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Deviant Devotion

Celeste Night
Copyright © 2024 Celeste Night

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by

any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No
identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is
intended or should be inferred.
Cover: JG Designs

Editing: Sneaky Ferret Editing

First Edition
Playlist

Some songs that inspired me while I was working on this book!

Trailer Trash – carolesdaughter

 Found You On The Internet – HAVEN

Something from Nothing – Foo Fighters

Girl – Beck

Enjoy the Silence – Depeche Mode

Swallowed – Bush

Good Girl – Slaz

Paralyzer – Finger Eleven

Stupid Girl – Cold

Do I Wanna Know? – Arctic Monkeys

Whore – In This Moment

Tear You Apart – She Wants Revenge

Work Song – Hozier

To the Moon & Back – Savage Garden

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me
years to understand that this too, was a gift. - Mary Oliver
Author's Note

This is an MMF romance, meaning that our leading lady will have
multiple love interests and will not choose between them. This book
is intended for a mature audience. If you haven’t read my stories
before, I often write about darker themes and sensitive subjects that
may be upsetting or offensive to some readers. These may include
but are not limited to strong language, violence, trauma, mental
illness, and sexual scenes with questionable consent. Gage and
Asher are not heroes. For warnings about what this material
contains, please visit my website, www.celestenight.com.
Prologue

T he girl on the screen laid back on her pillows, midnight blue hair
sprawled against her pillowcase. Her matching powder blue
underwear and bra were on full display as she traced a slow path
down her torso with her fingers. I wanted to know what was
underneath the lacy cloth, but this was part of the show. The way she
teased the viewers to get them to pay a little extra for something
more intimate.

Her back arched against the thin mattress as she talked to the people
in her chat. Her walls were yellow with age or nicotine. Even the quilt
she was lying on top of came from a big box store. Her attempts to
mask her poverty were poor at best, and to the untrained eye, she
would have passed the test.

Not me though. I could see her blond roots shining in the light. A
thread poked out of the left side of her underwear, barely concealing
her pussy. A poorly patched hole decorated the wall to the right of her
bed, hidden by a heavy metal poster.

To the average viewer, they just assumed that she was barely legal
and willing to show her ass to strangers on the internet, but I knew
better. This was someone trying to make it out of whatever hick town
fate had placed them in.

My cock throbbed in the woman’s mouth, who was lying on her

stomach wedged between my thighs. What was her name again?
Madison? Madeline? MacKenzie? Fuck if I knew. Maybe I would ask
her tomorrow. Who was I kidding? Between the noises she made and
the fact that her blowjob game was subpar, I would kick her out
before the hour was over and erase this whole incident from my
mind.

Spit and snot ran down her face as I made her choke on my dick. In
most circumstances, it would be enough to get me off, but I started
going soft every time I focused on her. The fake high-pitched noises
she whimpered made me want to wrap my hands around her throat
and squeeze the life out of her.
I laced my hands through Michelle’s hair, pushing her further down on
my cock until her nose grazed the blond hair that adorned my groin,
and clicked on the button that said private chat. I wanted more from
PoutyVixen69 and needed to see what was hiding beneath the lace,
veiling her body.

Vixen’s response was nearly instant.

PoutyVixen69: Hey, big guy, what do you need tonight?

I typed as I held Mae’s head down, even as her throat constricted

around my cock. At least her throat was tighter than her mouth. I
couldn’t even imagine how boring her pussy would be.

GoldenBoy: I need to see you get off. I’ll pay extra

Vixen typed a quick message to everyone watching that she had

something important to do, but tomorrow night, she’d be back to chat.

A private chat window popped open as soon as she ended her stream.
I pulled Melody off my cock so that she could catch her breath while I
typed.

GoldenBoy: I wasn’t sure how long I would have to wait. Take

off your bra so that I can see those glorious tits of yours.

Vixen reached behind her, unclasping her bra. As soon as I saw the
soft, pale globes of flesh and the puffy pink nipples that had been
hiding behind powder blue lace, I pushed Megan’s head back down so
that her nose was flush with my skin again. I rolled my hips against
her mouth. Fuck, her throat was tight. I could almost envision sucking
on Vixen’s nipples until she begged me to touch her.
One of Vixen’s hands disappeared beneath the waistband of her
underwear as her fingers pinched at her nipples. Her back arched off
the bed, but I knew it was fake. There was no way she was close to
where she needed to be.

GoldenBoy: Take off your panties. I need to see how wet you
are

She complied quickly, dragging the fabric down her legs. Melissa
grasped my balls in her hand and tugged at them as I shoved into the
back of her throat. Vixen gave me a coy smile as she spread her legs
wide. Her pretty cunt shimmered from how much she was turned on
as she slowly traced along her lips before thrusting a finger inside her.

Melinda tried to pull away from me. Not yet. I thrust into her mouth as
I typed.

GoldenBoy: What a good slut. Touch yourself for me

Mila coughed a little, and her nails dug into my thighs as I used her
mouth. My balls had tightened some, but not enough to get off yet. I
ignored her, watching Vixen rub her clit in a tight circle as her cheeks
turned pink.

I moved my hips faster against Morgan’s mouth as I watched, wishing

it was my tongue playing with Vixen and not her fingers.

I had been watching her for months and sending her tips every time.
Not that I couldn’t get another girl to come home with me. Meredith
was proof that I absolutely could. I could get any girl on campus, but I
was obsessed with Vixen for some reason. Absolutely devoted to the
girl who was writhing around on the screen. I wanted to know
everything about her.
Vixen’s wrist moved faster, and I wondered why the color blue. Blue
hair, blue eyes, blue nails. Was blue her favorite color, or did it have
some symbolic meaning?

Suddenly, Vixen’s body shuddered as the muscles in her thighs went

tense. If I were there, I would have licked along the skin and cleaned
her up before sticking my cock in her tight little cunt.

Instead, she relaxed and gazed at the camera. Her eyes were glassy
as she typed.

PoutyVixen69: How was that?

GoldenBoy: Fucking gorgeous. Maybe next time, it can be my

dick that’s inside of you

PoutyVixen69: I’d like that… I bet it would feel good filling me up.

I knew she was telling me what I wanted to hear, but a piece of me

wanted it to be true.

GoldenBoy: Such a good little whore coming for me. Get some
sleep, gorgeous. Tomorrow you can give me another show.

I logged out from the website before I noticed Molly was no longer
moving. Her lifeless eyes stared at the wall as I pulled her off my dick
and shoved her to the floor.

“Such a worthless slut,” I muttered, mainly to myself. “You fucking

died before I even got off.”

I searched around my bed for shorts to pull on as I toed at Micah’s

body and pulled out my phone to type a quick text.
 Third floor. Room 362. Disposal.

That would be enough information for my father to take care of it. As

disappointed as I was that I didn’t come down her throat, it was
probably for the best. I didn’t need to leave any additional DNA
evidence.
Chapter One

Ava Marie

4 months earlier...

P ressing my ear against the cool metal of the door, I listened

carefully, trying to discern if any sounds echoed inside the rusted
trailer. After several moments of nothing but the low hum of the
television, I decided it was safe. My mother was probably passed out
somewhere inside, possibly partially clothed, potentially with a
needle still stuck in a vein. Hopefully, the never ending line of Johns
was gone by that time of the night, or if I was lucky, it was someone
harmless like Bill from down the street.

That was my daily routine. During the day, I hid at school and kept
my head down, hoping to draw as little attention to myself as
possible. Everyone knew where I came from and who my family
was. Other than a few mean girls, everyone ignored me, which was
fine. In the evenings after chess club, I stayed in the studio at
school or the library until it was closed doing homework or reading.
Afterward, I would slowly trek home, keeping to the shadows.
It was lonely, but I reminded myself that after high school, I had
plans that didn’t involve this town. I could start over, and no one
would know my name or where I came from. Somewhere I wouldn’t
have to worry about the creeps that my mother brought around
laying their hands on me or making lewd remarks.

Money would still be an issue, but I had a plan for that as well.

Slowly turning the knob, I crept inside. The only illumination in the
bleak space was the screen haphazardly hung on the wall, asking if
anyone was still there. No, and they hadn’t been for a while. As
expected, my mother lay across the ancient threadbare couch,
curled into a ball, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear and a
stained camisole that slid off her shoulder, blissfully numb to her
surroundings. The olive green carpet crunched beneath my feet as I
grabbed a crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa, covering her
pale body. A marred spoon and empty baggies sat on a table nearby,
and I sighed before walking to my room.

As soon as I was inside, I locked my bedroom door and pushed my

dresser against it, just in case. My mother could have another client
show up at any time of the night, and the last thing I wanted to deal
with was one of them leering at me yet again or suggesting that
they would rather have me instead. Gag. No thanks.

