2015

"The sounds started on our first night there," Taylor informs them, focusing on the teddy bear she held," it sounded like a piggy had come to stand right under my bedroom window and started to squeal. I only tried to find out what it was one time." She takes a deep, shuddering breath as she remembers that night. It had been cloudy and cold, so she was forced to wear her Mickey Mouse socks to bed, but they just made her slip when she tried to get away. "There was a dead man down there and he was using a gigantic fork to mess up the trashcans.

"A pitchfork," Nicolás clarifies at Sydney's confused look. "The…. The ghost was tearing up the trashcans outside and just howling at the top of his lungs. I'm not sure if it was one of those fuckin' hillbillies or if it was something else." He pauses when he realizes what he just said, then looks down at his daughter. "Don't repeat that bad word, Princess." Taylor nods obediently, used to him saying swear words from time to time.

"It was a dead man, he looked kinda like the bad woman." Taylor doesn't like remembering the bad woman, it makes her feel scared each time just like she was back then. Absently, she grasps her left wrist loosely and drops her gaze to the hardwood floor. "His eyes were all black in any sort of light and he was mean."

"He caused us a lot of grief during our time in North Carolina."

2014

After a long afternoon spent painting and setting up the house, Taylor can barely keep her eyes open as she stares down at her aunt's phone. Her eyes are drifting closed for the third time in less than a minute when the phone starts to chime, signaling that her daddy is ready to FaceTime her that evening. It's part of their nightly routine at seven sharp, both in their PJ's and cuddled up in bed.

"Hey, Princess," Daddy grins. "Did you have fun today?"

"It took forever," Taylor complains," and we still ain't done with everything."

"I'm sorry, honey." She shrugs one little shoulder, snuggling under her blankets and taking the phone with her. "Are you ready for me to read you your bedtime chapter?" Taylor nods, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. She's really tired and she knows she still has specs of yellow paint stuck in her hair from where Aunt Shel had rushed to clean her up.

"Read, Daddy," she mumbles around another big yawn.

"Four of them met in the great council room of the castle," Nicolás reads softly, well-aware of the fact that his daughter won't make it past the first page. "Prince Humperdinck, his confidant, Count Rugen, his father, aging King Lotharon, and Queen Bella, his evil stepmother. Queen Bella was shaped like a gumdrop—"

He's brought up short when the phone topples to the ground, and he grins when he hears the faint whisper of breath that meant Taylor is already sound asleep. With that grin still in place, he marks their spot in the book and sets it aside on his bedside table. The house is far too quiet without Taylor in it and he finds himself wishing he can just hold her in his arms again.

He'd made arrangements to have his wife buried the next morning, but there's still the problem of selling their house and having the last few boxes sent out to North Carolina, where Matt will pick them up. On top of all that, he has to hand all of his open cases over to his associates so that he can really focus on setting up a new branch of the law firm in a new state.

He really isn't looking forward to the paperwork.

Nicolás leans back against the headboard, massaging his temples and squeezing his eyes shut to keep his stress migraine in check. He's just so exhausted, but sleep continues to evade him, his dreams quickly shaping into the nightmare of the night Monica passed away.

It was close to eleven, the shades were drawn to keep out any unnecessary light from outside, and his wife had been lying in her hospital bed; it was a simple thing they'd moved into the attic when Monica's cancer began to get bad. They didn't want Taylor to hear the vomiting or the crying, so the move to the uppermost level of their house seemed obvious to him.

Monica had been fine earlier that day, lucid, and she'd taken Taylor in her arms and read her a chapter of The Princess Bride before kissing her on the head and sending her downstairs to be tucked in by the maid that had been hired the month before. After that, it was just the two of them, Nicolás pacing back and forth in front of the bed to keep himself awake in case she needed anything and Monica passing the time by reading a book of poetry.

"…And all my days are trances," Monica read aloud, voice soft and like music to Nicolás' ears," and all my nightly dreams are where thy dark eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams—in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams." He'd closed his eyes while she read, letting the flowing cadence of her words to wash over him as he paced. He would've listened to her speak forever if it were possible, the sounds instantly relaxing him even when he didn't think it was possible.

"That's beautiful, Mon," he murmurs. There was an instant of silent peace where nothing stirred in the house, and then there was the thump of her book hitting the floor, the ringing alarm of her heart monitor, and the steady, monotone hum that made his entire world splinter into tiny pieces like a mirror that had been thrown against the wall.

Nicolás had dropped to his knees hard enough to hear a crack, the dull pain spreading through his legs not even worth comparing to the way his chest ached. He'd beat at the floor until his knuckles were bruised and bloody, ground his teeth to keep the screams at bay, cried and cried until he thought he would drown in his tears. And all the while, the ache in his chest turned to stabbing pain and then a burning like someone had set fire to his heart, and it wasn't until he felt a tiny hand on his cheek that he realized he'd stopped breathing when Monica had.

