My Wild Man

A Stranger

I peeked around the door into the library, marveling at the size of the room and the massive bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling so far above me. The fireplace crackled and hummed, the only source of light besides the few candles on the second floor balcony. Though the drapes were pulled back, the sky outside was a dark blue-black, hidden behind the trees of our property. One of the magnificent velvet red armchairs before the fire was occupied- I spotted the flowing blonde hair wrapped in a loose braid, framing a pale, freckled face with a pointed upturned nose. The sparkling blue eyes focused on the book in her thin hands with rapt attention. I wondered what her books were about, I thought, a tinge of jealousy striking my heart. They must be more interesting than I am.

Perhaps I'd breathed too loud, because the woman turned her gaze towards me, finding me almost immediately behind the crack in the door. Her pale pink lips smiled wide. "Darling, what are you doing up at this hour?"

Her voice lilted and sung like the babbling of the creek. It made my heart soar and my mind feel light. My cheeks flushed under her stare and I cast my eyes down towards my slippers, twiddling with my fingers.

"Come, come," she gestured me over with a wave of her hand. Excitement bubbled in my stomach as I shuffled myself to her chair and the warmth of the fire radiated over my chilled skin.

"What are you reading, mother?" I asked shyly, settling in the folds of her frilly off-white nightgown and resting my chin on the seat of her chair by her knee.

She smiled again, opening her book where her thumb kept her place. "This book is called 'Dracula'. It's about the internal struggle of a man who becomes... a monster!" I laughed and giggled as she attacked me with curled fingers, tickling under my chin and my arms.

"Won't you read it to me?" I gave her my best pleading eyes, looking up at her from under large lashes. I wanted to know what had caused her to look so intrigued earlier- so focused, so enthralled.

She laughed freely, throwing her head back and closing her eyes in a beautiful, hushed way. "I'm not sure I should be reading this to my four-year-old son..." She placed a hand to her chin in thought, her other hand rubbing over the embellished cover. I noticed the golden drawing of a man with pointed teeth in a wide-open grimace. Is it a scary story? I wondered curiously. "How about we read this together when you're a little older," she said, setting the book aside on the nearby couch and picking up another one instead. "But there is one that is just as unsettling and mysterious... One that makes you question what it means to be sane! Or who you can trust!" She held the book up before me with wide eyes full of drama and her whispers laced with intensity. "The story of The Woman in White!"

In awe, I slowly read the title at the top of the cover, then took in the drawing of a young woman in a white dress with a rather distressed look on her face. "Are there monsters in this book, mother?" I asked hopefully, doing my best to read the name of the author.

Here her smile fell, and she leaned in as if to whisper a secret, her sky-blue eyes suddenly sad. "Not all monsters are repulsive creatures on the outside, my love," she said quietly to me. Her hand caressed my cheek, rubbing my skin and pushing the hair back from my eyes. "Most often, they take the form of man. Like you or me."