My body ached, and I placed my backpack down against the wall

before stretching upward. No matter how I felt, I still had to work
tonight, right after I opened the letter I’d shoved into my pocket
earlier. I had it sent to my English teacher, Ms. Renfroe’s house. She
was an elderly spinster who lived near the edge of town, one of my
only allies in this godforsaken place. People assumed she was crazy
because she mumbled under her breath and fed the stray cats that
wandered up, but I knew the truth. She just didn’t like people and
preferred the company of animals over them.
I reached into my pocket, gingerly touching the edge of the
envelope, my heart racing in my chest. My entire future relied on
this wrinkled piece of paper. Finally finding my resolve, I pulled it out
with shaking hands and tore it open, carefully unfolding the
parchment that could crush my soul.

Ava Marie Thompson,

Congratulations on your acceptance to Groveton College for the

Fall semester! On behalf of our alums and faculty, I want to
welcome you. The admissions process this year was highly
competitive, and we evaluated thousands of applications. You
are being given this opportunity in light of your many academic
achievements. You will join past and present students from
Groveton who are helping to make a difference in the world.

Enclosed, you will find information regarding your financial aid

packet and the campus.

I look forward to seeing you this fall. Go Jackals!

Sincerely,

Abigail Delaney

My chest felt tight as I sank down onto the floor and scoured the
next page, hoping that the financial aid packet would be enough. I
didn’t need a lot. Just enough to cover tuition and maybe housing.
The money I made from my job would be enough to cover books.
Hell, I would live out of my car if it meant not living here anymore.
Academic scholarship.

My eyes stung, and I allowed myself to feel for just one moment. All
the late nights and frustrated tears paid off. This fall I would officially
leave Coalfell, Texas, behind for good. I’d always dreamed of leaving
this state and moving somewhere far away where my family would
never find me again, but for now, this would have to do.

After a few moments, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and shoved
the letter into my bookbag under everything. Hopefully, it would be
well hidden enough that my mother wouldn’t find it if she went
snooping for any cash I might have.

I pushed aside all my thoughts as I slowly stripped out of my clothes

and slipped on my mask. Rifling through my closet, I looked for
something provocative. Something that said I was powerful and
sexy. It was the furthest thing from the truth, but my customers
didn’t know that. In real life, I was nothing more than an eighteen-
year-old virgin from the trailer park, but online, I was a peddler of
fantasies.

When I first started this gig, I was ashamed. You’re going to be just
like her, my brain screamed. But it was a means to an end, a way to
buy a car and attend college. I wasn’t pissing my money away to
shoot into my veins.

After settling on a thin, lacy powder blue bra and matching panties, I
quickly changed. Giving myself a once over in the cracked mirror
hanging on the back of the door, I nodded to myself. I wasn’t
stereotypically pretty, but that wasn’t what the men I catered to
were looking for. I fluffed the hair I’d dyed midnight blue as an act of
rebellion, smeared on fresh lip gloss, and applied a coat of mascara
hoping to make my hazel eyes pop.
Leaning forward, I adjusted my bra, letting my breasts spill out of
the cups. My hips were too broad, and my thighs were too large by
the standards of the guys I went to high school with, but men online
didn’t care about any of that. Straight, thin white scars lay on the
tops of my thighs, typically concealed by my jeans, but with the
proper lighting, they could be hidden.

Pushing clothes aside and digging through the back of the small
closet, I tugged on the corner of the carpet, easily lifting it, and
pulled out the older laptop. Anything electronic has to be hidden
carefully from my mother. She tried to pawn the ancient television in
the living room last month. If she discovered the laptop, I knew
what would happen.

Flipping it open, I lay on my stomach on the bed and logged into the
website. All of my homework was complete for the evening, and the
only thing I needed to concentrate on now was making some
money. For the rest of the night, I was no longer Ava Marie, but
instead PoutyVixen69.

The name wasn’t original, but it didn’t have to be. It just had to help
me escape this life.
Chapter Two

Ava Marie

Present Day

T he piece of shit car I purchased last week for a whopping $700

stalled out at the red light three blocks from campus. I inhaled
sharply through my nose and turned the key again, praying that it
might decide to start. I was met with silence, the engine not even
attempting to turn over. The fucking starter. It wasn’t the only thing
wrong with the car, but it added another item to my never-ending
list of things to fix. I tried several more times, hoping it was just a
glitch, but it didn’t work. Drivers behind me honked their horns and
yelled, but I ignored them.

Just when I was about to change my life, another roadblock

appeared. After purchasing this tin can on wheels last week, a 1983
Nissan Pulsar complete with a hatchback, I discovered the air didn’t
work. That part was bad enough. Summer in Texas without air
conditioning was brutal, but given the number of times that Mama
forgot to pay the power bill and chose to buy drugs instead, I could
begrudgingly deal with the heat.
Once I got the car home, though, her drug dealer showed up.
Anthony tried telling me that my mother owed him money and that
my new piece of shit car was now his. I told him absolutely not;
whatever she owed was between them because I was out of there.
Mama fell to her knees, crying and pleading with mascara running
down her face, but I ignored her. She seemed to forget the time she
tried to convince me to give him my virginity to pay off one of her
debts.

Unbuckling my seat belt, I got out and kicked the tire before glaring
at the guy staring at me from the car behind me. If he thought dirty
looks would get me to move faster, he was wrong. The only thing
that would get this rusted piece of junk out of his way would be if he
helped move it to the gas station parking lot a few feet away. I
reached in and threw the car into neutral before positioning myself
at the trunk and pushing. Good thing I was used to manual labor
and having to do every-fucking-thing on my own.

Mr. Nice Car sat comfortably in his vehicle, watching the entire thing
unfold with a smirk on his face that I desperately wanted to wipe off.
Don’t do it; it’s not worth a fight the day before classes start, I
repeated as the oppressive August heat beat down on me. I’d been
trying to stay positive despite the sweat covering every inch of my
skin, but it was a losing battle. You can take the girl out of the trailer
park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. One of my
many toxic traits was that despite being only five foot three, I
thought I could take on anyone, Mr. Nice Car included.

Sweat continued trickling down my back as I pushed the car,

becoming more aggravated with every passing second. The looks
from the blond-haired, blue-eyed jerk with his chiseled jaw and
cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass only exacerbated the
situation. I was angry, not blind. Nice Car was gorgeous and looked
like Michelangelo himself had sculpted him. Second reminder to self,
you are here to get an education, not stare at hot, arrogant assholes
with too much money.

Even after my car was out of the way, he continued sitting there,
being a creep. So much for the idea that people in the South have
manners. Once the car was in the empty parking lot running parallel
to the main drag, I threw it into park and grabbed a backpack
containing clothes I’d rolled up tightly, my laptop, a small bag with
essential toiletries, and my bedding. Locking the door, I tried to
remain positive. It’s not like anyone would want to steal this vehicle–
there were much better choices–and there was nothing of value
inside. Even if they broke the windows out, I had nothing to lose.

As I started walking, I considered my options. The next

disbursement from CherryCam would be on Friday. If I waited until
then, I could pay for a tow truck to take it to a local garage and
have them look at it. Depending on my roommate situation, my
hours would be cut down drastically. It was the last week I was
supposed to work online–a temporary gig only. The plan had always
been to make enough money to pay for books and housing and then
get out. Find something more legitimate, like a work-study position
or maybe waitstaff at a restaurant near campus, but fate was
laughing at me.

A car crept near me, but I didn’t bother glancing at the driver. I
already knew it was Nice Car who had the luxury of air conditioning.
Why hadn’t I applied to colleges somewhere up north? Somewhere
the temperatures had already dipped into the upper seventies.
That’s right, in-state tuition. The power windows whirred as he rolled
them down. “Get in,” he commanded with a deep voice that sounded
like spun silk.

Of course, even his voice sounds like he’s one of God’s chosen. “Get
fucked,” I replied calmly, staring directly forward. I only had two
more blocks to walk until I was on campus. And then you need to
walk to the dorm.

Exasperation lined his tone when he spoke. “Oh my God, get in the
car. You’ll have a heatstroke walking this time of day. Who wears
jeans and a black t-shirt in the middle of the summer?”

His words stopped me in my tracks, and I clenched my jaw. “Yeah,

well, who lets someone push a car into a parking lot while just
watching?”

He raised his eyebrows at me and pulled on the interior passenger

door handle. “I made a mistake. Just get in. After today, I doubt
we’ll see each other again. Throw your stuff in the back.”

