Linda pinched her lips. “I’m just tired, I think.” She pushed away the unfamiliar sensation of fear. “This process is difficult.”
“I think you mean journey,” Sabrina said. They laughed. The producers required them to utilize the language chosen by the network—words that masked the truth. “We’re going to have fun,” Sabrina said. Her skin had taken on a happy glow in the morning light. “No matter what wild-ass scheme Tristan cooked up for us.”
From the front of the van, Charity glanced back. Her expression seemed filled with longing, like she wanted to come back and laugh along with them. Marion paid them no heed. Linda wished she could tell Sabrina what she’d read in the gas station, but she didn’t want to break her contract. The network could sue for any breach, and Linda didn’t need more financial woes.
“Yes, please, to fun.” Linda rested her head on Sabrina’s shoulder. Charity turned back around to face the front. The van moved forward, onto the highway, then into the woods.
• • •
The town called Matrimony was a ghost town. One dirt road led up a stout mountain, and as the van crept along it, Linda watched the rundown buildings pass. There was no telling what they used to be with their rotted signs.
At the top of the mountain stood the manor. As they neared it, Linda made out its roof reaching toward the sky and walls of gray stone with wood accents. A giant iron gate surrounded it, and through the thin slats, Linda took note of the heavy woods that formed a natural fence. She scanned the gate line, which faded into trees, at one patch of forest that looked like it led from the manor to a path down the mountain. When the van rolled to the gate, Deja removed a clicker from her pocket and aimed it at a keypad. The gate crept open with a meandering squeal. The driver rolled inside, and Deja clicked the device again, closing the gate behind them.
“Where are we?” Marion said.
“You know I can’t say until we’ve got a good shot.” Deja bumped back into her seat. The driver took them up a long dirt driveway flanked by un-manicured bushes. Off to the side, a vast orchard sprawled. The van parked in front of the manor. The women gathered their things, disembarked, and waited by the driveway while the camera crew hurried outside.
A fine mist came down. Linda had never been so far north, but she understood that rain was a common occurrence in certain parts of the world, and she’d often wondered why people had ever used wood at all on their houses there. An abundance, she guessed, peering into the thickets that surrounded the place and obscured the mountains.
As Linda waited to be summoned, queued, lined up, and prompted, she stepped closer to the woods. The fence that protected the estate from the poor people who once lived below—or their ghosts—threaded through the dense forest. The trees seemed to bend toward her.
“The trees,” she murmured, partly to Sabrina, but primarily to herself.
“Kind of like this place I saw in a magazine one time.” Sabrina stood beside her. “The crooked forest? Something like that. In Poland.”
“Yeah? What made them that way?”
“Man-made, I think?” she said. “I didn’t get to finish the article. Got called over to do a patient. The magazine got tossed.”
“I didn’t think hospitals ever tossed those mags.” Linda felt dueling urges to run into the woods and away from them, to run toward the manor and away from it. Linda shook her head; she was letting the spooky vibes get to her.
“What are you nerds talking about?” Marion came up beside them. “I never know what it is you two are saying.”
“We’re talking about twisted forests,” Sabrina said.
“Is that some kind of euphemism?” Marion said.
“Big word,” Charity said from behind them. Her voice was silk, and a quiver traveled down Linda’s body. “They’re ready for us, by the way.”
“You know, I did hear that a certain bachelor has a twisted trunk,” Linda said as they walked back over to the camera crew.
Sabrina snorted, and Linda took note of Charity trying hard not to laugh. It made her want to make another joke, to force the levity from Charity’s lips whether she liked it or not.
“What’s funny?” Deja said as she moved from woman to woman and straightened their shirts. “No jokes until the cameras roll.”
“We were just talking about wood,” Sabrina said. Deja raised her eyebrows. Sabrina motioned to the forest. “The trees, Deja.”
“Yeah, yeah. They were shaped that way by the prior inhabitants of the Matrimony Manor. The Williams family. They were loggers, and they experimented with growing trees into bendy shapes to make it easier for furniture builders, et cetera.” Deja waved her hand as though that were the end of the explanation. “We’re on network TV, so act like the ladies you’re not.”
Linda grimaced. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re rolling in three…two…” Deja held up one finger.
Brandon Fuller strode from the front of the manor, Tristan by his side. They both wore simple suits as they took their places in front of the line of women.
“You’re probably wondering why we brought you to an isolated manor in a ghost town in the middle of nowhere,” Brandon said. “Well, ladies—you’re here to be tested.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Tristan, why don’t you tell these lovely ladies what this test is all about?”
“Sure,” he said. “This big old house here is haunted. It’s got a lot of history. As you all know, I like scary stuff. But more than that, I need a woman who isn’t afraid—of haunted houses, tough conversations, a kid’s temper tantrum, or of new adventures. I do a lot of scary stuff. I need a lady who can be by my side, from bungee jumping to jumping from a plane. Man, I need a lady who can handle a haunting.”
Linda wanted to laugh; in ordinary circles, she would be sure this was a joke. With Tristan, she knew it wasn’t. He honestly thought he needed a wife who could handle a ghost. She desired to break character and ask, You see a lot of ghosts, Tristan? Something you want to tell us about your family’s farm, Tristan? But instead, she kept her determined face front-and-center—the face that said instead, No haunting is going to keep me from true love. And maybe she’d say those words out loud later, in the confessional.
“That’s right, ladies,” Brandon said. “Next week, the remaining three women will be taking Tristan home to meet their families, to spend a night in the homes where they grew up. You might end up in some uncomfortable conversations with loved ones who don’t understand this journey. Tonight, and for the next seven days, you’ll all be spending your days and nights in what’s certain to be an uncomfortable situation: a haunted mansion in the middle of nowhere. Not all of you will be able to handle it. The ladies who survive all the way to the final day will be the ladies who move on to next week. Those who buckle under the pressure?” He made a slashing motion at his throat.
“As you can see, the van is leaving.” He frowned, a momentary lapse of his staged facade. “There will be no way to leave this place unless you decide to leave the show.” On cue, the van pulled away down the long drive. Brandon tapped his watch. “Your week in this house starts…now! Good luck, ladies. You’re going to need it!” He relaxed and nodded at Tristan, no longer the focus of the cameras’ gaze as they shifted to cover the women’s reactions. “Be seeing you,” he said to Tristan. “Have fun!”
“I sure will!” Tristan said as Brandon jogged around the manor to his waiting helicopter. Deja frowned and followed after him, but Linda couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“Well, what do you think?” Tristan said to the contestants.
Marion ran up to Tristan and threw her arms around him for the thousandth time. “It’s gorgeous!” she said. “I can’t wait to spend the next week here. Is there an Ouija board somewhere?”
Tristan laughed. “Maybe? We can check.”
“Yeah! Marion, we can call on the ghosts of your fashion sense,” Charity said. She squeezed his hand. “How many beds are in that fancy house?”
Tristan blushed. “Enough,” he said.
Sabrina turned on her reserved charm and smiled her killer smile. “I love a challenge.” But her lips shook as they fell back into their standard line.
