Blackstone Manor

Chapter 1 Blackstone Manor had been erected so long ago nobody could remember a time when it didn’t rest at the end of Deerwood Lane. The paved road merged with the gravel driveway that sliced through the acreage once surrounding the grand home, effectively making the street a dead end. New development slowly crept in its direction, cookie cutter suburban houses eating up empty fields. The greedy company had already received permission from the city to destroy the old overgrown vineyard that used to produce some of the best wine in the state, all despite a vast public outcry; which was ridiculous given the last bottle had been sealed some thirty years earlier. The history of Blackstone Manor was whispered about, speculated over, most of the records regarding it lost in a flood that happened decades ago. The public seemed torn. Half of them were happy to see the spooky place bulldozed, citing it a hazard to curious teens. The other half fought to have the estate marked as a historical structure, pointing out how it had stood the test of time and that there would be a loss of character. And on a cool June night Io instantly sided with the history buffs. Blackstone Manor was beautiful, easily shaming all the newly built houses. Of course, some might say he was biased for any number of reasons. For one thing it was his job to care about old places more than the average human. Simply because Io was a Masonry Gargoyle, considered to be the lesser of the two gargoyle species. Masonries included the wickedly cool statues found along some rooflines and those like Io. It was their job to preserve history, to keep pieces of the past moving into the future, strictly in relation to buildings, of course. They guarded old homes and long forgotten asylums. As long as certain places remained standing the balance between the spiritual and living worlds was maintained. Io didn’t quite understand how it worked, but he suspected it had something to do with weak spots and keeping the dearly departed happy. The second reason he wanted to save Blackstone Manor was because of love. It may have been unrequited, yet love all the same. Io flexed his bat-like wings, letting his gaze roam up the brick exterior of the manor. Apparently, it got its name from the black marble columns standing to either side of the front doors, so he heard. Spires jutted toward the sky while three stories of blank windows, most of them broken, faced the world. There were designs in the brickwork, an attention to detail rarely seen in modern works. Ivy covered part of the façade. The front steps were crumbling. A plastic bag clung to one of the bushes, rustling in the gentle caress of the breeze. Gravel crunched under Io’s boots as he headed for the front doors, curious to see what it looked like inside. The cement steps nearly tripped him up, a chunk falling away under his feet. He ran fingers over the smooth marble, somehow untouched by time, perfect and cool to the touch. He turned to the ornately carved heavy oaken front doors, complete with long tarnished doorknockers. Marring their appearance was a notice fastened to the wood, one declaring it illegal to trespass on the property and that anyone caught doing so would be charged with accordance to the law. The fine… Io rolled his eyes. “That seems a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” He tore the warning free and crumpled it into a ball. Effortlessly he broke the lock, nudging the door open with the toe of his boot. The air that greeted him was stale, stagnant, stinking of mildew and mold and lives long forgotten. Underneath it lurked something else, the hint of a scent he should have known but at the present moment couldn’t place. It was dank, dark inside without even the touch of moonlight to offer an eerie glow. Decaying leaves and discarded trash littered the worn floor. What once used to be a grand entrance, the staircase starting a bit further in and sweeping up over the front door, was now a ghost of its former glory. The banister was gone, fallen to the floor below, and a few of the steps looked like even the weight of a feather would send them to the same fate. Io wandered further in, mindful of a hole near the entryway to the ballroom. The faded glory of an impressive painting remained on the ceiling. Closing his eyes Io began to dance around the space, imagining what it must have been like to attend a formal ball there back in the day. In his mind he conjured up the images of the gaily dressed couples swirling around and around, a band in the corner playing festive music. Laughter and happy chatter. Staff moving effortlessly through the throng of partygoers dishing out fine stemmed glasses of the family wine and delicious hors d’eouvres. Oh, what a wonderful time it would be. If only… “Well, well, lookie here, Barton,” a voice broke through Io’s private moment. He stopped dead, his back to the source, heart hammering in his chest. His hands clenched into fists as he braced for the ridicule, the taunts, and teases about to be lobbed in his direction. “Maybe he’s having a fit,” countered a second voice. “He has always seemed somewhat lacking in brain cells.” “Amongst other things.” Two voices cackled, the tiny hairs on the back of Io’s neck standing on end. Slowly he turned to face his tormentors. A model slender woman with Hollywood blond hair sporting tight bedazzled jeans, calf length boots, and a low cut blouse stood beside a man short of stature with red hair and a scar along his jaw line. Ran’imy and Barton, fellow gargoyles and all around pains in Io’s butt. Ones he could do nothing about. Their hierarchy was similar to that of a pack of wolves. Ran’imy held the position of Beta and while Barton was not the Alpha he ranked higher than Io’s own Omega spot. And they loved to make his life a living hell. Especially Ran’imy. She began to sashay about the room, her heels clicking on the ancient boards, kicking up dust and other things. Her eyes never left him. “What are you doing, dear Io, I wonder?” “None of your business,” he spoke, pleased to keep his tone even. Barton pranced like a fool. “Oh, look at me, I’m fancy pants Io.” The twosome dissolved into laughter, the sound ringing off the high ceiling. Io stood his ground as Ran’imy quickly swallowed up the distance between them. Storm clouds darkened her brilliant blue