I huffed out a breath, resigned to my fate. At least it would be

cooler inside, even if I had to deal with him. “Are you sure you aren’t
a serial killer or wanted by the FBI?” He chuckled. The smooth bass
of his voice filled the small space and took my breath away as I
placed my bags on the back seat.

“Even if I was a serial killer, why would I tell you? I give you my
word that you’re safe… for today.” He gave me a smile that I was
certain melted other girls’ hearts. It was gleaming white and caused
a dimple to pop up on his right cheek. “Besides, we’re less than five
minutes from campus. That’s not enough time to murder you and
dispose of your body.”

His statement should have been reassuring, but instead, the hairs on
the back of my neck lifted. I chewed my bottom lip, unsure of how
to reply to the Greek god sitting next to me, and instead focused on
the arctic breeze coming from the front vent. This leg of my
adventure wasn’t exactly off to a great start, but at least I was out
of the midday sun. Small storefronts passed by, and I made a quick
note to visit them all as soon as possible to put in applications. The
sweat covering my body helped to cool my overheated skin while my
clothes stuck to my body like a gross, wet second skin. The first
thing I would do after checking into my dorm was take a shower.

A short brick wall engraved with Groveton College’s name came into
view, and I tensed in my seat, ready to dart out of the vehicle at the
first opportunity. Nice Car stole a glance in my direction and
chuckled again. “You’re that ready to get away from me? I usually
have the opposite reaction from women. We could at least exchange
names.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already settled on Nice Car Guy. That’s your
official name. I’m adding humility to your many positive character
traits.” I crossed my arms over my chest and mimicked, “I usually
have the opposite reaction from women. Do you even know how
that sounds?”

The corner of his lips turned up in amusement. “You know, Blue, I

like you. You’re funny. I might have lied when I said we’d never see
each other again.” I groaned, and his smile widened, showing off
that stupid dimple again as he pulled into a parking spot. “So, which
dorm are you assigned to this year?”

I grabbed the door handle and reached for my stuff. “Hearst Hall.”

He leaned back in his seat, his expression never changing. “Blue,

you have no idea how perfect that is.”

For some reason, my heart pounded in my chest, and I closed my

car door, turning my back to him. I had no idea what that response
meant, but I wasn’t ready to find out. The only thing I wanted was
an ice-cold bottle of water, a shower, and dry clothes.
Chapter Three

Ava Marie

T he walk from the parking lot to the dormitory I would call home
for the next four years was exhausting between the weight of my
minimal belongings and the thoughts in my head. Add in the Texas
heat, and I was over the day. The only thing pushing me forward
was the knowledge that whenever I checked in and received my
room key, I could hide in the air conditioning for a while and
decompress.

Nothing had gone the way I anticipated this morning. It was more
than just my car breaking down and sweat clinging to every inch of
my body. I started the day by oversleeping my alarm. My initial plan
was to sneak out around sunrise when my mother would still be
passed out from whatever drugs she had taken the night before to
avoid any awkward confrontations or goodbyes. I hated saying
goodbye in general, and things with my mother were complicated.
When I hopped in my car, I knew there was a possibility I would
never see her again. Between Johns and drugs, she could end up in
a body bag next week.
With the August heat and the fact that the air conditioner in my car
didn’t work, leaving early seemed like the right thing to do.

When I rolled over this morning and glanced at the time on the
prepaid phone, I swore under my breath. It was already nine, three
hours later than I planned. I had thrown my bags into the car the
night before, so tiptoeing out of the door should have been easy, but
when I walked into the trailer’s hallway, I knew the ruse was over.
My mother was already sitting at the kitchen table with a half-
smoked cigarette dangling from her lips.

We’d been fighting over the fact that I was leaving for college for
several weeks. It had started with small comments about how she
would miss me and eventually escalated into full-blown hysterics.
This morning’s conversation had taken the cake. She asked me who
was going to take care of her and how my father’s commissary was
going to get paid.

Hell if I knew, but that wasn’t my problem. He had attempted to rob

a convenience store with a plastic water gun painted black. It was
dumb, and he was probably high, but the courts didn’t care about
that. The three-strike law was a bitch, and armed robbery was a
felony. He had been absent most of my life, so no love was lost
between us. When he called the trailer collect to tell us he was a
changed man and had found God, I rolled my eyes. Plenty of people
around the trailer park found religion when they were in prison just
to lose it as soon as they were out.

The only thing I knew was that I needed to get out of the small
town I was from to have a fighting chance of changing my life. My
mother mumbled as she puffed away on her cigarette, holding a cup
of coffee in a shaky hand and riddling me with guilt. Deciding that I
was now eighteen and no longer caring about the consequences, I
took a deep breath and walked out the door, leaving the past behind
me.

Even as I trekked across campus the phone in my pocket buzzed,

reminding me of every conversation from the past few weeks. The
last time I checked, my mother asked how she would pay the rent
for the month. I held my tongue and decided not to reply, “The
same way that you get drugs, by spreading your legs.” Even if it was
the truth, it was cruel. Deep down, I still loved her, but somehow,
over the years, I had turned into the parent and protector.

I was done and ready to break the cycle.

Instead of checking the messages laden with guilt, I ignored it and

gripped my things tighter. Hearst Hall finally came into sight, and I
was grateful that the first leg of my journey was almost over. Out of
the corner of my eye, a familiar shape quickly jogged past me into
the building I was headed for.

Fuck me. Nice Car Guy–who was carrying absolutely nothing–strolled

inside like he owned the campus. I watched as several girls who
hung out near the side of the building tracked his movements and
then giggled as soon as he was out of earshot.

Finally, I tugged open the door of Hearst, and cool air blasted me
from the air conditioning causing goosebumps to form on my flesh.
Students formed a line near a small table in the corner waiting to
check in to get their keycards and room assignments. I dropped my
bags beside the wall and got in line, not paying attention to anyone
around me. The line slowly shuffled forward while I looked down at
my feet with my hands plastered to my hips. When it was almost my
turn–only two people stood in front of me–a familiar voice caught
my attention.
Mr. Nice Car sat on the other side of the table with his head propped
on his hand, staring at me with eyes that were so blue they
reminded me of a spring day. “You must be joking with me right
now,” I muttered quietly. He apparently caught what I said, and a
smirk spread across his face.

I glanced to the left side of the table, hoping that the other student
would take mercy on me. Car’s partner in crime was another guy
who was equally attractive, with jet-black hair and emerald eyes.
The muscles of his forearms rippled as he sorted through papers,
tattoos peeking out of the collar of his shirt. He was the dark to Car’s
light. They were polar opposites sitting next to each other, and I
scoffed to myself.

No wonder girls were hanging around with their jaws open, staring
at the check-in table, hoping their gods would spare them a glance.

I wasn’t sure why I thought fate would give me a break, especially

after my car had broken down, but I wasn’t in luck. Car elbowed the
dark-haired guy in the ribs and leaned over, whispering something in
his ear. His friend’s gaze caught mine briefly, and he winked as he
ran his tongue over his bottom lip. I rolled my eyes at him.

It was my turn, and I stepped in front of the green-eyed guy,

deciding to take my chances with him. He didn’t acknowledge me,
only pointing his thumb toward his friend.

I bit the inside of my cheek while I waited, trying to figure out what
it was about him that got under my skin the way it did. “Seriously?”

“Blue, come here.” He hooked two fingers in my direction and

motioned with them. “Asher here agreed to let me help you,” Car
said from the left. “Besides, now you can tell me your name.” He
tapped his finger on his cheek while he waited.
Fine. I shifted to the right, ready to get everything over with, find a
shower, and perhaps scope out food. “Ava Marie Thompson,” I told
him quietly through gritted teeth.

“Ava Marie,” he murmured as he pulled several pieces of paper and a

plastic keycard from a stack. “Just need you to sign right here for
me.”

He passed me a pen, allowing his fingers to linger on mine longer

than necessary. I had to give him kudos; he was smooth. He was
over the top attractive, and his voice clung to my skin like velvet.

Too bad I wasn’t interested in anything other than getting the hell
away from my mother and leaving the entire state behind.

I signed my name and ignored his stare as I gathered my paperwork

and key card. As I tried to walk away, a firm grip encircled my wrist.
“My name’s Gage, by the way. I told you I’d be seeing you soon.
What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

I stared down at his hand for a moment before jerking away and
motioning between the two of us. “This is not going to happen.”

A deep chuckle slipped from his friend, and Gage looked at me with
amusement before standing up, eating away at the distance
between us in two steps. “Oh, it will, Blue,” he whispered as he
tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m very persistent when it
comes to things I want.”

