing in. The weeds and plant life were wild and overgrown. Littered junk and refuse, apparently cast over the large stone walls over the course of decades was scattered along the inside borders. Lawn chairs sat haphazardly, attempting, unconvincingly to make it a homey backyard atmosphere. Nevertheless, the house's majestic and slightly menacing presence permeated the back yard, mingled with the chaotic landscape to produce a mild chill of excitement at the back of her neck. This was going to be quite an adventure.
Jerrod stood behind her, waiting to lock up after them, but abruptly realized why she hadn't entered. "Where are my manners," he said, rather embarrassed at his shortsightedness – vampires cannot enter a home unless they are invited in. "You're welcome here. Come on in." he said with a smile.
"Well, it's got… character - I'll give it that much." Sam said, gazing around the courtyard.
Rather abruptly, she found her path blocked by an individual she hadn't seen a moment earlier. "It's a dump. Trust me when I tell you it didn't always look like this though. Oh, sweetheart, please - don't act like you've never seen a ghost before." the man chuckled, "especially not in this city, of all places." He was of medium height, well dressed, albeit in a fashion that was at least ninety years out of date, with short black hair, rich brown eyes and skin the color of burnished bronze.
After a moment, her surprise receded, and with it, the urge to inflict bodily harm on this disembodied individual. "I've seen my fair share of ghosts in Savannah, but I try not to be in the habit of walking through them – I'm told it's considered rude. I'm Sam."
"Scott Langdon." He offered her a well-manicured hand, which she did her best to shake even though it possessed no physical substance. "So has Jerrod told you we've also got a spare room available?"
"No, actually," she raised an inquiring eyebrow at Jerrod, who shrugged sheepishly.
"I figured I'd ease you into the idea – it's safe to say that a werewolf and a ghost make strange enough bedfellows as it is–"
"Roommates - not bedfellows," Scott interjected, "you know you're not my type." He turned back to Sam "well, let's reserve judgement on the second offer until the end of the tour, wouldn't you say, hon?"
Sam nodded, and Jerrod began leading the way down the narrow stone stairs to what appeared to be a cellar door.
"I've been renovating this place for almost a year now, so we're almost ready to open the doors to the public," he said. "Scott co-owned this place in the 1920s with our landlord's grandfather, and they ran a speak-easy out of the cellar during prohibition." He unlocked the wide metal door with the sliding panel for the bouncer to look through, "Scott has helped me get ahold of his considerable posthumous investments, and I've managed to do most of the work towards opening myself, but I estimate if I keep going it alone, I'll have the place up and running well after the funds run dry. It's a bit of a catch-22 – we need the speak-easy's income to continue living – and haunting here, but the renovations are going to bankrupt the project."
"Unless…" Scott put in,
"Unless I have an extra pair of hands to help me finish the work, and an additional income to help pay the rent." Jerrod finished. "I know it's a lot to consider, but, well, let me show you." He led them through the door into the cool darkness within. Closing the door behind them, he found the light switch with well-practiced ease, and as Sam cast her gaze around the speak-easy, she was already pretty sure of what her answer would be.
The interior was a cozy, if dimly lit space. A low ceiling of pressed tin was stained to a tarnished brass patina by nearly century old cigar-smoke residue. The walls were gothically adorned with ornate wrought iron torch sconces. There was a pool table, a sitting area with two couches, two armchairs, four booths, three two-person dining tables, two card tables and a round table with a corner booth which seated eight. The bar was a long white-veined black marble affair, with a bloodwood shelving unit behind. The far wall was black, the two side walls red velvet. A door to the right led to the commissary kitchen (Scott mentioned proudly that the distillery he had built during the 1920s was still functional, well hidden behind a faux wall at the back of the kitchen), to the left was the wine cellar. They toured the bar area, the restrooms (one of which was still under construction), and the kitchen, before entering the wine cellar. The passage was a narrow, claustrophobic space at first, which opened out into a wide six-sided room, filled on two of the six sides with wine racks. The remaining walls were a walk-in refrigerator/freezer, a refrigeration cabinet, and at center, a wide, dead bolted saferoom door.
"So I take it the scary door is for when you change?" Sam asked,
Jerrod nodded, before guiding her over to the refrigeration cabinet, "And this," he pressed in and down on the handle of the cabinet door, which triggered a hidden mechanism causing the entire unit to swing open to reveal a hidden staircase. "In addition to being a perfect storage center for your food supply, also leads upstairs."
After touring the many gorgeous rooms of 803 Whitaker Street, complete with fireplaces, California king-sized canopy beds, a grand piano in the parlor, spiral staircases and the like, they settled in the second floor living room to discuss the arrangement.
For a time, they sat in silence, each contemplating their part in the negotiations to come. Finally, Jerrod spoke up.
"Scott and I met two years ago on my first trip to Savannah. His life having been cut short, and mine directed by the movements of an uncontrollable beast once every thirty days, we decided to attempt to find a way to achieve a sense of normalcy."
"I've been haunting this house for close to eighty years," Scott continued, as Jerrod lapsed into contemplative silence, "and it occurred to me that it could be just that, and not just for the two of us – this is a big house, and with the speak easy below providing a source of income, it could become a sanctuary… for people like us."
Jerrod finished the thought, saying what was on all three of their minds. "A place for the monsters of this world to go, and just be human for a while." The idea of it all at once made her hopeful, excited, and apprehensive.
"So," Scott said, "What do you say?"
Sam looked down, apparently contemplating her shoes - the decision weighed heavy on her mind. It was everything she could possibly ask for. Why then was she so worried?
"Being a monster," she began, "I feel like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? Always looking over your shoulder for the angry mob with the torch and pitchforks…"
The moments ticked by for what felt like an eternity, but then she looked back up at them, and grinned. "Aw, what the hell – a chance to be human? I'm in."