Blaire stepped up to the Blackwood’s ebony door.

The house had been kept nicely, most likely due to the town’s kindness. The town was a giant family Grandfather had pushed away as he grew older, shoved when his last surviving son and grandchild left, and practically ignored when his wife died.

Thank God for empathy or he would have died long ago.

Blaire sighed, remembering the letter his neighbor, Charlie Jr. Northcott, had mailed her entailing Grandfather’s refusal to stay at a hospital, accept in-house help, or take his prescribed meds.

Dad would be more useful, she thought with a twisted frown. But Dad left.

Grandfather wanted them gone. Blaire remembered that. He would have packed up their things himself if that’s what it took to get his son and his granddaughter out of town. Because by that time he had decided that he no longer had faith in the safety of the Blackwood’s castle. Only the beast in the forest was dependable.

Without hesitation, Blaire's dad agreed to leave. Not so much because of a beast but because of his daughter. Of the concern for her health.

Then came the other issue: Was Grandfather coming with them?

No. Absolutely not. He was born there and he was going to die there, too.

Geoffrey bickered with his father for hours about him being “stubborn” and “unreasonable”. It got to the point where he promised his father that he would never return to town, to a place that had hurt his family so much. Grandfather Henry retorted he wouldn’t have it any other way and would never forgive his son if he broke his word.

Turned out, Geoffrey was as stubborn and unreasonable as his dear old father, as he had shipped his own daughter to see his father in his place.

Blaire couldn’t imagine never seeing her parents, especially while on their deathbed.

She was devastated when she learned about Grandmother Valerie’s death and loathed herself for not fighting her parents on returning for the funeral.

Blaire reminded herself to visit Valerie's grave after a few days. Maybe weeks, depending on her grandfather’s mood.

Blaire lifted the gold knocker on the front door and pounded a few times.

After some silence she wondered vaguely if he collapsed inside. 

Maybe he’s dead. He’s been alone, untended to, after all.

How long should Blaire wait before she goes inside? She didn’t have a key. Should she break a window?

As Blaire contemplated her next move, she heard the door unlock.

“Charles, I told you, if you think-”

Grandfather Henry stopped as his eyes adjusted on Blaire.

Though slouched, he was a tall man with one of his designed canes in his pruny right hand.

Recollections of him whacking Blaire with it when there were no witnesses dawned upon her. She resisted kicking it and watching him fall on his face.

His sickly body was rippled, his scowl even more prominent. But otherwise, he appeared the same. Grandfather Henry had obviously sold his soul to the Devil. Which begged the question…was he really ill or was this a trap?

Grandfather Henry surprised Blaire as the door suddenly swung shut.

She managed to block it from closing completely by wedging her foot in the doorway.

“Grandfather...it’s me. Your...grand...daughter,” she grunted as she tried to pry open the door with her hands. “Open the door.”

“Why are…you…here?” he growled.

“Open…the…door. I got…a letter...saying you’re sick.”

“I never…sent a...letter. Go…back!”

“You…need help,” she argued, exhausted. “Let go…before...you…hurt your…self.”

“I…I…can take...ca-care…of…my…myyyyyyyyself!” 

“I’ll have…to see it…to…believe it!” Blaire knocked him back as she swung open the door.

Blaire didn’t care that he was sneering at her. Did she expect a welcoming committee? Of course not.

“I wasn’t told to expect company,” Grandfather Henry said after steadying himself.

“Well, I had an idea that my arrival would be faster than a letter. But,” she added, “if it's any consolation, one has been written and is on its way.”

He looked at the great grandfather clock by the doorway anxiously as Blaire snatched her suitcase and hauled it inside.

“Close the door,” he ordered as she was halfway doing so. “Lock it.”

“Don’t lose your last marble, Gramps,” she grumbled.

“Where are you going?” Grandfather demanded as she passed him.

“To my old room,” Blaire announced, looking around as she headed to the staircase. 

The place hadn’t changed at all. But it wasn’t tacky. It was…antique. Definitely a place that could be used as a historical tourist site.

“You can’t stay here!” he barked, limping after her. “It’s the taking season!”

Blaire found him less intimidating now that she was older and twice as irritating.

“The taking season doesn’t exist,” she told him after an exhausted sigh.

Blaire stopped on the stairs and stared down at the poor man looking on the brink of a heart attack.

She had a feeling this was going to happen.

“Look, do you want to sit down? I can set a fire, make you something to eat-”

“I want you to go home,” he interrupted sternly. “If you must take care of me, then do it when Spring is over.”

You might be dead by then.

As Blaire thought of something to say, Grandfather Henry asked, “Does anyone else know you’re here?”

She shook her head. “Remember? I’m faster than a letter.”

But Blaire had a feeling most of the townspeople expected at least one of the Blackwoods, hopefully her father, was returning.

Her grandfather appeared relieved. “Good. Very good. I can walk you out of town while it is still noon.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she informed him. “And you walking through town? That’s not happening. You look as if you are about to keel over just talking.”

“It’s because I am talking to you,” he bitterly retorted.

Blaire inhaled. “Sit down. I'll be right back.”

Blaire raced upstairs, hoping that while she's gone he wouldn’t do anything drastic in some futile attempt to force her out. She wouldn’t put it past him to try and burn the house down.

Blaire's bedroom was at the end of the right hall. It was just as she left it right down to the twin bed. There was not a cobweb or speck of dust, making her assume that someone has been cleaning the house, regardless of Grandfather Henry's pessimistic attitude.

Blaire dropped her suitcase on the bed and glanced out the window, reliving the excitement she felt when she watched for Cole to appear. 

Like a dog, she waited impatiently and never tired of seeing him. Sometimes she would climb out the window and wait on the roof where she would convince him to catch her once she jumped. But most of the time Blaire waited inside and watched. She loved watching him just as she loved the fire and she knew one day that he would burn her by leaving town.