My pulse raced in my ears at his words, and I rushed away from him
to gather my things, not bothering to look at the papers in my
hands. This was not starting the way I had expected. I hit the
button on the elevator, not caring which floor I went to as long as it
wasn’t there.

The doors slid open, and several other students piled inside. I
pressed myself into the far corner, my head resting against the wall.

A blond-haired girl moved next to me and flashed me a smile. She

looked exactly like a real-life Barbie. “A word of advice. Ignore Gage.
He’ll get the hint eventually and move on to his next obsession. He
gets bored easily.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and I
laughed.

She raised an eyebrow at me, probably thinking I was a lunatic. The

doors opened on the third floor, and I stepped out, not caring if my
room was there. “Don’t worry, Barbie. I have every intention of
ignoring him. His obsession is his problem, not mine.”

He just needed to take the hint first.

Chapter Four

Ava Marie

A fter my run-in with Gage, I spent some time wandering around

aimlessly in the air conditioning for a while, observing everyone
who was moving into Hearst. Some doors were propped open as
people carried brightly colored bags inside the white institutional
spaces, ready to make the rooms seem more like theirs. Finally, I
found my room after glancing at the paper I was clutching in my
hand.

The room was nice enough, with two beds, two closets, two desks,
and two dressers. It was a blank slate that beckoned for me to
decorate even a small portion. Both beds were still bare, and no
clothes hung in either closet yet. I dropped my things at the end of
the bed to the right, closest to the wall. My new roommate would be
here soon, and I could only hope we would get along. I wasn’t
hoping for a friend or ally, but I didn’t want to spend my freshman
year fighting with someone I barely knew. I had other issues to deal
with first.

Like how in the hell I would pull off a cam show with a roommate.
As I rifled through my things and pulled sheets from my bag, I
considered my best-case scenario. Perhaps my roommate would
have a steady boyfriend she visited on Thursday nights or
mandatory trips back home to visit her parents on the weekends. Or
perhaps she would spend evenings at the gym, buying me time to
do what I needed—anything until I could get my car fixed and find a
different job.

Once I was done making up the tiny twin bed, I sighed happily. I
had splurged on new sheets and a silky black blanket. Already, the
room was nicer than anywhere I had ever stayed before. It was
safer as well. Even though Hearst Hall was co-ed, the locks actually
worked–unlike at home. At home, the locks were flimsy, and I never
knew when one of my mother’s customers or boyfriends would try to
break in to catch a glimpse of me, or worse.

I shoved the rolled-up clothes from my backpack into the dresser,

not bothering to hang anything in the closet. All I had was jeans and
t-shirts. The most expensive clothing I owned was my lingerie, but
even that came from a budget chain store. It was my one
indulgence, but it was for work. I learned quickly I made better
money dressed up in lace that hugged my curves than in plain
cotton.

Leaving my laptop in my bag, I grabbed my toiletries, the towel I

had packed, and a change of clothes before heading for the shower.
I simply wanted to wash the salt off my skin. In the back left corner
was a door that led to a shared bathroom. One bathroom for four
women would be an issue for most people, but I was accustomed to
brief showers and getting ready quickly to avoid the prying eyes of
whoever was lurking in the trailer.

Careful to ensure that the doors on both sides of the bathroom were
locked, I placed my things on the counter and started the shower,
grateful for the moment of privacy to collect myself. As the cool
water washed over me, removing the salt and sweat from my skin, I
let out a sigh of relief.

I was safe here, and no one else knew who I was or where I was
from. It was the start of something new. To my classmates, I wasn’t
the child of a prostitute from the trailer park across town. I wasn’t
PoutyVixen69. I was just Ava Marie Thompson, an eighteen-year-old
trying to figure out what she wanted to major in. Lately, I’d been
pondering my future. Obviously, it wasn’t camming. I needed to do
something to take care of myself long-term and not rely on others. I
considered something like business or accounting, but my heart was
torn. Art had always been a love of mine, and I wondered if there
was a way that I could do something with that.

Shutting off the shower, I stepped out and toweled off before
shrugging on my clothes and running my fingers through my hair. I
gathered my things and unlocked the doors before returning to my
room. My stomach rumbled, and I ignored it, waiting until after the
sun went down to scavenge for food.

The sun had set when my eyes fluttered open, and I rubbed my
hands over my face, trying to figure out where I was. When my
vision finally unblurred, the white walls surrounding me came into
view, reminding me of the events of earlier in the day. I shoved my
feet into my shoes and peered at the twin bed opposite mine. It was
curious. I was sure when I’d fallen asleep that my new roommate
would be here by that point, but maybe they were running late.
Maybe their car had broken down on the way to start a new life, too.
Shaking the remnants of sleep from my mind, I grabbed my small
wallet, phone, and keycard, ready to search for food. Young women
were milling around in the hallways, laughing with their newfound
friends, and guys watched them, holding quiet conversations. How
many were also starting over and looking for a way to distance
themselves from their past? I stepped out of Hearst Hall into the
humid night air, happy that the sun had set but grimacing at the
moisture in the air. Once I graduated, I would move somewhere the
air didn’t feel like a sauna.

Slowly, I trekked across campus toward the student center, taking in

the buildings and landscape on the way. My phone buzzed in my
pocket, but I ignored it, knowing that only one person would bother
texting me, and I had already spoken to her more than I cared to
earlier in the day.

The dining facility was closed when I stepped inside, but cups of dry
cereal, fruit, and chips were in containers near the cash register. I
stopped by the cooler and grabbed a bottle of water and a soda,
along with whatever else I could scavenge for the evening. An older
woman wearing wire-framed glasses and leafing through a well-worn
paperback frowned at me when I approached, unhappy with being
interrupted. I glanced down at her nametag. Mabel. Well, Mabel, I
don’t blame you for looking aggravated.

The clock on the wall read 8:30, and her shift was nearly over. She
had been dealing with people all day and simply wanted to escape
before going home. I gave her a small wave as I placed all my items
on the counter beside the register. Wordlessly, she rang everything
up, and I handed her the cash needed to pay as I mumbled, “Thank
you.” She shoved everything into a small bag and pushed it toward
me.
The cafeteria was pretty empty, with only a few people sitting at
tables, probably trying to catch up with friends they hadn’t spoken
to over the break. I hurried past everyone, hoping to escape back to
Hearst unnoticed. Slowly, I strolled back across campus, ignoring
everything happening around me.

Tomorrow, I would call a tow truck for my car and walk off campus
to some of the local businesses surrounding campus, but tonight, I
could hide while I ate my snacks and mindlessly scrolled on social
media. Or I could watch videos of cats or read while I waited for my
roommate to show up.

I should have been doing a show and praying for a private chat to
pay for repairs to my car, but nothing would be more awkward than
my new roommate walking in on that. I could just imagine me laying
on the bed with my tits hanging out and a hand between my legs.
What a great first impression. Work would have to wait.

A warm hand wrapped around my bicep, pulling me from my

thoughts and stopping me in my tracks. Emerald-colored eyes gazed
down at me. This time, it wasn’t Gage, but his friend from earlier.
“What’s in the bag, Ava?”

The one thing I absolutely didn’t want was the attention of Gage or
his friends. Hopefully, Barbie was correct, and they would lose
interest if I ignored them. I rolled my eyes at him and tried to pull
away, but his grip tightened, holding me in his orbit. “Snacks. Now, if
you don’t mind–”

“Asher.” He smirked at me, the type of look that made most women’s
panties melt. Not me, but most women. The intensity of his stare
burned paths along my skin, and I shifted on my feet, waiting for
him to loosen his grasp. Instead, he leaned closer to my ear and
lowered his voice, allowing his breath to feather across my skin.
“There’s a party tomorrow at Mu Delta Phi. You should stop by.”

I stared at him, trying to plan the best response and ignore the
goosebumps forming. There was no way in hell I was going to a frat
party, even with free drinks. My instincts told me to steer clear of
Gage and Asher. They were both walking red flags. Finally, Asher’s
hand relaxed and trailed slowly down my arm before dropping to his
side. “Tongue-tied? I expected at least a fuck you to the invitation,”
he chuckled.

I turned on my heel and flipped him off over my shoulder. His

laughter grew louder even as I put distance between us.
Chapter Five

Gage

A sher walked in with a shit-eating grin splitting his face, and I

ignored him, focusing instead on the book in my hands, The
Prince. It was one of my favorite books, above The Art of War and
The Republic. “Everyone sees what you appear to be, few
experience what you really are.” I licked the end of my finger and
flipped the page, intentionally not addressing my best friend and
roommate.

I had known Asher since middle school when he moved in next door.
Our parents became fast friends, then business partners, and we
were stuck together. Eventually, we even learned how to tolerate
one another. Everything was a competition, so when I heard what
came out of his mouth, I wasn’t surprised.

