Inkwell of Shadows 16: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner
November 10, 2024. The Adelyne house in South Gloamstead. Nothing like dinner with a side of unsettling conversation.
Author’s Note: Inkwell of Shadows is a serialized fiction story in Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, set in Blighridge County, Alabama. A quiet corner of the world where old ghost linger, cursed objects refuse to stay quiet, and some secrets never stay buried—at least, for long.
New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…
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Previously. With the Waterman pen missing, and nothing broken, Deputy Keene had little to go on other than security footage and worry. She questions Daniel and Cassidy a few minutes longer, then suggests they take it easy, given what they’d been through already. The day was almost quiet save for an unusual customer with an even more unusual request—an antique desk. His description matched the roll top downstairs, leaving Daniel and Cassidy wondering if this Caleb Hayes was related to the dead Professor Altamont. A good question they weren’t sure how to answer, at least not yet. Because in the meantime, there was the dinner invitation for the next night with Naomi Adelyne…
November 10, 2024. The Adelyne house in South Gloamstead. Nothing like dinner with a side of unsettling conversation.
Was I worried? Absolutely. Not that it felt like every shadow in Gloamstead had a knife with my name on it—even though I thought they did. No, yesterday had left a taste in my mouth like moldy bread that I just couldn’t spit out.
Cassidy had said about the same, but she managed to get some sleep. I was up in the night, wearing myself out pacing the kitchen like a caged coyote. Troubles or not, I eventually passed out, my mind tight as a wound spring.
The heavenly scent of coffee lured me out of bed the next day. I wanted to float down the short hall on a flying carpet of aroma, but I settled for walking. What I found in the kitchen brought me up short.
Cassidy, human disguise nowhere to be seen, was already up and had attacked the kitchen. A spread of pancakes, eggs, and fruit was the result. She grinned, setting the jar of maple syrup on the table.
“Wait,” I rubbed my eyes, trying to cold-start my brain. “I thought it was my turn to cook breakfast?”
She brushed her hands over her oversized, powder-blue t-shirt, then gestured with a formal flourish to the table.
“Executive decision.” Her grin turned impish but haunted with a hint of worry behind her wide, black bat-eyes. “You had nightmares last night, and yesterday was… a lot. So, I’m declaring all Sundays as ‘self-care’ days. We keep the shop closed, have a fun breakfast, and ignore that the world’s a bit murder-happy right now.”
“Self-care?” I echoed with a half-smile.
Cassidy nodded. “Self-care.”
I crossed the kitchen and gave her the best kiss I could. “Yes, ma’am. This just means that next Sunday is my turn to cook, Beloved.”
“Perfect,” she grinned.
For a moment, the weight of the world—or just the part with Gloamstead—faded like dew. I wish I could’ve said it lasted.
We ate, discussing town gossip from the new co-working center in the library to why anyone would dig up the mayor’s roses. The latter we blamed on bored dryads, even while we planned to visit the former when time permitted.
I went for a run after breakfast while Cassidy practiced her Tai Chi. My brain felt like a stuck wheel. It spun insistently over the same tired mud of dead bodies, cursed pens, and people hunting things they ought to leave alone. People like us. Still, the day went as Cassidy planned—self-care with low stress. Eventually, we headed out.
Twelve theories later about cursed pens, Dorian, and Nighthunter weirdos, we reached Mrs. Adelyne’s house by five wearing our Sunday visiting best. She lived in the south end of Gloamstead off the sole county highway toward the Florida state line. That area was a picture come to life of a subdivision out of time.
Sixties-style ranch homes were surrounded by azalea bushes, ancient sweetgum trees, and dogwoods. A crust of dried fall leaves carpeted everything from yards to gutters. It was quiet as a mouse’s whisper, broken only by the occasional dog barking or rooster objecting to the day.
Mrs. Adelyne’s house was nestled in the middle with a deeply manicured yard. Two flower beds of late-blooming roses and yellow lantana greeted us as we pulled into the driveway. A pair of old, gnarled dogwoods stood like tall sentinels; branches bracketing the front walk. There wasn’t a fall weed anywhere in sight.
It was a practically perfect mirror of Naomi Adelyne’s proper stance on life.
I watched the thorn bushes for any sign of movement that shouldn’t exist. “Cassie? Did she really say her dead husband was worried about us from the afterlife?”
Cassidy, having pulled on her human appearance for dinner, checked her hair and eyes in a vanity mirror.
“She did.” Satisfied, Cassidy closed the sun visor. “I think you met him only once. His name was Issac; really nice man with a dry sense of humor.” A faint smile appeared for a moment, then vanished. “He died five years ago in the Leatherdown. Officially, it was an alligator attack.”
