He wasn't perfect. Being a sane, relatively intelligent woman, she knew that. However, was there anything wrong with him? She doubted it. He was as near perfect as she ever hoped to find. And that was good enough.
For the past few months people had been commenting on the change in her attitude. Not that she was ever unpleasant, but they all seemed to think she smiled more often now, had a certain bounce in her step, laughed easier. Everyone wanted to know his name, about him, some insisted on meeting him. Of course, she kept it all secret, merely smiling when asked.
She knew some people might judge the relationship they shared. At first it had bothered her a little. Then she came to accept and embrace that with them, some things would just be different. Maybe there would never be dancing at the clubs, or candle lit dinners at a sea side restaurant...or any restaurant. He would never be the man she took home to meet her parents. No, some things would never happen with them. But that was okay.
Stopping the car in the driveway, she felt her heart beat faster in anticipation. He had promised her that tonight would be special. He hadn't said how, she hadn't asked. He liked to surprise her, and that was fine.
Forcibly making herself not skip up the walk to the front door, she took small even steps. She tried not to think of what he might have in store but couldn't help herself. Had he made a nice dinner? He'd done that for her in the past. Would there be another painting? The last one was beautiful. What could he possibly have waiting for this time?
Inside, the living room looked normal. Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Same in the kitchen, dining room...no special dinner awaiting her. Then, in her bedroom, she found the surprise.
Laid out on her bed was a costume. The gown was expensive looking, not like the cheap imitations you rent from the local costume shop that have been worn countless times by several different women. She had no idea from what era it was, but it sure was pretty! There had to be at least six pieces lying on the bed, each one with a sticky note attached giving instructions as to where it went. On top of the outermost layer was an envelope, her name written in elegant script on the outside.
It was an invitation to a party. Not just any party, either. Truth was, she had always thought the annual Halloween party at the old Manchester Mansion was an urban legend. Naturally, she'd been hearing stories about the parties there since she was a girl, but she'd yet to meet anyone who had actually been to one of the parties, or had even been near the old dilapidated building on Halloween.
She'd only been past the old house one time and that had been years ago, when she was a teenager. It was during the day and she remembered it looking like what it was: an old abandoned mansion behind a rusted fence. Nothing scary or menacing. Nothing that should elicit the stories associated with it.
The stories differed depending on who was telling them, but they all had one common thing: every year there was a Halloween party at the mansion. Invitation only. Some people said that once you went in you were never heard from again. Other people said they knew someone who knew someone who had gone, and that person came out a deaf mute or some such thing. And yet other people would say that it was just a great party with loud music, lots of dancing, and the drinks were free. No one seemed to know who hosted the party; no one had actually been past the house on Halloween; and no one knew anyone personally who had received an invitation and not gone.
John Royal had written a note for her and put it in the invitation. It simply said for her to be dressed and ready at nine o'clock, that a car would be picking her up. She doubted he'd be in the car, but that didn't matter. He would definitely be at the party.
Smiling as she walked into the bathroom to shower, she realized that when she thought of him, it was always as John Royal. Never John. Or Johnny. Always his first and last name. When she spoke to him she usually called him Mr. Royal, which also seemed odd now that she thought about it. Then again, he rarely ever called her Beth. It was always either Miss Elizabeth, although that wasn't her name, or Miss Barber. Somehow, given the circumstances of their relationship, it seemed appropriate.
After showering, she made herself a light meal and sat down to eat in front of the TV. The news was on, and despite the fact she almost always chose not to watch anything so depressing, she left it on this time. As she suspected, it was mostly about random shootings, corrupt politics, and arsons. She was about to turn it off when the newscaster announced an upcoming story about the "Mysterious Manchester Mansion." Sitting on the edge of her seat, she waited for the story to air.
There was no mention of the annual Halloween party, but the reporter did give some history about the old place. Supposedly it was haunted now, left abandoned for over fifty years, the ghosts of the last owner walking the halls. Built by a lumber baron who had lived out his life in the house with his wife and three children, inherited by the youngest son who had also lived there until his death, it was the ghost of the last grandson who walked the halls. According to the reporter, legend said that because there was no one to inherit the house at his death, the grandson of the lumber baron remained, chasing away anyone who tried to live there.
Changing the channel, she was surprised to see a similar story on another station. Was this an omen of some kind, she wondered, or did every station do a story on the mansion every year and she'd just never paid attention before? Quite frankly, until seeing the invitation on her bed, she hadn't given any thought to that old house in years, so maybe it was only natural that she'd be noticing stories about it this year.
Usually, John Royal would sit with her while she had dinner. Sometimes he would talk about his childhood, sometimes they would talk about her day at work. At any rate, it seemed almost lonely to be alone in her house this evening. It felt empty. Time seemed to pass slowly.
Was this what her life had been like before meeting him? Quiet evenings eating in front of the TV, waiting for bedtime? Filling in the hours with books, work she brought home, and an occasional phone call to her parents? Although she met John Royal in a chat room on the internet, she rarely used her computer for more than business... and that night she met him had been a fluke.
She hadn't intended to go to a chat room. In fact, she vividly recalled clicking on a link to download some files for work, and instead of the stupid machine taking her to the download site, she wound up in some chat room for the supernatural. She had tried several times to get off the site but her computer would freeze up. Finally she gave up, left the room, and when she came back a half hour later there was a private message waiting for her. From John Royal. It had said: "I've been waiting for you."
She remembered looking at the message and laughing. His next message had been: "Don't laugh. I'm serious." That had freaked her out a little, but also piqued her curiosity enough that she wound up in a chat with him that lasted two hours. A week later they met at her house. That was seven months ago and he'd been at her house nearly every day since.
He had asked that she not talk about him, not tell her friends about him. Although he promised he wasn't married, he was adamant that she keep their affair secret. So she had. It didn't really matter to her that they didn't go out; he made her happy and that was all that was important. And tonight he was taking her to the infamous Manchester Mansion Halloween Party!
In her room, she donned the costume he left her. The gown, put on over two silk slips and a third that was ruffled, was deep burgundy velvet. The top was so tight and low cut that her boobs overflowed, threatening to pop out, but otherwise it was a perfect fit and just too pretty to complain about. She twisted her hair up in the back, leaving a few tendrils down around her face, and wore very little make up, yet she felt like Cinderella going to the ball. The costume was complete when she slipped her feet into matching shoes and placed the black lace shawl around her shoulders, holding the feathered velvet eye mask in front of her face.
At exactly nine o'clock a horn sounded in her driveway. Stepping outside, she was somewhat surprised to see a long black limo stopped behind her little Honda. She had expected a regular sized car, like the airport shuttle car. The driver, in full uniform, was holding the back door open for her.
This was a new experience. It was huge! And empty. She wondered if maybe they were stopping to pick up anyone else. A car this big seemed wasted on just one person. Yet fifteen minutes later when the car again stopped, the driver held the door open to let her out in front of the mansion.
There were no lights visible from the inside of the building. No sounds. Just the darkness and the smell of dead leaves. She turned around, thinking maybe she'd get back in the limo and go home, except the car was already passing through the gate.
Gathering nerve she didn't know she possessed, holding the invitation tightly in her hand, she walked up the decrepit steps to the front doors. Before she could knock, one of the massive doors was opened and she was greeted by a man who had to be the real Lurch. He was easily seven feet tall, and his voice, when he directed her to follow him, seemed to echo.
She followed him down a dark hallway, the light from the candle he held the only illumination. They passed several doors on each side before he held open one of another set of double doors. The light from the huge ballroom nearly blinded her.