He tumbled into my bed and snaked an arm around my waist,

grinning at me like the Cheshire cat. That was the other thing about
Asher–he had no sense of personal boundaries. “Guess who I ran
into on campus?”
I didn’t answer, and he grabbed the book, losing my page. Fucker. I
ran a hand over my face and bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to
lose my temper. “Who?”

Asher had disappeared earlier in the evening, claiming he had

something he needed to take care of. When he said it, I immediately
thought that what he needed to “take care of” was seeing one of his
on-again, off-again flings, but who knew with him?

“Blue.”

I scoffed at him and glared. He finally had my undivided attention.

“And?”

“And I invited her to the party tomorrow night.” Somehow, the

cheeky bastard managed to grin wider as his fingers tapped against
my chest, waiting for my response.

What was there to say? If I knew Ava the way that I thought I did, a
simple invitation wouldn’t be enough to convince her to show up to
a frat party. She would need more than simple words, whether by
coercion or peer pressure.

“Hmm,” I hummed in acknowledgment, making a mental note to

stop by her suite tomorrow evening.

Asher propped himself up on his elbow and rested his head on his
hand, biting his lower lip while lost in thought. “Let’s make a wager.”
He had my attention, the tapping motion turning to small circles he
drew over my heart.

With bated breath, I waited to see what he would say next. When
he didn’t speak, I knew he was baiting me. He knew my curiosity
was piqued, and he had lured me in. “Okay,” I drawled, waiting for
his response.

His eyes were heavy, and he was lost in his head. “The first one to
fuck her gets whatever they want.”

I arched an eyebrow up at him. We’d always been competitive with

one another, making wagers about sports and women. We were on
the basketball team, and we had shared women in the past, but the
idea of Asher touching Blue made my chest tight. Still, I couldn’t let
him win. “Whatever the other person wants?”

In the past, we’d wagered money, but this was left open-ended, and
I wasn’t sure what I thought about it. It was a poor strategic move.

Asher simply nodded before bouncing off my bed. “Yeah.” He thrust

his hand toward me, and I swallowed before taking it. The last thing
I wanted to do was share Blue. After all, I had seen her before Asher
knew she existed.

I grabbed the paper list of room assignments and scanned it. Two
things caught my attention. The first was that she wasn’t assigned a
roommate, which was unusual, but I wouldn’t question fate.

The second was that I was well acquainted with one of her suite
mates. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text. Peyton owed
me, even if she wished she didn’t.

At eight the next evening, I stood on the other side of Ava’s door
with Peyton at my side, waiting for her to answer. Asher leaned
casually against the wall beside us, his eyes hooded and slightly red.
He was already high. Thank fuck the season hadn’t already started.
Coach would kick his ass in practice either way, but I didn’t want to
hear my best friend bitching about the repercussions of his actions.

The plan was simple enough. Both Peyton and Asher had invited Ava
to the party. We were simply here to gently coerce her into going. I
had something else I could hold over her head to convince her to do
what I wanted, but I held it close to my chest, knowing now wasn’t
the time to disclose anything. Not yet.

“Never attempt to win by force what can be won by deception.” I

sighed deeply and cursed Machiavelli, a man who had been dead for
over five centuries. He was right, as always. I needed to bide my
time and remember to be patient.

Ava finally answered the door, wet midnight blue hair clinging to her
pale shoulders, and a towel wrapped around her waist. Her eyes
narrowed at the sight of us, and she focused on Peyton. “Barbie,
why are you three standing outside my door?”

Peyton’s head fell back as laughter erupted from her. Tears streamed
down her cheeks. Instead of being insulted like she usually would,
she found Ava’s nickname funny. Interesting. “Listen, Morticia. I
need you to get dressed. Thing One and Thing Two were pestering
me, assuming I could somehow convince you to go to this party
tonight. Just because we room next door to one another doesn’t
mean we’re close. I’ve decided they’re both on drugs.”

Ava snorted at her before glaring at Asher and me. “Fine. Give me
fifteen minutes.”

She slammed the door in our faces, and Asher fist-pumped the air.
Peyton glanced at me and frowned. “Why her, out of everyone on
campus? Gage, you could have anyone else? She doesn’t want you.”

We’d see about that. Ava would learn to crave my attention, even
when she wished she didn’t.

I didn’t fault Peyton for her observation. Peyton would be nearly

perfect for someone else. We had dated on and off during high
school, but we were firmly forever in the off category. Our
relationship had been strongly encouraged by our fathers, who
thought we would be the perfect power couple.

It’s not that anything was wrong with Peyton. In fact, it was
precisely the opposite. She was outwardly perfect. The perfect
grades, perfect pedigree, perfect behavior, perfect tits and ass.
Perfect everything, whether through hours of training or a surgeon’s
scalpel.

In essence, she was boring. And I suspected she was fucking my

father every chance she had.

The hellcat on the other side of this door, though? She was
everything with her imperfections and her no fucks given attitude.
Even the fact that she answered the door in a towel showed she
didn’t care what anyone thought. I knew plenty of women who
wouldn’t dare without a full face of makeup.

“Shh, Peyton. Your job here is done,” Asher said, interrupting my

internal monologue. “You can go back to whatever hole you crawled
out of.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving her with the two of you.” Peyton
flipped her hair over her golden shoulder. “No one has warned her.”
Asher held up both hands in an act of mock surrender. “What do you
mean ‘warned’ her? We’re completely innocent last time I checked.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Besides, we only do what
people secretly want. The things that would make their mother blush
and they have to go to confession about. It’s not my fault they don’t
know how to say them out loud.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and Asher laughed. No doubt she was
thinking of the times my cock was shoved down her throat while
Asher was buried in her ass. That ship had sailed, though.

Ava appeared a moment later dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with

damp hair clinging to her skin. Her eyes were wild, and her skin was
tinted pink from rushing around inside of her room. Besides a small
amount of lip balm, she wasn’t wearing any makeup. All I could
imagine was fisting my hand into her hair and forcing her to her
knees, but it wasn’t time. Not yet. I shifted on my feet to hide the
erection pressing against my zipper.

Unlike Peyton, who had never learned to ask for what she truly
desired, I would train Ava to tell me everything she wanted. She
glared at me from her doorway as she shoved things in her pockets,
and I gave her an easy smile. “Ready to go, Blue?”

She huffed out a breath, blowing a stray hair from her face. “Not
really,” she mumbled under her breath. Peyton hooked her arm
through Ava’s and forced her to start walking. I could hear their
quiet conversation from several steps behind as Asher closed her
door.

He leaned against my shoulder, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“She’s going to be a lot of fun,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to watch
her bend beneath us.”
Chapter Six

Asher

T he lights were dim in the main living room of the house, and
music drowned out most of the conversation occurring around
me. Gage was casually leaning against the wall next to me, chatting
with one of the fraternity brothers, while my eyes were glued on Ava
and Peyton. As soon as we had walked in, Peyton had given her a
red solo cup filled with a type of punch that was mixed to hide the
flavor of bottom-shelf vodka. Ava had attempted to push it away and
drink a bottle of water, but Peyton would have none of it. “We’re
here to party before classes start. What’s the worst thing that
happens? The two of us end up making out?”

In my mind, I said a silent prayer that exactly that would happen. I

wasn’t interested in Peyton’s pussy anymore–especially since my
sights were set on Ava–but the idea of her making out with another
chick was hot. I would be more than happy to watch the two of
them. Honestly, I couldn’t give two fucks about being here, but it
seemed like the easiest way to lure Ava out of her room. Since I had
run into her the night before, she had been holed up, obviously
content to live off of whatever junk she had purchased.
We’d been here for over an hour, and the entire time Gage had been
playing the campus darling that everyone loved. Guys had been
asking him how his summer had gone and if he was seeing anyone
new yet. Women had walked by to exchange words and allow their
fingers to linger longer than necessary. I chuckled to myself at how
they all acted. None of them knew Gage like I did. There were only
two people he would willingly go home with at the end of the night,
especially since he’d agreed to my wager.

Everyone had been content to leave me alone to sip the drink in my

hand and people-watch. That would end as soon as classes started,
so for now, I was content to hide in plain sight.

Gage’s eyes caught mine, and he tipped his head toward the object
of my infatuation. Ava and Peyton had slipped from where they had
been standing to the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Their
cheeks were pink from the alcohol they’d consumed, and Ava held
her head back, laughing at something Peyton said to her. Their
bodies twisted to the rhythm, and the corner of my lips tipped up at
how oblivious she was to our observation.

