By R.R. Mangold

The rain came down in heavy sheets, turning the world outside my car into a blur of dark shapes and rippling puddles. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the steering wheel, eyes straining to see the road ahead. The dashboard clock blinked: 12:45 a.m.

My flat tire couldn't have happened at a worse time. Here I was, alone in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest town, and trying to drive through the night to Washington D.C. for a book festival I’d been looking forward to for months. The excitement of the trip had faded into frustration and worry. I should have replaced the spare, but who has time to think of those things when you’re running late?

I checked my phone again—no service. Perfect.

Through the rain, headlights appeared in the distance, growing larger and brighter. I held my breath as an old, rusted truck slowed beside me. The window rolled down, revealing a man with salt-and-pepper hair, his frame so tall he looked crammed into the driver’s seat.

I rolled my window down. Wincing at the rain pooling on my lap.

“You need a ride?” he called over the sound of the rain. His voice was low, a bit gravelly, but calm.

I hesitated, glancing down at my useless car. The rain beat mercilessly against the windows. Taunting my situation. This was my only option, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” I said, stepping out into the downpour. My clothes were drenched in seconds. The cold water seeped through my hoodie, chilling me to the bone.

The man smiled, a flicker of something in his eyes I couldn’t place. “Name’s Shawn. Hop in. I’ll take you to my place, get you dried off. Then I’ll come back and tow your car.”

“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat. The warmth of the truck’s interior wrapped around me like a blanket. I glanced back at my car as we pulled away, hoping I’d made the right choice.

Shawn’s house loomed up from the fog, a towering Victorian with black paint that gleamed under the rain. Next to it, a pumpkin patch stretched out, the vines twisting like grasping fingers. A scarecrow stood sentinel at the edge, its sagging burlap head staring blankly into the night. Its stitched eyes watching us rush up the porch steps.

Shawn caught me looking. “It’s for the guests,” he said with a chuckle. “The macabre decor draws in people who want a spooky stay in the Appalachians. You know, ghost stories and all that.”

I forced a smile and followed him inside, where the air felt thick, the humidity oppressive, as the rain pounded harder outside.

“You can dry off in here,” Shawn said, motioning toward the living room. “I’ll go back for your car.”

I nodded, grateful, but something gnawed at me. Maybe it was the old paintings lining the walls, their subjects staring out with dead eyes. Or the taxidermy animals, forever frozen in strange poses. The pinned insects, their glossy wings spread wide. Every surface was crowded with oddities, like the house was a museum of the grotesque.

I crossed the room and stood at the sink, wringing out my soaked shirt. I didn’t dare remove my pants—being in a strange man’s house at night, I needed to keep some semblance of defense. My phone had no service still, not a single bar.

I sank into an overstuffed chair, feeling the weight of the storm and the unsettling quiet of the house. There was no TV, no computer, just the ticking of a clock somewhere out of sight.

Then I heard it—a creak from upstairs.

My heart stuttered. Was I alone? Did Shawn live with someone? My eyes flicked toward the staircase. Common sense telling me to stay put, but something else, curiosity or maybe stupidity, pushed me to my feet.

The hallway upstairs was lined with red velvet wallpaper, its fleur-de-lis pattern almost lost in the dim light. A single amber nightlight cast long shadows, deepening the sense of unease. The floor groaned beneath me as I moved toward an open door halfway down the hall.

I heard it again, a rustling noise from inside the room.

Lightning split the sky just as I rounded the corner. A black shape darted past my feet, and I screamed, slamming my back into the wall. Pain flared up my spine as something sharp poked into me.

A cat. Just a cat. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

I flipped a switch, and a small lamp flickered on in the corner of the room. It was a bedroom, dominated by a four-poster bed draped with sheer fabric. The walls were painted a deep red, the color casting a sinister hue over everything. But what caught my eye were the bones. Hundreds, maybe thousands of bones, covering the walls in intricate patterns. Different sizes, different shapes. Some delicate, like bird bones, others larger, more solid.

I moved closer, running my fingers over a lower jaw mounted on a black oval of fabric. The teeth were yellowed, uneven, but distinctly-

“Are these… human?” I whispered, recoiling.

The sound of the front door closing downstairs jolted me from my thoughts. I hurried back into the hallway just as Shawn appeared at the top of the stairs, dripping wet, his hair plastered to his head.

“Sorry,” I stammered. “I was just—uh—curious.”

He smiled, a wide, easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No big deal. I’m proud of the work I’ve put into this place. 5 stars in Air BnB.” He shifted his weight making a squishing sound. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to change into dry clothes. Feel free to check out the other guest room. It’s still a work in progress, but I think it’s coming along nicely.”

I nodded, forcing a smile of my own as he disappeared into a room at the end of the hall. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the unsettling silence.

I crossed to the other room, the door whining as I pushed it open. My hand shook—whether from the storm or something else, I couldn’t tell. Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with jars.

Jars filled with eyes.

Hundreds of eyes, floating in murky liquid. They were organized by color, each jar labeled in neat handwriting. Blue, brown, green.

“So creepy,” I whispered.

“It’s for clientele with very specific tastes,” Shawn’s voice came from behind me. He was still in damp clothes.

I jumped, knocking into a shelf. My hand shot out, grabbing a jar before it tumbled to the floor. “Sorry, I’m such a clutz.”

“It’s fine,” Shawn said, stepping closer, too close. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” I managed. “I guess this storm’s making me jumpy.” I glanced down at the jar in my hand. “This one seems to have a lot fewer than the others.”

“Grey eyes are very rare,” Shawn said, his voice low, almost a purr.

I froze. “My eyes are grey.”

Shawn smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a chill down my spine. “I noticed.”