Set In Stone
“How are we doing today Mrs. Jordan?” The nurse's voice echoes against the bare walls of my room. They are a light shade of blue that I suppose is supposed to be soothing. It’s not, and I wish they’d call me by my maiden name. The door creaks open as she steps in to set a tray of food and a little paper cup of pills on the table. I flick my eyes in her direction and offer a soft smile of acknowledgement, nothing more, nothing less. I don’t move from my spot at the window, and we both know I’m not going to take the meds they keep trying to give me. I’m not crazy. Of course, I tried explaining that to them when I first got here and that was a mistake. I haven’t spoken since. There’s no point, it only ever makes me sound crazier. So I just sit here, staring out the window, thinking about the month we bought that house. I wonder if they’ll ever let me go back to it… The gargoyles probably miss me.
I was always the kind of person who wanted to bring in all the grocery bags at once, I never liked making two trips. I was the same way with big decisions, I was an all or nothing person. I guess you could say I still am. Me and Nick had only been dating for six months when he proposed, I said yes, and we were married at the courthouse two weeks later. Then we started looking for a house, stumbled across this beautiful Gothic architecture, which was way below market value, and I said we just had to see it. I didn’t know what it would do to him, I didn’t know what kind of person he would become. How could I? In a way it was a blessing, who knows if it would have been too late when I saw him for who he really was.
It was a chilly October evening when we first laid eyes on it. It was like a mansion, with black iron gates at the entry, intricate stone walls, and two gargoyles atop pillars on either side of the door. It was so magnificent that I didn’t even flinch when the real estate agent disclosed that the previous owner had passed away at the house. Apparently he had fallen from the second story balcony, and his children chose to sell the place. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the two massive stone gargoyles sitting at the entry. Their faces contorted into a snarl, and their talons gripping the ledge of the pillar. I begged Nick to make an offer. I wonder if he ever felt the same pull that I did, or if he just liked the idea of living somewhere that looked like it was beyond our means.
Mere weeks from that day, I was running my hand over the arch of the gargoyles back in between bringing boxes back and forth. It wasn’t until we were moving in that I saw the rusted copper plates bolted beneath each one. Guardians, it said. I wonder if it was my awe of them that inspired a connection, or maybe my touch, or maybe just me. The inside was nearly as beautiful as the outside, with dark mahogany wood all throughout the house, and renaissance artwork bolted to the walls. The children of the man before us were so happy to get the house off their hands that they let us keep a majority of the furnishings that had been left behind. Nick thought it was creepy, but I thought it added even more charm, and convinced him it meant less work and financial strain. You could tell the man had loved this house, seeing how well taken care of everything was.
It wasn’t even our second night in the house that it started, to my delight and to Nick's horror. It must have been nearly two in the morning when a loud and sudden grinding noise woke us. It sounded heavy and rough, like bricks tumbling against each other followed by the sound of a deep crack, and then silence. I remember Nick scrambling out of the bed after me as I took to the balcony doors to peer through the sheer curtains. He called my name over and over, talking about some sort of foundational crack, and trying to pull me away and out the door. However, I was firmly planted with my eyes wide and jaw slack at what I was seeing. His panic was escalating and he was half-way out the bedroom door on his own when I told him to wait, look outside. I should’ve just let him leave. He walked up behind me and we both stared at the empty spaces atop the pillars.
The room shook and Nick yelped as one of the gargoyles appeared on the balcony outside, stoic and poised as it gripped the railing, peering in at me. The slick gray stone of its body was illuminated by the moon, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My husband was still in shock as I threw the doors open, stepping onto the balcony. My hand looked so small as I reached out to press my palm against the callous stone. Despite the frightening appearance of their sculpting, I knew deep in my being that I had no reason to be afraid. A moment passed before the magnificent beast extended the wings from its back, the grinding of stone much louder up close, and the room shook once more as it pushed off and disappeared into the night.
When Nick eventually came out of his stupor, he grabbed me by the arms and just kept repeating what had just happened, saying it as a statement and a question. His grip was so tight there would be bruises on the back of my arms where his fingers dug into me. I tried to calm him that entire night. I told him how I felt, and about the plague calling them guardians, and told him I could tell they weren’t there to hurt us. His eyes widened as he backed away from me with every word I said, as if he was scared of me too. He paced around the house, muttering about how this couldn’t be happening. I only tried to interrupt him once, to say that it was incredible, but his voice was a whip as he called me insane. When morning came, the gargoyles were back in their resting place, still as ever.
Nick became unbound as the nights continued like this. He couldn’t stand my amazement and he was repulsed by my delight. I would find him in the kitchen staring at the paperwork for our home, talking to himself about how much money was wrapped up in this place, and how we would never get out. The sweet man I married disappeared into this distorted, cruel man. He was consumed by anger and a desire to break my bond with the house. Wanting me to see through his eyes, with no sense of wonder or awe, he would lash out at me anytime I tried to speak about wanting to stay. His words wounded deep, but he didn’t care. We spent our days drifting apart with each passing moment, and at night I would wait by the balcony. I felt his resentment in the shadows, and took solace in my stone protectors.
It was late January when the incident happened. Dusk was settling across the sky and I was standing in my usual spot on the balcony when I saw him walking through the front yard. Holding some sort of pickaxe with determination in his stride as he headed towards the gargoyles I had grown to adore. He looked up at me, flashing a grin, and I felt my heart break. I turned to run into the house only to find the balcony door wouldn’t open. He had locked me out damning me to watch as he destroyed them. I screamed as he swung, and I turned away as the first blow struck. The sound rang out bellowing through the air, I waited to hear the next strike, but the sound of metal on stone never came. It was only when I heard a familiar groan that I opened my eyes and looked down at where my husband once stood, no longer there.
Now here I sit, surrounded by bare blue walls and people who think I’ve lost my mind, always asking where Nick is. I stare out the grated window and feel nothing but longing to be reunited with my house. I sigh, standing to make my way to bed, when I feel the tile beneath my feet vibrate following a heavy thud. My breath catches with joy as I press myself to the window and see moonlight reflecting off smooth gray stone. My protectors, they’ve come for me.