House of the Angels
Chapter 3: House of the Damned

Mason Noir stood tall and proud amidst the yard full of swamp grasses and mangroves, surrounded by its spiky fence. On the inside it appeared richly decorated, full of expensive furniture and wall hangings. Above the basalt fireplace was the portrait of the house mistress in her red gown lined with silver lace and a diamond tiara placed upon her proud head. But those who knew the secrets of Mason Noir knew far better.

The mistress of the house, Miss Sally Caulfield, was notoriously prideful, snobbish and even cold. She kept her blonde hair clipped close to her head, her dark eyes were set deep within her face and her neat black pantsuit was pressed to perfection. Her lips were of the deepest red, the color of blood and her skin perfectly white. Yes, Sally was beautiful….but incredibly vain.

She stared up at her portrait with disdain, her skinny arms folded with dissatisfaction. Beauty, she thought bitterly. Always trying to slip away from my grasp….no matter how hard I hold onto it, it always manages to slip away…..always there….but always fleeting…..

“Oh hey mother.” Her daughter Hillary freshly remarked. “Still reminiscing about your younger days?”

“Shut your yam you snippy little bitch.” Snarled Sally. “I’ll hear no more talk of that in this house.”

Hillary snorted and cackled. If it was one thing she enjoyed more than anything it was irritating her mother until she was red in the face.

“Oh please mother, we all know this story.” She said with a smirk. “You’re just pissed off because every morning your reflection in the mirror turns to stone.”

Sally flashed her an angry look before jabbing her bony finger at Hillary’s face. “What have I told you about bringing that up?” she hissed. “You never seem to learn your lesson, do you?”

“Oh please,” scoffed Hillary. “I may be young, but at least I do a better job at hiding my age than you do.”

Sally’s rage boiled and seethed the more her daughter talked back to her. Hillary had never seemed to grow out of her brat phase and it only seemed to get worse as time went on.

Hillary lazily trailed up the stairs to the second floor of the house. She could hear Damon, one of her closest companions practicing at his organ in his bedroom. His long, skinny fingers played a tune as dark as night and just as frightening. Damon had an unearthly talent for playing that sort of music, much to Sally’s annoyance.

“Damon, oh Damon.” Hillary chortled. “Mother says to shut up in there!”

Damon came to the door, annoyed that his privacy had been interrupted. “Well then tell your mother that I have no plans to keep quiet. I hate her anyways.”

“Damon, Damon, Damon.” Hillary cooed as she ran a long finger from his collarbone all the way down his bare, rock hard chest. “We all know that Sally is an annoying bitch. That’s why I came to ask if you wanted to get out of the house for a bit.”

Damon looked at her with arched eyebrows. He tossed a lock of his long black hair over his shoulder and contemplated the thought for a moment.

“The thought is tempting.” He purred. “I think the night could use a bit of excitement if you know what I mean.”

“Then go get the others.” Hillary smirked. “We’re about to raise some hell.”

Damon could hardly wait.