Chapter 2: The HOA Rules
The First HOA Meeting
Claire and David walked across the manicured lawn of the recreation center, the setting sun casting long shadows across the meticulously trimmed grass. They had to cross the central groove of the neighborhood to get to the recreation center where the meeting was being held. As they walked under the well-tended arbors, Clair couldn’t help but admit there was something to the well-organized suburban conformity. The grove was stunning, as you emerged from one of nine rows of arbors the central garden was made up of concentric rings of plantings with an enormous, flat rock in the center. Still, Claire couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her stomach.
"I don't know about this, David," she said, her hand tightening around his arm. "There's something off about this place. The way everyone smiles, the way the houses all look the same..."
David patted her hand reassuringly. "It's just a neighborhood meeting, honey. It's probably going to be boring stuff about trash pickup schedules and noise ordinances."
Claire nodded, but the knot in her stomach didn't loosen. As they approached the recreation center, she noticed the landscaping - the bushes were trimmed into perfect geometric shapes, the flowers arranged in symmetrical patterns. It was all too perfect, like something out of a movie set.
Inside, the meeting room was already filling up with residents. They wore similar shades of beige and cream, their smiles a little too wide, their eyes a little too bright. David tugged at his collar, clearly uncomfortable in the polo shirt Claire had insisted he wear.
"See? Perfectly normal," he whispered as they found seats in the back.
But Claire couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. The air felt heavy, charged with an energy she couldn't quite place. She glanced around the room, taking in the faces of her new neighbors, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.
That's when she noticed Evelyn, standing at the front of the room. The HOA president was stunning, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her red lips curved into a smile that was both welcoming and predatory. She surveyed the room like a queen overseeing her subjects, her eyes lingering on each resident in turn.
As the meeting began, Claire found herself struggling to focus on the mundane topics being discussed. Her attention kept drifting to Evelyn, to the way the woman's fingers tapped against the podium, to the strange glint in her eyes whenever someone asked a question.
And then, just as the meeting was wrapping up, Evelyn announced a "special committee session" for select members. Claire watched as a small group of residents filed out of the room, their expressions blank, their movements almost robotic.
"I'm going to use the restroom," Claire whispered to David. "I'll meet you outside."
But instead of heading to the restroom, Claire found herself drawn to the room where the special committee was meeting. The door was slightly ajar, and she could hear Evelyn's voice, low and hypnotic, drifting out into the hallway.
Unable to resist, Claire peered through the crack in the door. Inside, the committee members sat in a trance-like state, eyes glazed over, swaying slightly. Evelyn strutted around the room, trailing her fingers across their shoulders, down their spines. They shuddered and sighed at her touch, leaning into it. She murmured to them in a hypnotic purr, "You're all being so very good for me. So obedient."
The air felt thick and heavy with an unnatural sexual energy. Shadows slithered across the walls, pooling in the crevices of bodies. The wood grains of the table seemed to undulate and pulse. Claire thought she saw patterns in the wallpaper and carpet subtly shifted into suggestive curves and spirals, like Rorschach inkblots. She shook her head in disbelief.
Wide-eyed, Claire backed away from the door, heart pounding. She didn't understand what she just witnessed, but she knew it was very wrong. She had to get out of this place.
The Manual Delivery
Claire Parker had thought her current book, The Werewolf's Renovation would be straightforward - a small-town bookstore owner hires a contractor who happens to turn furry during full moons to renovate the quaint, small-town bookstore she’s inherited. Simple. Sexy. Marketable. But now, six chapters in, she was realizing that writing renovation-themed werewolf erotica required a surprisingly thorough knowledge of both construction terminology and lupine anatomy. She really should have done more research before deciding her hero would renovate the heroine's bookstore by day and ravish her by moonlight. She stared at her laptop screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard as she re-read her latest:
Blake’s muscles flexed, each sinew rippling under his tanned skin as he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the heap of renovation debris scattered across the bookstore’s floor. Sawdust clung to his glistening torso, accentuating every chiseled contour of his broad chest, the defined ridges of his abs, and the tantalizing V that dipped below the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Serena’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening as his piercing gaze locked onto hers. His pupils dilated, darkening with a primal, ravenous hunger that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
“The support beam isn’t the only thing that needs attention,” Blake growled, his voice low and gravelly, thick with unspoken desire. His skin shimmered under the dim light filtering through the bookstore’s half-boarded windows, a faint glow pulsing as the transformation began. Dark, coarse hair spread across his chest, thickening into a rugged pelt that trailed down his abdomen, hinting at the beast within. His shoulders broadened, muscles bulging with supernatural strength, and his eyes gleamed with a feral intensity that made Serena’s knees weak.