He'd sucked in a huge breath of air and blindly pulled his little girl down to the floor with him so he could hold her in his arms, so he could know that she wasn't gone, too. Because if Taylor was gone, then he didn't have a reason to breathe again. He clung to her for the better part of three hours, rocking her back in forth like he had when she was first born, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair and just soaking up her warmth.

And now here he is, widowed and too stressed to handle his own baby while he plans the funeral of the love of his life. He's depressed, his therapist said so even if Nicolás hadn't asked the man's opinion, and he still has to remind himself to breathe every now and again, but his baby girl is going to be okay. That's what he keeps reminding himself, it's what keeps him going through the motions of owning a law firm and dealing with unruly couples that would rather fight over priceless vases than their own children. Taylor's still alive, he thinks with a breath of relief, Taylor's going to be okay.

If only Nicolás knew what was waiting for him in North Carolina.

Taylor isn't sure what had caused her to wake up at first, slowly sitting up in her bed and squinting at her surroundings. It takes her a moment to remember that they are staying in the new house, the fear beginning to dissipate as she lays back down in her bed.

As she reaches for her teddy bear, a strange howling starts up outside her bedroom window and she sits straight up in bed again. Everything goes silent for an instant—no creaking bed springs, no wind beating at the loose shutters—and then the howling starts again, rising on the wind and squeezing through all the cracks of the house. It's strained and high, like the pig she'd seen on a school field trip that had just been slapped by its owner.

Taylor scrambles out of bed and over to the window, grasping the sill and peering out into the darkness. She can barely make anything out, but then the moon is uncovered from the dark clouds and illuminates the metal trashcan. At first, she just figures a pig from some kind of farm got loose and is wandering around, but then she's able to make out a person with a big fork, the screeching seeming to come from the man and the fork as it tears into the side of the trashcan.

The person is tall and skinny like a scarecrow, their face hidden by a dark beard that had grown all tangled with leaves, their skin was as white as her daddy's teeth. He glances up at the house, the moonlight bleaching most of the color from his tattered clothing. That isn't the scary part, the scary part is that his eyes turn into black pits when he tilts his head back and lets out another screech. Taylor jerks back, her socks slick against the floorboards and sending her tumbling to the ground.

"Uncle Matt," she yells, pushing herself backwards. She keeps picturing the scary man climbing through her window and stabbing her with his fork over and over again. "Uncle Matt!" She presses her back against the far wall, knees drawn up under her chin as she waits in fear, entire body trembling.

What if the scary man already got Uncle Matt? What if I'm next and he's gonna hurt me bad?

Her bedroom door bursts open and she lets out a surprised scream, wanting to move further back and unable to do so. The person standing in her room is tall and wide, a vague shadow until he steps into the moonlight and reveals himself as her uncle.

"Taylor," he asks breathlessly, pausing a few feet away," are you okay?" She leaps up and flings herself into his arms, holding to him with all she has because her uncle means safety and good things. "Oh, baby girl, it's okay. I've got you, honey."

"He's out there," she sobs, burying her face against his bared chest. "He's outside!"

"Who is?"

"The man! It's the man and he's stabbing our trashcan!" Matt picks her up and quickly moves across to his own bedroom, depositing her on his bed with Shelby. "Don't leave me! Please, Uncle Mattie, please!"

"Just stay with Shelby, okay? I'm gonna go scare the bad man away from here and then I'll be right back." Shelby pulls Taylor into a comforting hug, the six year old snuggling closer to her as Matt starts for the door. He's gone a few minutes, Shelby and Taylor holding onto each other like their lives depend on it, each of them wanting Matt to get back right that instant.

Sudden and loud clanging outside has both of them jumping, Taylor landing in her aunt's lap with her face hidden by a curtain of blonde hair, though she can't tell if it was her hair or Shelby's at the moment.

"Matt," Aunt Shel hisses, her hands shaking as they smooth down the back of Taylor's rumpled nightgown. "Matt, where are you?" They don't get an answer and Taylor feels like she might get sick at any second.

"No one's there." The unexpected and slightly too loud answer has Shelby letting out a screech and Taylor diving behind her, using Shelby as a human shield until she realizes Matt is the one who'd spoken. "Sorry, guys," he apologizes with a sheepish smile, sitting on the edge of the bed. "There was no one out there, but I think Tay should stay with us tonight."

"Yeah," Taylor agrees, clutching at her aunt's covers," I'm with Uncle Matt."

They readjust on the bed until Taylor is snuggled between them, Matt snoring loudly in her ear and keeping her awake. She looks to her aunt, but Shelby's fallen asleep too, leaving Taylor to deal on her own. Frowning, she wriggles all the way to the end of the bed and slides off, taking the top cover with her. She shuffles to her uncle's side of the bed, pulling his second pillow out from under his head before finding a nice corner and curling up in it.

He keeps snoring like that and everyone will think we own a firetruck.

The passage Nicolás reads to Taylor is from William Goldman's The Princess Bride, page 81; the partial poem Monica reads is To One in Paradise by Edgar Allan Poe.