Sunblocked Summerhouse
Mixi J Applebottom
Copyright © 2017 by Mixi J Applebottom
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
I always wonder what Calleo is up to now.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Firelocked Funhouse
About the Author
Also by Mixi J Applebottom
Chapter One
Wynne was standing at the front of the large, dirty old house. “House” was an understatement, for, in fact, it was a mansion. She could not see both sides of the building from where she was standing. The windows dotted along in neat little rows. There had to have been at least thirty of them on this side of the house. Her suitcases were piled neatly on the ground next to her. The taxi that had brought her had already skittered off into the distance, leaving a thin line of dust crawling into the air. She rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. She knocked twice and continued to wait. It was cold, a chilly afternoon in October.
Her stomach hurt. There was a knotted, twisted feeling deep in her belly. She wasn't sure if this was because of getting fired. Was it normal for stomachs to twist into knots after being fired?
She heard a long growling yowl from her packages and her suitcases. "Calleo, just a few more minutes," she mumbled, patting her hands on the sides of her arms to stay warm. The cat let out another yowl. He was completely unhappy to still be caged in the little crate.
“Fired” might not have been quite the right description. “Relocated” was more accurate. She had the same boss, but fired was how she felt. She was no longer employed as Pear's nanny. Instead, twenty-two-year-old Wynne was going to housesit, which, in Wynne's opinion, was barely a real job, despite the hefty pay raise. The little girl that she adored so much, for so many years, was now on her own.
Housesitting was not nearly as interesting a job as a nanny. Especially when you were the nanny for a rich and powerful couple. Her days of going to Paris, Scotland, California, and other glamorous places had ended. It was nice to work for the rich and famous; at least, it usually was. But the last place they stayed in New York City was absolutely mortifying. That was why she was now relocated, and not a nanny. She was fired from the lifestyle and the little girl that she loved.
She pounded her fists this time tightly on the door, increasing the racket she was making. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Silence was her only reply.
Chapter Two
Wynne took a deep breath and reached into her purse. Inside was a thick packet of information, and she pulled open the letter written by Barnett.
With the recent events in New York, I would like you, Wynne, to take Calleo to our home in the mountains. I would like you to stay there and house-sit, double your normal pay. I expect that you will be able to keep your mouth shut about all of the… adventures that we had. I would like you to make no further contact with our daughter. She doesn't need to be reminded of our troubled times.
The key is in the usual spot.
Aurora and Barnett.
Wynne swallowed and tried not to think of Barnett. She had a crush on him; who wouldn't? He was muscular, rich, famous, and everything anyone could ever want. Then she shook off thoughts of the movie star and started looking for the key. Barnett had never actually looked for a key at his own house. Or he would have known that there was no “normal” spot. Keys were often hidden in some sort of totally abnormal location. Never under the rug, but under a rock or under a pot, sometimes in a pot. One time, Wynne had found the key to their beach house in the mailbox. There was no normal location. No regular spot. Barnett, of course, would never know this. While Wynne would take the cat to the house, the little family would often go out to eat. She always found the key long before they were done with dinner. But Barnett being totally out of touch with reality was par for the course.
And so she began the hunt for the key.
Many times, there was staff. She'd knock and someone who arrived even earlier than she had would have been dusting and freshening up sheets. Barnett and Aurora owned at least five houses. Wynne was the only staff member who got to live with the stars. The other folks—the cleaners, the gardeners—they would usually show up right before they arrived and be gone the whole time they stayed. After all, Aurora hated the smell of fresh cut grass and would rather fly to the house in Paris than smell it being cut.
"Calleo, I hate the mess that we are in now," Wynne said with utter dismay. "I absolutely hate it. Pear is absolutely furious with me for leaving, I'm sure. They made me miss her birthday. You too, you missed her birthday." Her voice cracked with a sad fury.
He sneezed. She supposed that was all the reply she deserved. Then he went back to his yowling protests, seemingly ignoring her.
She lifted up the flowerpot and set it dismally back down. Carefully, she let her fingers sift through the soil. But no key. "That girl is as close to me and dear to me as a sister.” She checked the mail slot, but nothing.
