Rhayven House Read Free Page A

solitary sentinel, draping its leaves and forming a huge canopy in the front yard. Wild ivy—the name of which he could never correctly remember and always confused with the name of a venereal disease, and would blossom with small white flowers later in the summer—spiraled up the trunk and around the limbs of the willow. The bottom boughs of the willow hung so low they brushed the ground. He reached out and grasped one, and then lifted his head to look at the mountains.
         Watching the leaves turn in the autumn would be incredible; a blaze of red, yellow, and orange as they metaphorically burned the mountainsides. The gardens would thrive again, and he’d be able to look down upon them from his writing perch. The patterns not obvious from the ground would jump out at him, his own private view of the gardens.
         Winter snow storms raging around him while he wrote in the tower were something to which he looked forward. All that snow, blinding blizzards, swirling around him as he wrote in the glowing warmth of all those candles. Staying up there in the midst of a thunderstorm felt more suicidal than eccentric and he didn’t think he had to worry about that one.
         As far out in the woods as the property was, in the valley between the mountains, he shivered a little when he realized no one would hear his screams should he suddenly come under attack, in the dark, from a cadre of evil clown- ventriloquist doll-zombie topiaries.
         The possibility of it actually happening was very slim, Ian told himself.
          Still, maybe he’d have to invest in a flamethrower just in case that slim possibility became a reality and the topiaries crept out of the woods in a covert attack. The damned things would face the flames and what could be more horrifying to a tree, especially a demonic topiary, than being burned to ash?
         Soon he found himself laughing at the sheer hysterical suggestion of the attacking topiaries. He wondered if his sister would find it equally as funny, since the concept of an evil clown/ventriloquist doll/zombie topiary contained the four basic elements that freaked her out the most. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d appreciate the thought as much as he did, and he took great delight in squirreling the concept away in his mental file so he could use it an torment her at some later time. Like perhaps her birthday.
         Maybe he’d find a florist out there in Oregon or somewhere close from whom he could order a topiary and have it delivered to her front door.
         The look on her face when she received it would be priceless, and he wished he’d be there to see it. Of course, sending her the evil topiary would be seen as an act of aggression. She would then be forced to return a salvo of her own, which in turn would force him to declare war. He figured her response would include cornstalks and corncobs in some form or another.
         Ian wiped the laughing tears from his eyes and took another long look at it. With his hands on his hips, he stood and stared, his eyes moving slowly over the decrepit house; he tried to memorize every inch, every broken window, each crack as best as he could. The he promised he would do what he could to save it.
         Yes, the topiary would definitely ignite another war, but it was all in good fun and they both enjoyed it in the past.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
         Ian utilized a handful of search engines in an attempt to find information on the property, but amazingly enough, it didn’t appear to have any web presence at all. Damn near everything had some sort of web presence. People can trace genealogy, find obscure knickknacks, and discover the history and pictures of houses that had been razed a hundred years ago. How could he not find a solitary entry for his house?
         No arguing needed; it met all the criteria to be historical, and in an area such as Coventon, full of history going all the way back to George Washington, how