KIRA

A heady mix of emotions hits me once the cab shifts into park in front of my Great-Aunt Elsie's cottage.

Under different circumstances, I'd be ecstatic returning to the place I'd spent my childhood summers. Memories of Elsie braiding foxtails into crowns for our coronations, catching frogs and naming them ridiculous things like Rendezvous, and showing me which edible berries we could use to make her infamous berry pies.

All of these small moments were soon tainted by my parents' divorce—my emotions turning raw and bitter after I'd been forced to spend the rest of my summers after I turned thirteen in the city, hours away from Spinneret Cottage that I once considered my home.

Why had Great-Aunt Elsie left me this place? The thought plagued me from the moment I learned of her death and all throughout the flight from New Jersey. Maybe she'd hoped to push me closer to realizing my dream of becoming a published author.

It doesn't seem fair; pursue my dreams at the expense of losing one of my favorite people in this world. And now, the idea that I'd allowed my memories of my time here to fade the older I got, a pang of guilt washes over me.

I'd give anything to have her back.

I pop the door open and step out with Peanut still tucked in my arms. It's a bittersweet feeling being able to witness the beauty of the slowly changing leaves. A cool breeze seeps in through my thin coat.

The cottage is beautiful and in remarkably good shape. Though I haven't been back here in years, everything looks almost exactly the same as I remember, and I relish the onslaught of emotions that come next.

The cab driver starts pulling my suitcases out of the trunk, I let my eyes wander around the front of the cottage.

My mother had practically begged me not to go—telling me that I was better off spending my time going back to college like she's always planned on me doing.

But I had to—I needed to. I couldn't let this place get put on the market by some bank who didn't even know my aunt. Or worse, some greedy mega-millionaire hellbent on tearing it all down in order to put up a damn strip-mall.

Disgracing her name like that because I was too afraid to come out here wouldn't be honoring her memory at all.

I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the cottage. Flicking through my messages, I send it to my best friend Monday with a short message that says: made it!

The bushes hugging the sides of the cottage are overgrown and wild looking, fitting right in with the crab grass that has taken root all over the lawn in scattered patches. Peanut shoves his nose into one of the larger tufts of grass, deeply inhaling a few times as his tail points straight up into the air.

More memories breeze by, as I smile. God, Great-Aunt Elsie loved the fairy village I'd built out of toadstools.

"Miss, you want your bags up on the porch?" My cab driver asks me, ripping me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, shit. Sorry." I say, reaching out to grab both of my bags from his hands.

Before I can manage a single finger around either handle, he jumps away from me, tsking. "Come on now, don't be like that! My mama taught me better than to let a lady carry her belongings. Especially when they're this heavy."

I force a polite smile at that. "Thanks. Yeah, I tend to not pack lightly."

"I can see that. I'm surprised a city-slicker like you would come all the way up here. We don't get many of your type in Alpine Springs. How long you stayin'?"

Honestly, I have no clue.

When I'd first gotten served the paperwork for my great-aunt's estate a month ago, I'd been completely shell-shocked. Not only at finding out she'd passed, but because she'd left me an entire damn house.

It wasn't until I lost my job two weeks ago that I'd come up with the brilliant idea of coming out here and trying to sell the place myself. At least I could guarantee that it went to a nice family and wasn't bought up and used for some Airbnb for rich people who wanted to get away for the weekend.

"I'm not sure." I finally say. "Probably a while."

He nods and then lets out a deep sigh. "It's really a shame with what happened to ole' Elsie. No one in town knew she'd passed for a few weeks."

That surprises me. "Really? No one wondered why she wasn't coming into town to get groceries?"

He shrugs. "To be honest, it was kinda Elsie's MO She was quite the recluse the past few years. We all just thought she was going through one of her phases."

Recluse? My Aunt Elsie?

The news strikes me. Not only because it seems far-fetched but also so out-of-character for her larger-than-life personality. Whenever I was little and we needed to run into town for something quick, Elsie would always get swept up in hours-long conversations with any of the locals. Back then, I'd always found it annoying. But by the time I'd gotten into my early teen years, I'd found it fascinating.

Elsie could come up with a make-believe conversation with a damn spider and it would be a good time. That's just who she was as a person.

But a recluse? There's no way.

Sure, I hadn't talked to her in a long time, but people couldn't change that drastically, right?

"When was the last time anyone saw her?" I ask.

"Before someone discovered her? Probably about three or so months ago. Anyway, I'm sorry for your loss." He says, and then lifts my bags up. "Where did you want these?"

Climbing the steps, I jab a finger at the missing board for him to see and shove my other hand into my pocket to snag the keys that the lawyer had slid over to me after I'd signed off on all the paperwork.

The key slides smoothly into the deadbolt and opens without any kind of fuss when I shoulder it open. Dust particles catch the light from behind us, cascading down toward the floor gently.

"You can set them just inside the door here, thanks," I say as I move into the cottage.

It's so weird how this place slams me with so many memories. I'd been thinking about my life before my parents' divorce a lot lately, and now it's becoming really clear that I'd missed out on a lot when my mom had shipped us up to Jersey City to get away from my dad.

She'd never admit it to anyone, but she'd been running from him because I think she was afraid that if she stuck around long enough, she'd fall back in love. My dad just had that kind of rough charm about him, even if he was a shitty husband to her.