Even if Gage seemed otherwise preoccupied, I knew him like he was

the other half of my soul. His focus hadn’t left her even while he
made small talk.

Someone sidled up beside me, drawing my attention away from the

scene. The cloying scent of roses filled my nose as I faced Sadie,
Peyton’s roommate. I didn’t know their exact relationship other than
that both were on the cheerleading squad together. The two seemed
to get along, but Peyton held herself at arm’s length from nearly
everyone. People assumed she was cold and aloof, but that wasn’t
entirely accurate. It almost made me wonder why she’d been so
eager to help convince Ava to come tonight.
Whatever her motivations, I was grateful. I needed Ava out of her
room tonight for several reasons. If she stayed in her room, how
was I supposed to win? I couldn’t play the game if she refused to
participate.

Sadie cleared her throat, trying to signal that she wanted my

attention, and I raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you want?”

Both of her hands went to her hips. “Asher Hunt,” she said, her
saccharine voice grating on my nerves. She ran one nail along my
forearm, slowly tracing a tattoo. “I wonder what your father would
think if he knew that you’ve been eye fucking one of the scholarship
students all night.”

“Since when have I ever cared about what my father thought?” I

lowered my voice and removed her hand from me before winking at
her. “That’s the advantage of being the black sheep of the family.”

Her jaw dropped open, leaving her mouth open like a floundering
fish. If she thought my parents could keep me away from Ava, she
was wrong. While Sadie had distracted me, a tall guy named Bradley
had moved in behind Ava, and I frowned. I flipped Sadie off over my
shoulder and crept toward the girl, who was oblivious, writhing
between the two bodies sandwiching her in.

Bradley was a nice enough guy. He was an accounting major who

played intramural soccer and volunteered at a local food pantry. He
also had that classic frat boy look going for him. Extremely clean-cut
and baby-faced. I was sure his entire wardrobe consisted of polo
shirts and khaki pants. He was the type of guy you could take home
to your parents, and they would smile.

And he was completely wrong for Ava.

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Shuddering
castle
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Shuddering castle

Author: Wilbur Finley Fauley

Release date: October 4, 2023 [eBook #71806]

Most recently updated: October 18, 2023

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Green Circle Books, 1936

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK

SHUDDERING CASTLE ***
 SHUDDERING CASTLE

By Wilbur Fawley

GREEN CIRCLE BOOKS

NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1936
by LEE FURMAN, INC.

[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any

evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
renewed.]

Printed in the United States of America

 SHUDDERING CASTLE
Shuddering Castle is not a mystery novel in the generally
accepted sense. It is a novel with a mystery; a highly imaginative
story, with revelations in the field of radio and short-wave
broadcasting. None of the strange events recorded oversteps the
boundaries of accepted natural laws.
In this novel of exciting action, radio communication is established
between Earth and Mars, with a world-girdling hook-up from Radio
Center, in New York City, and the reader will be amazed to find that
the Martians are human beings like ourselves, subject to the same
laws, the same temptations and passions which affect humanity. Into
this pulsating picture of tensed American life of the near future,
comes another revelation from the sky. This brings the reader to the
drama of a frightening but plausible visitor from the jungles of Mars
to this world, whose presence in the old spooky castle of an
eccentric millionaire-scientist on Long Island causes great fear to its
inmates when night falls.
But there is thrilling romance to warm your hearts, the infatuation of
a young newspaperman for the alluring debutante niece of the old
scientist; a humanly drawn boy and girl who are caught in the violent
web of mystery and sudden death. Shuddering Castle is a unique
study in the mysterious recesses of the universe.

