Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Stone picks the one with the cast-iron gates out front and a big barn to hide the Firebird in, and as we drive up the long gravel road, I can’t help but feel that this place would have been cute back in the day. Now it looks as though it’s been used as a party house for rampant teens looking to get fucked up.
Just like most of the properties around here, the windows have been boarded up, and the blue shutters are barely hanging on. The decking on the porch is one broken board away from an unfortunate amputation, and as for the house itself, it looks as though it’s being strangled by an overgrown vine.
Back in the day, this house would have been the perfect farmhouse. A big ranch house with a wrap-around porch. It’s giving Yellowstone, and I’m obsessed. Judging from the size of it, it would have been built with a big family in mind—a family who no doubt had more than enough money lining their pockets. It’s two stories, and probably has a basement, storm cellar, and an attic. There’s a huge barn outback, and what I can only guess might have been horse stables, then beyond that, a small cottage. Maybe a home for the farmhand and his family.
Considering it’s not in ruins, it’s our best option for the night.
Stone drives right up through the broken barn doors and brings the Firebird to a stop, far away from any prying eyes. Not that there are any around here. The town is more than deserted. It’s a damn ghost town. I’ve never seen anything so eerie.
We clamber out of the car, Stone grabbing our survival bag and small blankets, just in case, and I roll my eyes when he goes as far as to lock the Firebird. “Worried someone is going to steal it?”
He doesn’t respond, just shakes his head as though he can’t possibly wait to fuck the attitude out of me. “Hurry up,” he says, nodding toward the main house with his chin. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a salute.
I trail after Stone, looking up at the huge home, and finding myself more than intrigued to see what’s going on inside. I definitely have to use a bit of imagination to picture just how incredible this home used to be when it was sparkly and new, but I bet the inside is just as beautiful, and with just a bit of love, I’m sure this place could really be something amazing.
Stepping up onto the porch, I laugh to myself, finding a few of the old decking boards well past their prime, just as I knew they would be.
“Watch where you’re walking,” Stone mutters, making his way toward the front door, but hell, he must weigh more than triple my body weight. He’s the one who should be watching himself. If I fell through this deck, he could scoop me out with his pinky finger, but if he falls, that right there is where he’ll spend his dying days. But it’s fine, I’ll add a nice floral arrangement, you know, try to make it really nice for him. Though I can’t lie, if he were to suffer death by decking before I get a chance to take a ride on that particular pogo stick, I’m going to be pissed.
Reaching the front door, Stone trails his fingers across the frame, searching for a spare key, but I grab hold of the handle instead, my gut telling me it’s already open. When the door immediately swings wide, I chuff with pride.
Called it.
Stone rolls his eyes, but I move past him, walking into the old home, only to immediately get a mouthful of stale dust. “Shit,” I grunt, waving my hand in front of my face, pleased that I don’t suffer from asthma or have allergies; otherwise, there’s no way I’d be able to survive this place. I’d be sleeping with the bugs out on the old oak deck.
There’s just enough sunlight left in the day shining through the windows to light up the property, and I have to admit, with the dust particles in the air, there’s something almost romantic about it.
“Wow,” I murmur, walking deeper into the home.
It’s definitely falling apart, but the bones of the home still remain, and they’re absolutely breathtaking. Everything is finished with stained wood, giving it the perfect farmhouse interior, and as I walk in past the entryway into the main living room, taking myself on a full tour, I’m blown away by just how big it really is.
Every piece of furniture has been stripped from the house. It’s basically just an empty shell with uneven floorboards, an old stone fireplace, and broken windows.
Every room is the same. Kitchen, bedrooms, dining room. I’m a bit disappointed. It would have been nice to have seen it fully furnished. I can only imagine how beautiful it would have been. Grandfather clocks, ornate buffet tables and dressers. Rolltop desks and old-school telephones, but it would have been the velvet upholstered lounge suites that would have knocked my socks off.