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This is all so, so wrong.
"Well, come on." Samuel gestures for us to follow him. He walks up the front steps, long and wide. A grand entrance up to a large, double door. The wood is dark, nearly black, with a door knocker in the shape of a gold lion. The gold is worn and chipped away, though, and the eyes are black.
The lion looks like death.
Samuel presses on the door handle, opening it into a large entryway with tall ceilings with gray walls. The floor is nearly black, either stone or an expensive tile. A chandelier hangs above us, the yellow light creating a dim glow above us. It’s old, historic, and Gothic with its sharp iron rods, spiky and deadly-looking.
The staircase is off to the left, the steps made of another blackened stone, long and wide as they curl around the side of the wall up to the second level. Movers walk through the house, and we step aside as they take my dresser upstairs.
The railing is a dark silver. It looks cold.
This entire house looks cold. Nothing like my last home, which was filled with warm memories and happy feelings. Even if it was all fake, at least there was something comforting about it.
This feels so off.
We pass a set of dark doors on the right. "This is my office. Nothing to see in there."
I frown, looking up at Samuel, but his face is blank, and he's already walking off down the hall. The walls are decorated with old, ancient-looking pieces of what looks to be possible ancestors. Black-and-white photos. Creepy portraits and paintings of scenery that look similar to Castle Pointe. Every frame is detailed and textured with fine carvings that look about one million years old. Everything is so… Gothic.
This entire place gives me the creepy vibes. Goosebumps pop up along my arms, and I rub my hands over them. It's so fucking cold in here.
"Why is it so cold here?" I ask him.
He glances over his shoulder at me, a cross between laughter and menace lingering in his eyes. "Castle Pointe has its quirks."
Oh, is that what we're calling it?
"It feels like this entire town is haunted," I grumble.
Samuel lets out a chuckle, a low grumble from deep in his chest. "I wouldn’t be surprised."
My eyes widen.
My mom laughs. "Well, that's just silly. I'm sure it's just an old place. Like you said, there's a lot of history here."
We walk into the kitchen, the only modern-looking room in the house that I’ve seen so far. Black appliances mix with dark granite countertops and cabinets. A massive island, larger than a kitchen table, sits in the center of the room.
"Through the hall there is a mudroom which leads to the garage." He points to the right. "And the formal dining room is through there. I haven’t eaten in there much, but maybe now we’ll have the opportunity to take advantage of it more.” He smiles, and I glance away from him, looking at the oversized wooden table with high wingback chairs sitting around it in the next room. A large chandelier hangs over the center of the table, and that room definitely seems antique, with a black-and-white wallpaper littering the walls.
“Here is the informal dining area and the living room." He points to the left, where large pillars separate the two rooms. The black, wooden kitchen table is long, with two candles sitting in the center.
The living room is carpeted, with two black leather sofas sitting around a coffee table. A built-in entertainment center sits against the wall with a large TV in the center.
For some reason, I'm thinking in this house, this area doesn't get used much.
We walk through the living room to a set of double doors. "And this here," he pauses as he turns the knob, and the door creaks as it’s pushed open, "is the library."
The smell of old paper slaps me in the face and my eyes widen, taking in the three walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The ceilings are high, and the rolling ladder that sits up against one of the walls goes all the way to the top shelf. A black chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling. The dark, rich wood of the shelves extend from bottom to top, all of which have moldings along the trim. The only color in here is provided by the spines of the books.
So many books.
They all look old, too. No modern novels sit on these shelves. They all look historical, maybe no fiction books at all. A large desk sits off to the side, cleared of any debris. Only a small L-shaped lamp sits off to the side. A therapist-looking chair sits against the window, and a few other chairs are placed around the room. This place is huge, like a miniature library has been placed in this home.
Samuel smiles when he sees my face. "Feel free to come in here whenever you'd like. You can take any book. They’re yours.”
"Thank you," I say genuinely, my first honest comment I've made since I met him.
This is a fucking dream.