SHUDDERING CASTLE
 I
As a staid and wealthy New York family, of distinguished but remote
English ancestry, we moved formally and rather arrogantly within our
small, exclusive circle, holding on grimly to the traditions and
elegancies of the past. During the winter season, we viewed the
outside world placidly, and with the respectful composure of middle-
age, from the dignified privacy of our red brick mansion in
Washington Square.
On May first, as regular as clockwork, year in and year out, and with
all the solemnity of a ritual, we put our elaborate upholstered
furniture in linen shrouds, veiled the somber, scowling family portraits
in their dull gold frames with fly-netting, boarded up the windows and
doors, and went to the country. Our summer home is called The
Castle, and it is situated at Sands Cliff, Long Island. As a family we
resembled nothing so much as this embattled stone fortress, of old-
world design, in which we spent more than half the year.
As long back as I can remember, we had successfully preserved the
family's seclusion from the living world. Wherever we happened to
be, in town or country, we had protected our privacy with shuttered
windows, and massive iron gates that were secured both day and
night with heavy chains. Numerous signs of "Private" and "No
Trespassing Allowed" dotted our grounds like grave markers.
And then, quite suddenly, our lives became incredibly transformed. A
series of weird events brought us out of our privacy and seclusion—
brought us plenty of excitement and trouble and even horror.
But that was not to be wondered at, with Henry, my elder brother,
suddenly developing a mania for research in scientific matters,
especially the science of heavenly bodies and the phenomena of
radio. He did not pretend to be a scholar, although he had cultivated
scholarly habits most of his life. Inexplicably, this mania had seized
him late in life; a sort of bursting out of the abnormal repression
which held us all in thrall, no doubt as the result of our long seclusion
from the outside world and following the drab and barren routine of
our lives with such punctilious rigidity.
Ample means had enabled him to completely outfit an observatory,
with a powerful telescope, at our summer residence. Here he would
spend hours gazing into the abyss of space. He saw things up there
the trained, professional astronomer never saw, or ever hoped to see
—colliding suns, formation of temporary stars, the rejuvenescence of
dying worlds, and gaseous explosions in the Milky Way.
One of his pet theories was that the planet Mars was inhabited by a
race of people like ourselves, and that their men of science had long
been trying to establish radio communication with the earth. The
static on our radio set which annoyed me intensely, would galvanize
Henry with delight and hope, and his eyes would glisten almost
frenziedly behind their horn-rimmed spectacles.
"Those are distinctly electro-magnetic waves," he would say, "that
come from some point far off in space, and they are not due to any
terrestrial disturbance like thunderstorms, local or distant."
There was no opening, no escape, from Henry once he got started
on the galactic radio waves as differing from the cosmic rays and
from the phenomenon of cosmic radiation.
"I'm telling you, Livingston," he once declared in an excited, high-
pitched voice, "that man has only begun his conquest of time and
space. There are no limitations to human achievement. The world is
on the threshold of things unheard of, undreamed of. I have no doubt
that we will soon be able to establish radio communication with
Mars, and with my leisure, money and the required taste for science,
I feel that I am admirably fitted to make it come true."
And from that day he was changed, secretive. He refused to tell me
what he had discovered. Again and again I begged him to explain
and always it was the same vague answer, the same shake of the
head, and tightened lips.
It all seemed fantastic and visionary then, Henry's theories about
Mars and interstellar communication, but when unusual things began
to happen and our peaceful and ordered living was suddenly and
violently disturbed, I realized, as never before, that visions often
come to reality in an unbelievable way.
At the time we were thrown into such turmoil, and the dread spotlight
of publicity centered upon us, our family consisted of Henry and
myself, both bachelors; Jane, our spinster sister, and Patricia Royce
Preston—Pat for short—a very fascinating young person, who had
come to live with us at the tender age of fourteen, after the shocking
death of her parents, our youngish sister, Virginia Royce Preston,
and her husband, Allston, who were killed in an air-liner crash near
Paris.
There is something strangely lovable about a young girl in the
process of growing up. The advent of Pat meant, of course, less
privacy and the trampling down of staid personal habits and family
customs which we held virtually sacred. The fact that we were old
and queer and our household drab and rather grotesque, in
comparison to the modernistic and rather barbaric splendor of our
more fashionable friends, scarcely troubled her. Nothing seemed to
matter but that this bright-eyed, brown-haired girl should concentrate
all her love and devotion on a trio of old fossils. A warm affection
grew between us and our pretty niece. As she blossomed into young
womanhood our lives became centered in her. She was now
eighteen.
Although we were born rich, and received a huge income from the
heritage of vast and various real estate holdings on Manhattan
Island, both Henry and myself, strangely enough, had never
splurged, and never married. I am sure the thought of matrimony
never entered Jane's mind. Our natural emotions seemed to be
stirred and exalted only by the importance of our family name and
our wealth. Romantically, we were strangely neutral, as though, in
the pursuit of riches, the family stock had been sort of washed out.
After our college days, Henry and I grew into old-fashioned, mellow
bachelorhood, aloof from the world and very self-sufficient, and glad
to have it so. Henry had just observed his sixty-fifth birthday when
our lives became so tempestuous and convulsed. I was two years
his junior. Jane had just turned sixty. As progeny, we seemed to have
come into this world in swift successiveness, as though the marriage
of our revered parents had fulfilled its promise in a bunch.
For an entire summer Henry lived virtually in seclusion in his
observatory without any tangible result. Sweeping the sky with his
telescope for anything that might happen. But nothing transpired. Yet
he persisted. Finally, he detected a tiny comet, apparently on its way
to the earth. At first it appeared no larger than a pin-prick of light,
with a small, meteoric tail.
The night he made the discovery, he got me out of bed to see it, but I
was in no mood or condition for sky gazing. In addition, looking into
the eye-piece of the telescope made me a little sick and dizzy. I
couldn't see a thing. Deciding that he was suffering from a delusion, I
went back to bed.
The odd thing was that Henry was right. He had actually witnessed
the phenomenon of impact of two small planets which produced the
comet. As he explained it afterwards to a group of eminent scientists,
this collision of two celestial bodies had produced a distinct flash of
light, out of which had grown a spiral swarm of very brilliant particles,
and he had watched them as they took on orbital motion.
The comet soon became the most impressive and magnificent sight I
have ever seen, stretching its scimitar-like form half across the
heavens. Its wonder and beauty dragged New Yorkers up in the
small hours, to gaze at it with fascinating awe. Many regarded it with
terror, others with superstitious dread. In churches throughout the
land, the people prayed: "Lord save us from the devil, and Royce's
comet!"
The comet was not only named after Henry but his discovery was
acclaimed by scientists the world over, and he was chosen a fellow
of the two leading scientific bodies of America and England. While
still rated as an amateur in science, nevertheless, many learned men
began to look upon him as the depository of authority and
authenticity in matters relating to the mysteries of the solar system.
Having disclosed something to the world in the order of creation,
Henry became imbued with an overpowering sense of his own
importance as a man of science; his ambitions soared to
unsurmountable heights. The discovery of the comet having been far
easier than he had dared dream, he now turned with profound
intentness to establish radio communication with Mars. He began
talking in a familiar and chatty way about the people on Mars, and to
hear him talk one would think that he was going there for a week-end
of golf.
In this project, he had enlisted the able assistance of Serge Olinski,
assistant research engineer of the National Radio Corporation,
whose unexceptional qualifications included an honor degree in
cosmic ray research, with distinction in astronomy. Their
experimental activities, in trying to pick up and decode the galactic
radio waves, which both believed constituted some kind of
interstellar signaling, were carried on behind locked doors, either at
Henry's observatory in the country, or in Olinski's laboratory in the
NRC Building, in the new Radio Center Annex.
Olinski was a queer shrinking soul, and any sort of publicity to Henry
was equally distasteful. They were two of a kind, in this respect.
Notwithstanding all the praise and attention given to Henry by the
press during the comet furore, he treated reporters with the utmost
contempt, and accused them of being dishonest rogues. One
reporter in particular he hated and feared. Just mention to him the
name of Robert McGinity of the New York Daily Recorder, and his
correctly chiselled and aristocratic features would crinkle up in rage
and horrible chuckles would issue from his thin lips like unnamable
profanities.
He had never forgotten his first encounter with McGinity on the
telephone, nor had he ever forgiven the reporter for what he called
an utterly disreputable transaction in news. But the business of
reporting is at least an honorable one, and reporters have to get their
stories, somehow.
This fellow, McGinity, published the first report of Henry's discovery
of the comet, and scored a beat by calling him up and giving the
impression that he was one of the assistant astronomers at Harvard
University. I had no suspicions then how the information had trickled
into the office of the Daily Recorder, but I believe now that our
solemn-visaged butler, Orkins, who afterwards turned out to be so
mercenary and treacherous, tipped off this morning paper, which
paid liberally for exclusive stories.
It was the night following Henry's detection of the comet when he
was aroused out of a sound sleep to answer an important telephone
call. If I hadn't been up and overheard the conversation, I wouldn't
have believed it possible for any man to be so easily deceived. But
gullibility is one of Henry's weaknesses. I switched into the
conversation from an extension on the second floor.
Henry seemed to have some recollection of the name of the Harvard
professor, as it came over the telephone, and at first was a little
taken aback and curious that the news of his discovery should have
become known. Despite this, he told all about his detection of the
new comet, and proudly, omitting no detail. It would have been
ungrateful on his part to have distrusted the man at the other end of
the wire, after he had gone to the trouble and expense of calling up,
obviously from Boston, and it seemed so unlikely that any one
outside astronomical circles would be interested in the discovery. Up
to that time, Henry had had no dealings with reporters. By exercising
extraordinary discretion, he had managed all his life to keep out of
the news, except for occasional real estate transactions, and had
always avoided any encounter with the press.
After he had answered heaps and heaps of questions, the voice at
the other end said: "Thanks, Mr. Royce. Thanks a lot. Darned good
of you to tell me all this."
An oppressive silence descended. By that time, Henry must have
guessed that he had been gulled. I got his voice but I missed the
play of expression on his face.
"Who is this speaking?" he asked again. "Who the devil are you?"
"Bob McGinity of the Daily Recorder," came the prompt reply.
Henry gave a nervous jump. "What?" he gasped angrily. It was
evident that he was utterly taken by surprise. "I—I find your action in
calling me up quite incomprehensible, Mr. McGinity. I imagined that
—that—"
"Pardon me," the reporter retorted with some dignity. "I never said I
was an assistant professor of astronomy at Harvard. I simply asked if
you knew of such a person, and you said you did, and then you
proceeded to tell me exactly what I wanted to know."
"But surely you're not going to publish this," Henry fumed. "It's too
immature. You must keep it out of the newspaper."
"I'm sorry but I have no power to do so, Mr. Royce," the reporter
replied. "And no inclination, Mr. Royce."
Henry clawed at the telephone instrument with trembling fingers. "If I
had you here, young man," he shouted, "I'd break your damned
neck."
He hung up with a bang, and I don't think he slept a wink the rest of
the night. And it was entirely due to this experience that he and
Olinski took every precaution that nothing should leak out concerning
their research in interstellar signaling, which, as far as I could learn,
at the time, had entered on the final and exciting stage of their
experimental work.
Henry's actions indicated that his mind was still working feverishly on
this subject; he even raved about it in his sleep, according to his
Filipino valet, Niki. But about his and Olinski's doings, not a word to
me. When I would ask him if they had found anything worth finding,
he would reply: "Just you wait, and see;" a vague term which he
refused to make more definite.
In the silent watches of the night, he would sit at his telescope, his
eyes trained on that beautiful, reddish planet, Mars. One morning, at
four o'clock, I found him there, clad only in his pajamas, and he
strongly resented my intrusion. But I had a task to perform, and that
was to see that he got his proper rest. I had no wish that any
member of our family should become psychopathic.
"Henry!" I exclaimed, rather harshly; "you've only a few hours before
breakfast-time. Go to bed and get a bit of sleep."
I think he realized, instinctively, that I was not in sympathy with this
business of trying to pick up radio signals from Mars. It all seemed
so useless and incredible. His secret experiments had been in
progress now for about a year. The tumult aroused by the discovery
of the comet seemed a thing long past and forgotten. The memory of
the public is short. Newer sensations had taken its place.
In this latest mad, scientific quest, Henry reminded me of one of
Jane's goldfish, which swims in its bowl, and swims and swims,
thousands of miles, perhaps, and then finds itself a few inches from
its starting point. So one day I resolved to bring the matter to an
issue. I slipped into his room just after he had disrobed and donned
a dressing-gown, preparatory to taking a bath and dressing for
dinner.
"Henry," I began, rather abruptly, "study and action are worth while,
only when they lead you some place." But I was not destined to
finish what was in my mind to say.
"I beg pardon, Livingston, if I disturb you," he interrupted in his
meekest accents, and then went into his bathroom, and closed the
door.
Determined to have my say, I followed him to the door, and knocked.
The door opened, and his face, meek and anxious, looked out at me
through a narrow crack.
"Henry!" I implored. "If I could only see you for a few minutes—"
"No!" he said, and shut the door. A second later, I heard the bar
shoved into its slot.
There was nothing unusual in Henry locking himself in his bathroom,
for he had the distressful habit of sitting in his bath-tub, by the hour,
smoking and thinking. His bathroom seemed to be the only quiet
retreat in the castle which afforded the complete solitude and privacy
necessary for the employment of his brain cells. He felt that here he
could relax, just as Napoleon did, after undue fatigue, dictating
letters and giving important military orders from his steaming bath-
tub.
I have often wondered where Sir Isaac Newton was sitting, at his
home in Woolsthorpe, England, when the fall of an apple, so legend
tells us, suggested the most magnificent of his discoveries, the law
of universal gravitation. There is no evidence to refute that he was
sitting in one of those queer, early English bath-tubs, looking out of
the bathroom window, at his apple orchard.
I never see Rodin's famous sculpture, "The Thinker," but I am
reminded of Henry, sitting in his bath-tub, thinking and thinking,
especially during the early part of the eventful summer of which I
write.
Evidently some fresh idea had come to him while in his bath on the
evening I persisted in assailing his peace of mind. With startling
suddenness he donned his bath-robe, rushed to the telephone, and
communicated with Olinski. As quickly as possible, the next day,
they got to work on Henry's idea. Then problems began to straighten
themselves out. As to what they had discovered, they said nothing at
the moment.
Soon after, however, an avalanche of adventure, mystery and
excitement came thunderously down upon us, throwing our lives into
chaos.