"But now, she doesn't have me, and she doesn't have you." Wynne sighed dramatically. Her eyes scanned the front door for any other location where the key might be hidden.
"And I'm not even sure what you are," she said with a sharp tone and flicked her eyes at the porcelain white cat. He stopped meowing and glared at her through the cage.<
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"I wish I knew where that stupid key was.” She reached out and grabbed the door handle with every intention of shaking the door. Her frustration needed to slip out somewhere. But the door clicked open. She was so startled, she tripped on her own foot and nearly hit the ground. Just barely, she managed to catch herself.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, the door was unlocked.
The door slid open with a slight groan, like the house itself was rolling its eyes at her presence. The squeal sent a shiver up her spine. Wynne tried to push the thought from her mind that the house was alive. She was not interested in thinking about ghosts or hauntings. That subject was all too familiar.
"Hello?" she shouted into the house, but no one said anything in reply. So she grabbed her suitcases and the crate with the cat. After four trips, she managed to drag them all inside into the foyer. She shut the door with a click. Calleo let out a warning growl.
He had grown hostile towards her in the last month or two. Perhaps he knew that they were both exiled, and he blamed her for it. As though she had a choice in the matter. She didn't have a choice and neither did the cat.
She knew she was supposed to lock him in a single room until he got used to the new house, but when a cat has psychic powers, do you follow the rules for a regular cat?
She imagined it didn't matter. If he could control a spirit, then he didn't need her help. Besides, he hated her so much lately, that him being lost seemed like it would be a huge relief. She would be so fine with it. She reached over and carefully clasped the door handle on the cage, twisting the lock so that it popped open. Calleo looked at her, his eyes solid white except for the tiny slits that were his pupils. His pure white fur and pure white irises blurred together in a strange and ominous way. He hissed. She ignored him and left the crate open. Slowly, she turned around to gather up a few bags and she heard a loud thump. She glanced back at Calleo. His hair was on end and his teeth were bared at her. But he hadn't made the noise.
She heard it again, thumping behind her.
Someone was with them.
What if it was a ghost?
Chapter Three
Gregory was absolutely mortified when he heard her. He didn't mean to startle her. He had not been expecting a gorgeous young woman to simply traipse into the house like that. She was slender, wearing a thin sweater on a cold day like today. Her jeans were tight and fit her body like a glove. Her hair was long, dark brown, and pencil-straight. She seemed very put together, like a proper New York woman. For a moment, he wondered if she was Aurora's little sister, for she had the style of a woman who made a lot of money. The kind of woman who had her own stylist.
"Are you Wynne?" he choked out, fearing that if it was Aurora, that perhaps he had just insulted her. He hadn’t seen the star before in person.
"Yes," said the girl, and he could see the goosebumps forming all the way along her arms. She was really spooked.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm Gregory." He held out his hand. Her hand was cold, slightly damp when he touched it. Before he could say anything further, a large white cat jumped out of a crate in between them. The cat quickly stood between Gregory and Wynne, its front half facing the girl, claws exposed, teeth bared. Gregory quickly picked up the cat, trying to intervene before poor Wynne got clawed or bitten. The cat immediately snuggled into his arms like a silky scarf. He was like a marshmallow melting in his hands. The white cat squirmed into him and purred loudly.
"Of course he likes you," said Wynne with a sigh of annoyance.
"Did you guys have a fight on the way over?" said Gregory with a smirk.
Wynne’s mouth twisted into a wry little grin. "Something like that."
"What's the cat's name?" asked Gregory as he ran his fingers behind the soft fur, into the nooks and crannies right behind the cat's head.
"This is Calleo. It means smart; it's a word in Latin," Wynne said, and her heart immediately twisted. She and Pear had named that cat together. They’d gone out of their way to pick something special. And now they were forever separated: the girl from her cat, the girl from her nanny.
"What's wrong with his eyes?" said Gregory in a low tone. Something was clearly wrong with the cat.