He did, just not the way she expected him to.

Blaire abandoned the window and returned downstairs to where her grandfather paced back and forth.

Blaire grabbed his elbow and gently steered him to the lounge room. “Sit down.”

Furniture in place, Blaire set him in his maroon throne and stared at the dead fireplace.

“You can’t take care of me if you don’t know how to start a fire,” her grandfather ridiculed.

“Give me a minute. I don’t have a fireplace at home,” she grumbled as she passed him.

With no help from him, Blaire eventually figured it out.

She knelt before the fire for a minute, relishing in good memories, before turning to Grandfather Henry.

“I’m going to get some lunch.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Have you eaten?” Blaire countered and he scowled. “I’ll grab something small.”

“No!” he barked and she froze. “You stay in here today. There is enough food in the kitchen. I’m sure you can make something. If you prove yourself capable today, I’ll consider allowing you to stay.”

“I’m staying anyway,” Blaire quiped.

“Under my conditions,” he warned.

“Which are?” Blaire folded her arms.

“You do not stay out after dark. You are present for all meals. You listen to me. You do not go in or anywhere near the forest.”

Blaire scoffed. “Really? The forest? You can’t believe-”

“Those are my conditions,” he repeated sternly and they remained glaring at each other.

Blaire pulled back, remembering herself.

This annoyance before her was an old man, alone. His conditions aren’t unreasonable. Half of them she expected to do, anyway. When she came, she had the intentions of torturing herself by being near the man almost all day. The fact that he was willing to give her hours to herself was something she should be thankful for.

And avoiding the forest? Why would that be a problem? What would possibly convince Blaire to return to the place that tore her and Cole apart?

                                                                …

Dark came faster than she expected. Blaire was both relieved and saddened. Relieved to be momentarily free from her grandfather, she was saddened to have no time to rendezvous with the town. But there was always tomorrow, and weeks after that.

“You don’t like the food?” Blaire asked her grandfather from across the dining table.

He had not replaced it for a smaller and more reasonably sized table since the last of his family left, therefore leaving space for many Blackwood ghosts to join them.

“It’s rabbit food,” Blaire's dinner date commented as he played with his perfect temperature tomato soup. “This must be the appetizer.”

“Of course. The rest of your meal comes with water and bread rolls. And may I remind you,” Blaire said, “that all this came from the selfless hearts of the townspeople who took the time to prepare the meals, shelf them, and even leave a Get Well note?”

Blaire lifted the piece of paper as evidence, though she was sure he already knew.

“You may hate the food, but you can’t possibly hate the town.”

Grandfather Henry scowled. “You cannot force me to eat.”

“No, I can’t, but you will anyway.” Blaire dipped into her own soup and pretended to enjoy it. 

Tomorrow she would make sure to go to The Lesters and have a hearty meal.

“Have you poisoned this?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“With Belladonna I hope.” He lifted a spoonful to his curved lips, playing along.

Blaire waited until he had a good amount of soup before confessing, “Your meds, actually.”

Grandfather Henry dropped the spoon, horror-stricken, and Blaire rolled her eyes.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t.”

Yet.

Blaire still had to retrieve his medicine from the neighbor, Charles, who had been keeping it safe from Grandfather Henry's destructive hands.

Blaire wondered what the symptoms were. Drowsiness would be nice.

“You’ve got that smart mouth from your mother,” Grandfather Henry sneered after he recollected himself.

Blaire wondered if he meant that to be an insult. Most likely.

“Blaire doesn’t suit you at all,” he rampaged on. “It was a mistake to let your mother choose your name.”

Her bluebell eyes narrowed. “Think what you want but I like my name. I like my life.”

“You still like causing trouble, too?” Grandfather Henry jabbed.

The fire within her dwindled. “I like preventing it.”

Sensing he struck a nerve, he had the tact to eat in silence. Blaire was grateful for it. 

Once he finished, she stood.

“I can prepare myself for bed,” he snapped rather harshly.

“I’m still going to follow you at least to your bedroom.”

Irritated, the man hobbled out of the olive green dining room toward the staircase.

Blaire wondered why he hadn’t placed in one of those chairs that would elevate him up the stairs. Maybe because the addition will change the house’s appearance, and it’s crystal clear that he wanted the past preserved.

When the two reached his room he predictably slammed the door in Blaire's face, then unpredictably opened it.

“Remember what I said,” he growled. “No going near the woods.”

And with that Blaire was abandoned in the hall, lingering like some creep outside of his bedroom as she listened in for any indication of trouble.

After half an hour of hearing him struggle and assuming he had finally made it to bed without injury, Blaire withdrew. But she didn’t go to her room.

After Blaire cleared the dining table and washed the dishware, she perused the library. She wasn’t a reader when she was younger, but times have changed. Blaire read stories all the time. Of course, they are non-fiction and focus on missing children cases, kidnappers, criminology, psychology, law. Unlike Cole, there have been no travel books to swoon over. There were just disturbing researches that made Blaire look at the world through a dark, hateful lens.

The Blackwood books were organized by genre and then author’s surname. If the author has a collection of books, they were coordinated alphabetically by title. All very simple for a guest, but a pain for whoever set up the library.

Blaire found the horror section among the fiction fairy tales. It was sparse with only one book keeping the area alive. 

Was I the only person in the Blackwood line who enjoyed a good hair raising story?

Blaire touched the spine and pulled out the dark brown hardback book. She knew this book the second she saw it, remembered the memories and feelings it had absorbed.

Clutching it to her chest, Blaire carried the book to the tall window and placed herself on the cushioned couch cradled on its sill.

Her hometown had never failed to disappoint her with their superstitions. All except for one imprinted on page number fifteen.