The familiar creeks of the floorboards groaning under me have me smiling a little. Same old, same old. I bet I still had the pattern to get around the worn parts still memorized. Perhaps my aunt still haunts these familiar walls, too.

My cab driver swings my bags through the doorway and sets them down next to the wall coming inside. When he straightens up, he takes the cabbie hat off his head to brush the stray pieces of hair back over his balding head and nods at me and starts back to his car.

I follow him to the door of the cottage but stay just inside the frame as he hops down the front steps. He throws me one last wave before climbing back into his cab and slowly pivoting it around in order to start back down the long drive that we'd traveled to get up here.

With the sounds of tires crunching against gravel finally fading, all that's left is the quiet peace that I remember. The cresting mountains in the distance, along with the thick, dense forest surrounding the property, I let my mind and body finally settle.

Inside the front pocket of my coat, my phone vibrates against my hip. As I pull it out, my best friend Monday's name flashes across the screen.

Monday: plzzzz tell me you survived and didn't get kidnapped :( If you did, send an SOS so I can find you on the dark web and buy you back

Monday: oh wait lol I just got ur pic. It's so cute!!!

Her text has me snorting to myself. She's such a worrier. I swear, if there was a way to convert anxiety into caffeine, Monday would be more wired than a toddler on a sugar rush.

The thought of texting my mom has me groaning, though.

If Monday's a worrywart, my mom is queen-empress of worrying. But instead of it coming across as annoyingly endearing, my mom takes it to a whole other helicopter-parent level.

Still, it wouldn't be fair for me to keep her in the dark. I bet she's got her phone clutched in her hand, waiting for me to text her the second I get inside the cottage. I'm surprised she didn't force me to install some kind of tracking app on my phone to keep tabs on me while I traveled.

My entire body jolts when Peanut lets out a series of frantic barks.

"What the hell?" I mutter and quickly jump down from the porch.

He's facing the back part of the tree line, his entire body jerking from the force of him continuing to bark at whatever the hell he sees. Probably a raccoon or god forbid a damn skunk.

"Hey," I say, scooping him up off the ground. "We can't start scaring all the wildlife away on our first day."

His body is vibrating from how tensed up he is, making it hard for me to hold onto him as he wiggles, trying to get free.

"There's nothing there, silly." I tell him, readjusting him before he falls.

Just as I'm about to turn back toward the cottage, I spot something out of the corner of my eye that has me freezing in place. As I focus on the direction Peanut was facing, something seems...off. It's a little too shadowed to make out the details, other than a looming, disformed silhouette and trees bending in the wind.

But there's no wind right now.

What the fuck?

I take quick steps to get us both inside and the door shut and locked behind us. Peanut finally wiggles free from my arms and begins to pace around the front entry of the cottage, his hackles still raised.

My heart pounds in my chest, forcing me to pant a little. It had to have been a trick of the light because there's no way that a creature that size is currently stalking around outside Elsie's cottage.

Maybe it'd been a bear passing by?

As I slowly calm down, my body instinctively moves away from the door. I can't psych myself out and call it quits after only a few minutes of being here. I'm no fucking quitter, and my mom certainly didn't raise me to be one.

Besides, I'm trying to be a reformed city girl who needs this investment to work out. My future self is depending on it. I can't become a writer if I have no money to pad myself with. I'd tried the part-time job thing and all it did was stress me out to the point where I almost quit altogether.

Taking in a few deep breaths, I finally calm down enough to grab both of my suitcases and roll them further into the cottage.

It's such a cute place and perfect for a spinster like Elsie—and now me—to live in. She had many windows overlooking the beautiful woods, along with a pretty much open concept that led from the front entryway all the way through the kitchen.

The living area had a short wall that cocooned it away from the first part of the house and the stairs that led up to the master bedroom had been carved out right behind it. The back door that leads out to the backyard is tucked in the corner of the living room, completely with a speakeasy window that locks from the inside.

The nostalgia is so overwhelming that it stops me dead in my tracks for a moment to take it all in.

I really, really miss my great-aunt.

And now I'm never going to get to see her again.

Regret fills me deeply, causing my eyes to water.

However, I don't get a chance to let any tears fall when a loud knock comes rapping on the back door. It's a rhythmic beat that sounds odd as I listen to it, like it's some kind of secret code or something.

Peanut perks up at my feet and trots into the living room to go investigate. I follow closely behind, curiously.

The lock on the tiny speakeasy window in the door creaks as I flip it up and swing it open. I am met by a devastatingly handsome man. As my eyes wander over him, my gaze meets his, his eyes are dark, almost black. Suddenly, the familiarity hits me...

Wait, what the hell?!

It's him... It's the stranger from my dream. I can't help but stare at him, dumbfounded. His eyes widen, almost as if he recognizes me as well.

"You are...not Elsie." He says, slowly, continuing to stare at me.

Oh, maybe he recognizes me because I do resemble my great-aunt. That would certainly make sense.

I'm so stunned I don't even know what to say.

He tilts his head slightly to the side. "Where is she?"

"Huh?" I question.

"Elsie." His voice is firm. "She owns the house, and as you are not Elsie, perhaps you know where she is."