Wynne flicked her eyes to the young man, and her face drained of all color. She swallowed nervously twice. "What?"
Gregory's voice was low again. "What happened to the cat’s eyes?"
Chapter Four
Wynne immediately had sweat on her palms. It wasn't just that there was a man that appeared out of absolutely nowhere. But now he was asking about the cat's eyes. How would she explain it? His muscles were rippling at her underneath his t-shirt. He was young, and not overly ripped, but thin, and exactly meaty enough.
Calleo used to have a yellow eye and a green one, but the layers of the house… the ghost… the girl. How could Wynne explain things she didn’t understand?
She turned and looked at the cat's eyes as though she had never noticed before. He had no color in his eyes. They were terrifying to look at. Especially against his white fur; it was like his eyeballs just extended forever. Except for those two tiny vertical black slits. Did Calleo want her to explain to this random man what had happened?
What had happened to them in the penthouse?
She hoped not. Because she planned on lying.
"Ha, they are a little weird," she said with her face as calm as she could keep it. The forced laugh came out like a bark, though. Calleo hissed. "What are you doing here?" Wynne asked Gregory.
"Oh, I do maintenance on the house. I'm not actually here very often. I was planning to greet you, but I must not have heard you knock on the door. Or walk in… Whichever you did." said Gregory, staring at the girl. There was a subtle accusation, as if maybe she hadn't knocked.
"Hey, I rang the bell, and I'm not… I didn't break in. Do you have a key for me?" she said impertinently.
"Sure." He gently set Calleo back on the ground, and the cat curled a figure eight around his ankles. His purring was loud, and he seemed to be absolutely delighted to have met Gregory.
"Do you believe in the afterlife?" he said as he held the sparkling silver key out in front of him. He swallowed nervously.
"Like ghosts?" she said. "No. I have never believed in spirits or ghosts." Her voice nearly cracked when she said it. The hair on the end of her neck had leapt up quickly.
"Are those tarot cards and the Ouija board just for fun?" Gregory remarked as he pointed at the stack of mystic items sitting with her luggage. She immediately turned red as a tomato.
"That's none of your business," Wynne said. She coughed, embarrassment leaping across her. She was hostile with shame.
"I believe in ghosts." Gregory stared at her Ouija board, then his eyes flicked up to her face. She had gone from angry and embarrassed to suddenly pale. He must have overstayed his welcome. "I will let you get settled in, then. I'll be back tomorrow since I've got to check in here. Have a nice night." He stepped out the front door and shut it quickly.
He believed in ghosts. The idea of him believing never crossed her mind. She glanced at her tarot cards and Ouija board. Pear just had her birthday, and the little five-year-old girl was surely… possessed. Wynne was looking for a way to help her. It was hard to imagine a world where an Ouija board would help a little girl be herself again, and be able to have her own irises again. The color of Calleo's eyes had been changed by the ghost. His eyes and Pear's eyes. Both dramatically changed.
Chapter Five
Gregory was back in his little apartment. He lived about an hour away from the mansion, and it was true he was there waiting for Wynne, but it was also true that he could've left the key for her to find. She was much prettier than he had expected. It was entertaining to him that she would own tarot cards and an Ouija board and somehow not believe in ghosts. Truth was, he didn't believe her. She had to have seen something. That was the part that excited him the most.
He sat on the couch and flipped on the TV. He
had been working as a maintenance manager for several properties. He was making a decent living at it. Not a great living, but a decent one. Barnett and Aurora's home was just one of many celebrity homes that he went and visited while they weren't around. He'd often be given a list of maintenance activities, or he'd do yardwork. Celebrities were often away. One of his main tasks was turning on the heat and a/c the day before they returned. Thankfully, he never had to vacuum or dust, as they had other staff for that sort of thing.
She was so pretty. She was thin and tall, and her hair was a dark brown. It hung down in perfectly straight lines. It seemed to him that she could have been a model in another life. She was just one pair of stiletto boots away from looking like his stylish sister, Lorelei. He didn’t want to think about Lorelei, though; they hadn’t talked in at least a year.
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