Fables&other lies

“How do you know it’s six miles?”

“The invitation says it. A van will be waiting for all of the guests to drive them over to the house.”

I kept my eyes on the direction of the house, the island that stood alone just six miles offshore. I could barely make out the black iron gates, but I knew they were there. It was always like this, covered in heavy fog. So much so, that some accounts claimed there was no house there at all. The disappearing house, they called it. There were endless threads about it not only on The Haunt, but all over Reddit. It was bullshit, of course, but also the reason my picture had been worth so much. No one had ever been able to get a clear picture of the house. As if having the same thoughts, Dee spoke up beside me.

“How are you supposed to capture a vanishing house?”

“I don’t know.”

“It won’t be vanishing tomorrow, at least not for the rest of the week,” Martín offered. “The gala is in two days. I’m telling you. You should come.”

“Yeah right.” I scoffed. “Good luck getting me invited to that.”

“You can go as my date.”

“I thought I was your date?” Dee raised an amused eyebrow. “But I’m willing to sit this one out for the sake of the website.”

“We can all go,” he said, looking at the two of us. “Come on. They didn’t specify guests on the invite.”

My stomach flipped at the thought of stepping foot in that house. I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. Guzmans never were. A few of my cousins worked in the main house doing repairs and they’d never been received well. One of them, my closest cousin growing up, Esteban, disappeared around the property one night. That night. Even though he’d been a few years older than me, we were as thick as thieves. He loved adventures, which was what ultimately led to his demise. The police said he drowned while out fishing. Legend has it that if you drown in those waters, the Caliban Manor keeps your soul. It was a dumb myth that I tried not to think about, the way I tried not to think about most awful things. I shoved bad thoughts into a box and stashed it away. It was the only way to stay sane.

“The Devil’s Chair.” Martín’s a

“You know, the elders on this island tried their hardest to take this down and couldn’t,” I said, walking toward it.

“It didn’t always look like this?” He stood, brushing dust off his pressed pants.

“No way. It was a mausoleum for the Caliban family. At least that’s how the story goes,” Dee said. “The workers had enough of the wealthy and decided to riot and take down anything that resembled wealth. Of course, it’s difficult to tear down limestone, so this stayed.”

“Why is it called the Devil’s Chair?”

“It looks like a throne,” I said simply.

What was left of the mausoleum resembled a throne made of limestone. Whether the name came from the fact that people called the Calibans devils because they had so much wealth or something more sinister really was under these streets was just another thing that brought curious tourists here. I took a few pictures before placing the cap back on the lens.

“Okay, I’m done.” I examined the pictures to make sure they were clear, then let the camera drop, the strap tugging as the weight of it hit the back of my neck.

“You’re not going to sit in it?” Martín gri

“You don’t have to,” Dee said, in the same voice she’d used that time I was dared to go inside one of our friend’s dark basement.

“It’s just a pile of rocks, Dee. I’ll be fine.” I sat down, Martín snapped some photographs, and I stood up, brushing off my pants. It wasn’t dirt, it was sand, I realized. I turned around and looked at the seat again, and then the rest of the rocks. “The entire thing is covered in sand. Did you notice?”

“That’s what it is?” Martín walked over, handing me back my camera before swiping his fingers over the bench and bringing it up. “Huh. That’s so interesting. I mean, the beach is just steps away, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like the water reaches all the way out here,” Dee said.

“How would anyone know?” Martín looked at the two of us. “Everyone I’ve spoken to only tells me to stay far away from this area at night.”

The three of us turned our attention to our left, where the water was supposed to be. Normally, you could hear the waves at a distance, but not tonight. Everything was quiet and none of it was soothing.

“I guess you’ll have to come back tomorrow for the pictures of the house,” Martín said.

“Yep. I can’t see anything.”

“I can see the gates now,” Dee said. I looked closer. I couldn’t see anything.

“The weather report says it will be clear the next two days,” Martín said as we turned and headed in the direction we came from.

We were almost to Dolly’s Bar when everything went dark, all of the street lights going out with a ting at the exact same time. Dee groaned.

“Did the lights just go out on the entire island?” Martín asked.

“Yep. That’s what happens when you’re over capacity with people,” Dee said.

“Are you all right, can you guys see?” he asked.

“No.” I stopped walking completely.

Between the sudden darkness and the heavy fog, I couldn’t see a thing. My skin prickled. I felt as if someone was watching me, lurking in the shadows, underneath the fog. I turned around, but it was too dark to make out anything. Somehow, I just knew someone was there.

“Hello?” I called out. “Guys?”

“Where are you?” Dee asked, but she sounded farther away than she was a second ago.

I walked forward, determined to get to Dolly’s. Everyone would surely be outside huddled together. The wind picked up slightly, making a low howl as it swept my hair around my face. When it stopped, I blinked and realized I was right back where I started. I could see the Devil’s Chair from here, the black iron gates that kept people from going into the water and over to Caliban Manor. I shivered, turning around fully. Again, I felt as if I was being watched.

“Hello?” I called out again. “Who’s there?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.” The male voice was deep and soothing.

“Where are you?” My heart slammed as I blinked, looking around. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re scared.” I could hear the amusement in his voice. It made my heart beat a little quicker.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I thought good witches didn’t feel fear. I thought good witches walked in the light, where there was nothing to fear.”

“I’m not a witch.”

“Hm. You sure about that, little witch?”

“I am not a witch.” My eyes narrowed slightly. I tried to find him, but couldn’t. I tried to speak again, but found that I couldn’t do that either. When I finally found my voice, I screamed, “Leave me alone.”

As if on my command, the street lights turned on all at once. I looked around rapidly, but there was no one there. No trace of a man, of anyone. Just as fast as he appeared, he was gone, and I was left facing the street that led down to Dolly’s. I started ru