II
As I begin my narrative, my mind travels back for a moment to the
days of my youth, and I am made more vividly aware of the changes
that have taken place in the world. We are living in a new era now—
a period marked by a series of strange occurrences, manifestations
of the weird powers that lurk in outer space. The New Deal has
passed into history. A strangely remote time ago, that was....
The laboratory has supplied us with the basic means of lifting the
curtain of space from scenes and activities at a distance. A system
of sight transmission and reception, comparable in coverage and
service to the world-wide hook-up of sound broadcasting, has
brought all nations closer together. In the friendly exchange of ideas
and feelings through the medium of television and the radio, the
whole civilized world enjoys common participation.
Nationalism no longer endangers the peace of the world. All war
debts between nations have been settled, and tariff barriers laid low.
Internationalism reigns supreme, to the spirit and benefits of which
Henry contributed his share by engaging servants representing
seven nationalities. Thus we harbored at the castle of Sands Cliff
about every conceivable question of society, politics and religion.
Our summer castle is such a place as you read of, in romances of
the Middle Ages. It was built more than half a century ago by a
wealthy New York society woman who must have had a strain of
poetic romanticism in her veins. When Henry purchased the place, it
was almost in ruins.
It is perched on the summit of a precipitous sand cliff, commanding
an excellent view of Long Island Sound. From its windows, on a
bright day, the majestic towers of New York appear dimly etched
against a mauve horizon like the spires of a magical city. There it
stands, dark and foreboding, and ivy-clad, in its own grounds,
surrounded by a high brick wall. The main entrance gate is
approached by a dark avenue which winds through a heavily
wooded park. There is no other dwelling within a mile.
There are many mullioned windows in its slim, peaked towers.
Inside, a clutter of rooms—endless rooms—some of them in the
upper floors unused and smelling dusty and dank. The front door
opens on a brick terrace, which has a stone balustrade as a
protective measure against a sheer drop of two hundred feet to the
rocky base of the cliff. From the east end of the terrace, stone steps
wind down to a private yacht landing and a long stretch of beach,
fenced in with barbed wire.
An outstanding feature of the castle is its galleried entrance hall, with
its darkly gleaming oak panelling and great, stone staircase; a hall so
large that when one speaks, the sound is echoed like the whispering
of ghosts from the high, oak-timbered ceiling.
There is a queer element of solitude and uncanniness that always
cloaks the castle at the twilight hour, before Orkins, in his routine of
duty, switches on the lights. I noticed it particularly, one summer
evening, about the middle of August, as I walked up and down the
terrace, dinner-jacketed and smoking, awaiting the arrival of our two
dinner guests, Serge Olinski and His Highness Prince Dmitri Matani.
The sun had gone down in a cloudless, violet sky, and purplish
twilight had settled on the Sound and the marshland, stretching
westward to a cove, where the lights of the village of Sands Cliff
were beginning to twinkle. The silence was more oppressive than the
heat. Now and then it was broken by a distant tugboat whistle, like
the hoarse croak of a frog, and the faint calling of a thrush for its
mate in the thick shrubberies that fringed Jane's flower garden, on
the north side of the castle.
Far out in the Sound, two sail-boats were drifting along like tired
ghosts. Presently the fringe of the opposite shore became magically
outlined by tiny strands of lights. As the gloom of night slowly
enveloped the scene, an island lighthouse, a mile away, began to
flash its beacon over the dark, graying water with clock-like
regularity.
Against this flashing light, the ruins of our own lighthouse showed
dark and jagged, on a small, rocky island, rising out of the Sound
about a quarter of a mile off our shore, and within easy rowing
distance from the yacht landing. Henry had recently purchased the
island from the Government, and it was now a part of our Sands Cliff
estate. The old beacon tower of stone was built in 1800. In oil-
burning days, its light had counted for something, but now it was
nothing but a picturesque ruin, and largely populated during the
summer by bats.
I had no sooner turned my gaze on the ruined lighthouse when a big
bat swooped down at me out of the darkness. Only the night before,
one of them had got into my bedroom. I've never been able to
overcome my early fear of these nocturnal flying mammals. To my
childish imagination, they were the very spirits of evil. I was in no
mood this night to be pestered by them. A vague uneasiness
possessed me, an uneasiness caused on one hand by Henry's
strained and haggard look, and on the other, by his encouraging
Prince Matani's attentions to Pat.
Perhaps at the moment, his crazy quest in interstellar
communication annoyed me most. I had already suggested to Jane
that we send him to a psychoanalyst to be overhauled. This delving
into the unknown was too ponderable a matter for a man of his
years. It had become fixed on his mind with all the power of an
obsession. All that day he had not stirred from his observatory, and
now Olinski was coming from town to give a verbal report of his own
findings. Much cogitation, much secrecy was, in effect, nothing at all.
Unless they now had found the key. Was it possible that Olinski
might be bringing a transcribed cipher of a radio message from
Mars? His eager acceptance of the invitation to dinner seemed to
hold an important significance for Henry.
Desperately bothered by both problems which confronted me, the
bats made things more annoying still. Then, sudden-like, in the
haunting stillness, I saw something moving towards me from the
blackish void of trees and shrubbery bordering the west end of the
terrace. At first, I was conscious only of an oncoming shadow,
advancing with a rapid, noiseless movement.
I could feel my pulse jumping. Whoever or whatever it was, there
was a risk. Rather than face the risk, I moved quietly but swiftly
across the terrace towards the front door. But that did not stop the
oncoming something; it had suddenly changed its direction and was
coming right at me.
Luckily at that moment, the lights were turned on in the lower part of
the castle. Then Orkins opened the front door, and gave voice to a
surprised exclamation as he saw me making hurriedly for the
doorway.
Suddenly I stopped, and turned. The glow of a floor lamp in the
entrance hall had spread fanwise across the terrace, and into this
arc of light strode—Serge Olinski.
"Oh, hello, Olinski!" I exclaimed, with respectful familiarity, and very
cordially, stretching out my hand, and smiling to myself at the start
he had given me, coming like an abortive something out of the
shadows of the terrace. "That you?"
"Yes; it is I," Olinski replied, shaking my proferred hand, and
breathing rather heavily.
I faced a short, dumpy, middle-aged man, with a paunch, and a
Russian cast of countenance. Small, intelligent black eyes gleamed
through shell-rimmed glasses, from a round face fringed with a short,
black beard. He carried his hat, and I observed that his primly
sleeked hair was as black as his beard. I had a suspicion that he
dyed them.
"I caught an early train from the city, in order to enjoy the benefit of a
walk from the village to your beautiful castle," he explained, half
breathlessly, "after a most exacting but successful day in the
laboratory. A million apologies if I have delayed your dinner."
"Time is infinite in the country, especially on a fine night like this," I
remarked lightly, as we entered the hall, and Orkins relieved him of
his black top-coat and hat. His dinner jacket, I noticed, was much too
small for him, and his waistcoat so short that it came perilously near
revealing a section of his middle-age bulge. There were soup stains
on his shirt-front, which indicated that his shirt had been out to dinner
before.
As I waved him to a chair, I said: "You're really very punctual, even if
you avoided our car which was sent to the station to meet you, and
walked here. You can depend upon it, Prince Matani will not miss the
chance to drive to the castle in state when he steps off the train."
Unconsciously my lips sneered as I spoke the young princeling's
name. Olinski nodded and smiled understandingly. "Ah!" he said. "I
take it that you do not look with favor on the match your scholarly
brother is about to arrange between your charming niece and my
noble countryman?"
"To be frank, no," I replied.
"So I gathered. And why?"
"I have very strong reasons for opposing their marriage," I said; "and
my sister, Jane, is just as dead set against it as I am. Every one
knows that the Prince came to America to make a rich and
advantageous marriage. Pat will soon come into a large inheritance