I paused as we got out of the car. “It wasn’t?”
She shook her head, leading the way to the front porch. “I really don’t know for sure. Two of my cousins swear it was poachers or a bloodleech. Maybe even a dryad having a bad day—which is pretty often.”
“Bad day for the dryad, or whoever she found?”
Cassidy raised her eyebrows with a snort. Before she answered, the whitewashed front door drew open with a soft gasp. Mrs. Adelyne appeared, complete in tan slacks and a cream cardigan. She smiled even as she took us in with a glance over her narrow glasses.
“Right on the dot and prompt as punctuation.” The former teacher stepped back, giving us room. “Just like your uncle, Daniel, or your mother, Cassidy. Glad you both picked up their better habits. Now, supper’s about ready; come in and get settled. The table’s all set.”
Inside was a fastidious time capsule of decor. Some styles echoed the 1980s, like the floral wallpaper. Others were a mismatch across the 1950s to current-day technology. Paintings or copper art of flowers wore their gold-painted wood frames with elaborate vine carvings with pride. Assorted furniture was either padded and preserved, or antique wood polished until it looked bronze.
The atmosphere wrapped us in a steady calm with a light chill from the air-conditioning. I couldn’t shake the idea that even the house held its breath a little. A subtle, soft intake, wondering about the next few minutes. Granted, I had been through a lot and might’ve been a little jumpy. I tried to relax, but noticed Cassidy squinting at shadows herself, so I reached out and brushed her hand.
“Hey.” I smiled when she met my eyes. “It’s just dinner. A nice evening.”
She nodded a little. “Just a nice dinner.”
After a little wandering small talk with Mrs. Adelyne, we gathered at her long dining table. Supper was served promptly at 5:10 pm; so close to the second it would’ve made a stopwatch proud.
There were four places set. Three for the living, and one for the dead. I swapped a subtle look with Cassidy, who gave me a tiny shake of her head. Some things in Southern culture are best left unsaid or ignored.
Which stayed true until I noticed the empty place at the table had food on the plate. One moment the dish was empty; in the next, not. There were steaming servings of ham, collard greens, carrots, and squash arranged in neat order.
I caught Cassidy’s eye between bites. She noticed the plate, froze, then blinked twice. We glanced over at Mrs. Adelyne, who casually unfolded her napkin without a care.
“Thank you both for coming,” Mrs. Adelyne said, eyes peering over her glasses. “Himself was a mess with worry.”
I glanced at the nearby plate in front of the empty chair. Why? I’m not sure, but I instantly regretted it. Some food had been eaten. I cleared my throat, touching the embroidered napkin to my mouth.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Adelyne. Really sorry anyone was worried.” I glanced at the plate again. A little more food was gone. I noticed Cassidy’s eyes were slowly growing larger by the second. “Right, Beloved?”
Cassidy twitched, pulled on a quick smile, and nodded.
“Absolutely. We should have,” she swallowed a little, “stopped by for a visit sooner.”
Mrs. Adelyne beamed with a smile like spring sunshine. “Oh, that’s too kind. We understand. You’ve got that adorable shop to get back open; especially after that horrible woman made such a dreadful mess trying to kill you both.” She shook her head as if passing judgment on bad manners. “Some people have no manners.”
I massaged the embroidered lilies on my napkin like worrying a blister.
“No, ma’am. Just none at all.” My nerves scrambled for an exit while my smile hid the attempt.
The conversation ambled on at a slow pace. We discussed shop repairs, the painful price of antique glass, and even how Mrs. Adelyne’s pen was doing. Fortunately, it wasn’t one of the cursed Waterman pens, and had apparently settled down. She was glad it had gotten over whatever whim had grabbed it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed even more food had vanished from the plate. It hadn’t disappeared all at once, but in pieces between blinks; bite by bite, in a polite cadence. I noticed Cassidy’s eyes went huge, posture stiff, as she saw the same thing. I twitched when my fork tapped empty porcelain; supper was gone.
Mrs. Adelyne smiled brightly. “Glad you both brought your appetites. Just leave the dishes and head to the living room. I’ll bring the pecan pie. Himself’s always enjoyed a good chat over pie and coffee.”
“Sure, Mrs. Adelyne,” I said with my best ‘everything is fine.’ Cassidy seemed frozen in place.
Our hostess eased from the chair, breezing from the dining room to the kitchen as the air chilled again. She’d barely been gone a second before Cassidy latched onto my thigh under the table. The firm grip and a hint of claws caught my attention.
