After a day spent in this massive mansion, Kate assumed her hold on the geography of the place was pretty strong. Unfortunately, the house took on a life of its own after dark. Every gothic romance she read said as much, but she didn’t believe it until she wandered the halls of Woodward House without a clue how to get around. This house needed a “You Are Here” map…or a logical layout. Whenever Kate thought she’d figured out where she was, she turned into what she thought was the living room, only to find she’d stumbled upon an indoor squash court or a stadium-sized library. Like a real-life episode of Scooby-Doo, she would enter a door and seem to come out halfway across the house. She didn’t believe in curses or hauntings or anything so ridiculous, but if any house in the world was going to be under a spell, the old house on the hill of Miller’s Point was probably the most likely of candidates.

It seemed to go on like that for hours, until she finally stumbled upon the staircase leading down to the first floor. Tripping down the stairs in her excitement, Kate rushed for the living room, practically slipping in her socks as she slid towards the living room and tossed open the doors.

“Hey, Clark!”

…she said, to an entirely empty, darkened room. A flick of the light switch revealed this was no prank. He just wasn’t there.

Kate’s stomach grumbled. Going to the kitchen would kill two birds with one stone; she’d have her fill of whatever she could find in the fridge, and the resonant noise from her singing against the tile floors and backsplash would carry easily to wherever Clark hid in this massive manor.

She waltzed through the swinging door. The kitchen was not as she left it this morning, hustling and bustling with overflowing platters and saucepans. Its tidiness smacked of Clark’s presence. He’d been in here recently, and he’d cleaned the house of any trace of her guests and their feast. Kate’s stomach grumbled, more insistently this time.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you,” she muttered, patting her own gut.

To her great relief, cobwebs and canned chickens were not the only thing lining the pantry. Leftover sundries and dishes from the luncheon—left behind by eager-to-leave guests—littered the cupboards and the refrigerator. Sating her hunger temporarily, Kate picked at a honey-roasted ham from the fridge as she explored the rest of her options. Sweet potato biscuits… Apple pie… Garlic mashed potatoes… Roasted cauliflower… Turkey legs… Stuffed artichokes.

When she opened the fridge, all debate ceased. Trays of frozen sugar cookie dough waited to be cut out and baked to golden, sugary perfection. A devious smile painted itself across Kate’s hungry lips.

“Come to Mama…”