Inner Demons

Chapter 6. The Despicable

Those by the way side are they that hear;

then cometh the devil,

and taketh away the word out of their hearts,

lest they should believe and be saved.

Luke 8:12

The settlement, where most of the cottages were rented out to tourists, was located near Blue Ridge Lake. The houses were mostly wooden, one or two stories high, with verandas. Those by the shore also had small private docks.

By the time we arrived at Blue Ridge, the sun had already set, but Aunt Margaret had called the landlords and received instructions on how to find the house. It turned out that our two-story cottage was right by the water. The owner was already waiting for us, sitting on a bench and sipping beer from a can.

"You're running late," he smiled as he watched us unload from the car. He looked like a lumberjack from a postcard or a box of cereal: huge, bearded, broad-shouldered, dressed in a red flannel shirt, old jeans, and a faded cap with the logo of some long-forgotten baseball team.

"We ran into a bit of trouble on the way, Mr. Gilmore," Stanislavsky said, extending his hand.

"It happens. That's why I live out here," the man chuckled. "The only jams that complicate life around here are wine jams."

Carrying the first batch of bags, we followed the owner to check out the house. On the ground floor, there was an entrance hall, a bathroom with a toilet, a kitchen combined with a living room, and one bedroom. A fairly convenient staircase led to the second floor, where there were two more bedrooms and another bathroom with a shower and toilet.

"I didn't expect an extra person. I thought we agreed on five, if I'm not mistaken," Mr. Gilmore said, scratching his head as he eyed our little group.

"Unforeseen circumstances, Sam," Margaret sighed. "If needed, we can pay extra."

"No, no, you rented the whole house. How many people stay here is entirely up to you, even twenty. That's not what I meant," the lumberjack reassured her. "I'm just worried about your comfort."

"No worries," Alex said, wrapping an arm around Anna's waist, earning a scowl from Asmodeus. "We'll manage this minor inconvenience."

"Well, I built the house myself," the man boasted casually, winking. "So it shouldn't collapse. The water heats with a boiler, so keep that in mind when queuing for the shower. Early bird gets the worm-or the hot water, in this case. The fridge works, the TV too. There's a ton of movies in the cabinet underneath. Fresh linens are on the beds. There's a brochure on the table with house rules and village guidelines. Make yourselves comfortable and enjoy your stay." He shuffled his foot on the welcome mat by the door. "If you need anything, call me. Leave the keys in the mailbox when you leave."

We all nodded in agreement. The owner disappeared into the darkness. In this part of the village, there were almost no streetlights, and from the brightly lit interior, it seemed pitch black outside. Margaret quickly organized the unloading of the trunk, and within minutes, the guys had carried all the groceries into the kitchen. While she put everything away in the fridge, we looked around, noticing things we'd missed at first, like a not-so-large wooden bear painted black in the corner of the living room. Judging by its face, it was handmade, probably even by Mr. Gilmore himself. For some reason, Marbas grimaced at the sight of it, but not because of the craftsmanship.

We grabbed our bags and headed upstairs.

"Boys to the right, girls to the left. If I catch anyone in the wrong bed, don't complain later," Stanislavsky's voice came from behind us as we stood, debating who should sleep where.