eyes, cruelty twisting her plump lips. She stopped well within his personal space, patting him on the chest. “Dear sweet, simpleton Io. Always trying to get in the good graces of the Alphas. Always hoping to be recognized as something more than a screw up. Why would our esteemed leader, a man of substance and genius, ever want you in high standing, especially when he already has me?” That was perhaps the worst thing in the world. Io’s stomach twisted into a cold knot, his cheeks flooding with heat. He could deal with the nasty remarks, the jokes, all the pranks they played on him and all the petty times they laid blame at his feet when things went wrong. But the fact Ran’imy knew of the truth lying deep in his heart? It ate away at him, bit by bit, because it gave her ammunition, a way to strike deep and leave a wound invisible to others. One that always managed to leave Io questioning himself. He loathed it, longed for an opportunity to show her up and prove that he was better than the scum on the bottom of her shoe; which was clearly the way she saw him. And without fully meaning to Io broke his silence, losing a touch of control, tired of being under her thumb. Tired of being kicked around. He had a plan in mind, one that would win over the Alpha and put her in her place once and for all. “For your information, I have found the perfect gift for his birthday. One that you can only hope to top, which you won’t, by the way.” Ran’imy blinked, momentarily stunned by his sudden bout of courage. Then she slipped effortlessly back into the role she enjoyed most, patting him harshly on the cheek. “You just keep thinking that way. But I can guarantee your little craft project will fall flat.” She turned away, gesturing with her hand. “Come, Barton, let’s finish preparing for the party. Tomorrow night’s very important. We don’t want anything to go wrong.” She threw a glare back at Io before stepping out of sight. Classy as ever Barton flipped him off before following his Beta out the door like a lost puppy dog. Io waited until he no longer felt their presence, then took to prancing around the room. In a whiny voice he said, “Look at me, I’m precious Ran’imy. I have a stupid name and I like to think everything else about me is perfect. I can do no wrong. Blah, blah blah.” He sighed, starting back through the rooms. In the kitchen, or at least what remained of it, he found a generous sized hole in the ceiling. With little effort he flew up to the second story, landing on rickety, untrustworthy floors in what might have once been a bedroom. Much like everywhere else it was now dominated by decay and neglect. Double doors, the glass dirtied, one pane covered in a spider web of cracks, led out to a balcony. Io stepped out. Everything about the night was gorgeous. From the symphony played expertly by a choir of crickets to the endless sea of sparkling stars overhead. He inhaled deeply, letting the tranquility of the dark drive away the bad taste the encounter with Ran’imy had left. They were never going to see eye to eye or even manage to be cordial with each other. She loathed him, kept him stuck at the bottom by making sure he got the blame for all her mistakes. Occasionally Io wondered why she felt the need to keep him down. She couldn’t possibly be threatened by him, could she? If he’d been in a better mood the sheer absurdness of such a thought would have made him laugh. Instead he experienced a twinge of sorrow, quickly swept away in the waters of determination. “No more,” he said, his voice growing stronger with each word. “I’m done being her scapegoat. I’m done with always getting that look from him.” Every time things were mucked up and fault laid at his feet he earned a frown that was a mix of disappointment and frustration, perhaps with the slightest touch of sadness. It always left him broken inside, self-doubt and loathing twisting into a knot in his stomach. “If only I could stop screwing up.” Because even without help from Ran’imy his name accompanied a long list of blunders. “Just once I want to prove I’m a good gargoyle. That I am worthy of the Masonry title.” The next declaration died on his lips. The absolute last thing he wanted was to risk giving away his plan. One never knew who might be listening and Ran’imy had ears everywhere. He was not about to feed her with the information necessary to ruin the surprise. Of course, he had one fairly large problem. How did he save Blackstone from being bulldozed? Outright purchasing the property was out of the question. He didn’t possess those kinds of funds and a loan seemed risky at best. Io chewed his bottom lip trying to find the best way to go about getting what he wanted. Deep down, in the very hollows of his heart, he knew that this would make up for everything. And perhaps win him the man of his dreams. All his sweet, sensual, naughty dreams. “Think, Io, think,” he smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead. Unfortunately it didn’t manifest the perfect answer. The horizon began to lighten as the sun slowly drove back the darkness. Io sighed. Tomorrow was the alpha’s birthday and he was no closer to having his gift ready. “I can’t fail,” he told himself. “Not this time.” Dawn threatened. Io took flight, needing to get back to the compound before the sun peeked over the horizon. Masonry Gargoyles suffered an affliction similar to vampires, stuck to lurking in the dark of night. Those unfortunate in not making it back to their roosts spent the day as statues, sometimes mistaken for actual architectural ornaments. He made that mistake once, realizing that though his body slumbered, waiting for the gloom of dusk, his mind kept going, and he was fully aware of things around him. Talk about a tedious way to spend hours, not to mention a great way to wind up going crazy. Something in the backyard caught Io’s attention. He tucked his wings slightly, diving toward the shadowed feature. As he drew closer he was able to make out the various shapes hidden in the shadows of trees likely as old as him, a spark of excitement shooting through his body. If he had known what secrets lurked along the outskirts of the property he would have spent far less time poking around the decrepit interior. A plan already taking shape, Io flew off home with renewed vigor, his heart soaring. Who knew a graveyard could illicit such happiness?