“Daniel,” she hissed, mouse-quiet and low. “It’s cold. We’re not alone.”
I glanced at her and frowned, clutching my cloth napkin. “It’s probably just the air conditioning.”
The empty chair across from us scraped back an inch from the table.
Cassidy’s grip got a shade tighter; her eyes bled bat-black as nerves rattled her human disguise. “Daniel. We. Are not. Alone.”
“You told me ghosts aren’t real,” I hissed low.
“They’re not supposed to be,” she replied, eyes searching the shadows.
I swallowed. “Does Issac Adelyne know that?”
Finally, we exchanged a measured look, then glanced at the living room. Cassidy managed a tiny shrug, braced with a grimace that tried to be a smile. I pursed my lips uneasily. Then, with a deep breath, I stood up and held out my hand while searching her eyes.
“Beloved, we got this.”
A heartbeat followed as Cassidy’s eyes shifted from bat-black to human green. Slowly, she took my hand in hers and squeezed.
“We do.” She pulled on a thin smile. “So, shall we? Into the living room?”
“Yes.”
We walked together, faking casual, as we followed our hostess’ instructions. In the living room, Cassidy and I sat carefully on the parchment-tan sofa. Manners picked up where courage fainted as the nearby empty rocking chair moved in a soothing, gentle motion. It was almost in time with the tick of the nearby grandfather clock.
Cassidy and I sat stiff as fence posts while the rocking chair marked time. Right before my leg started to twitch, Mrs. Adelyne arrived with a tray of desserts and coffee.
It was four pieces of pie with four cups of coffee.
Cassidy and I picked up our pie and coffee as a whisper fled a shadow across the rocking chair.
“Been worried about you two,” a hushed voice said. “Glad to see you getting by. What happened at your wedding had us worried.”
Mrs. Adelyne simply nodded, easing down into a nearby high-backed padded chair. After a bite of pie, she started to knit. As the voice from the shadows continued, white wisps of a person appeared. It was the floating, hollowed-out face of a man with sunken cheeks and deeply bright eyes.
“Ah. Um.” My words grabbed my tongue for a moment. “Thank you, Mr. Adelyne.”
“Please. Just Issac is fine.” The deep whisper chuckled. “Enjoy the pie. It’s my favorite.”
Cassidy sipped her coffee, as if she needed more tension, while I sampled my slice of dessert. Sharing an evening chat and pecan pie with a ghost hadn’t been on my scorecard for the day, but at least the pie was fantastic.
Issac’s hazy face bobbed as a disconnected hollow hand reached for his own plate. “We knew Valeria Moffet was a problem, just not how much. I’m very sorry we didn’t nip that in the bud. But that’s a story for another day. You both settling into the shop all right?”
The more Issac talked, the more of him appeared. Full-bodied and less hollow, he looked more like a person made of mist, old hopes, and dreams wearing jeans and flannel.
Cassidy nodded automatically, manners on autopilot. Mine were too, for that matter. She jump-started her voice first.
“We are,” she replied softly, one leg fidgeting lightly. “We found a few… er… things we didn’t expect. Nothing Daniel and I can’t sort out.”
A twinkle shimmered through Issac’s transparent eye. “So you found the downstairs office then? Good. Sorry Elias and I left things in such a state. There was quite a ruckus going on and all.”
Issac sampled his pie with a reverence that bordered on holy. With a smile he nodded at the pie, then gestured at us with the fork.
“You both will need to keep up the records. Bestiary, too; it’ll enjoy the attention. Just don’t forget to feed it. Most of all, remember that the office is safe for anything up to no good, like those pens.”
I sat up straight, uneasy melting into suspicion. “Pens? Issac, what do you know about the Waterman pens?”
Issac ate more of his pie, spirit rippling solid as he chuckled. “Not enough. Your uncle was busy with Valeria. I had my hands full with a pack of Nighthunters. Still, we figured they might have been cursed, but weren’t entirely sure. I felt there was something angry in there. Bad.” Slowly, he shook his head, staring off into the air. “You two keep that inkwell on the desk close. Elias was sure it had something to do with the problem.”
Cassidy set her half-eaten pecan pie down on a mahogany coffee table in front of us.
“Issac? You said, ‘none of us.’” She paused, looking more measured than nervous. “Did anyone else know about the pens, office, and everything?”
Issac’s smile reached for his eyes with a hint of mischief.
“Why of course, Cassie.” The dead man tapped the edge of his plate. “Sheriff Branham knew about it all, too.”
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Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.
Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.