She licked her lips, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and longing. “I’ve been holding back all week, Blake,” she confessed, her words barely above a whisper. “Watching you plan this renovation, the way you handle that level… so precise, so controlled. It’s been driving me wild.” Her eyes traced the hard lines of his body, lingering on the bulge straining against his jeans, a silent promise of what was to come.
Serena’s back hit the exposed brick wall of the bookstore, the rough texture biting into her skin through her thin blouse. Her heart pounded, heat pooling low in her belly as Blake stalked closer, his movements fluid and predatory. “The contractor’s permit doesn’t cover this kind of work,” she teased, her voice breathy, though the challenge in her tone was undercut by the way her body arched toward him, craving his touch.
Now fully transformed into his wolf-man form, Blake was a vision of raw, untamed power—magnificent and primal, his towering frame radiating heat and dominance. His clawed hand reached for her, possessively cupping her face, his thumb brushing over her parted lips. “Then consider this pro bono,” he rumbled, his voice a deep growl that vibrated through her core. He closed the distance between them, claiming her mouth in a searing, possessive kiss. His lips were hot, demanding, his tongue delving into her with a hunger that left her dizzy. Serena moaned into his mouth, her hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fur-dusted muscle as she surrendered to the intensity of his kiss.
Blake’s other hand slid down her body, his claws grazing her skin with just enough pressure to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through her. He found the hem of her skirt and pushed it up, bunching the fabric around her hips to reveal the delicate lace of her panties, already damp with her arousal. His fingers teased her through the thin material, circling her throbbing clit with slow, deliberate strokes that made her gasp and buck against him. “Fuck, Serena,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough with need. “You’re so wet for me already.”
She whimpered, her head falling back against the wall as his fingers slipped beneath the lace, parting her slick folds to find her pulsing core. He teased her entrance, dipping just inside before retreating, drawing out her desperation. “Blake, please,” she begged, her voice a needy whine as her hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly withholding.
“I’m going to renovate more than just your bookstore,” he promised, his tone dark and wicked as he sank to his knees before her. His clawed hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wide as he nuzzled against the damp lace, inhaling her scent with a low, primal groan. With a swift tug, he tore the panties away, the fabric shredding under his claws, leaving her bare and exposed to his hungry gaze. His tongue flicked out, lapping at her clit with slow, deliberate strokes that sent jolts of ecstasy through her body. Serena’s hands tangled in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer as she moaned his name, her thighs trembling under his relentless assault.
Blake’s tongue delved deeper, plunging into her heat as his claws dug into her hips, anchoring her against the wall. He devoured her with a ferocity that matched his wolfish form, alternating between long, languid licks and sharp, teasing flicks that drove her to the edge of madness. Her body arched, every nerve alight with pleasure as she teetered on the brink of release. “Blake, I’m—oh, God, I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking as he growled against her, the vibrations sending her spiraling over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her, a wave of blinding pleasure that left her shaking, her cries echoing through the empty bookstore.
But Blake wasn’t done. Rising to his feet, he pressed his body against hers, the hard length of his arousal straining against his jeans, pressing insistently against her thigh. “You think that’s all I’ve got? Wait until you see my… hammer.” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “I’m just getting started, Serena. By the time I’m through, every inch of you will be mine.”
Blake’s lips curled into a wicked grin, his amber eyes glinting with feral promise as he pressed himself closer, the hard ridge of his arousal grinding against Serena’s thigh through the rough denim of his jeans. Her body still trembled from the aftershocks of her climax, but the heat in his gaze reignited the fire in her core, her need for him insatiable. She reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, desperate to feel him; all of him.
“Impatient, aren’t you?” Blake growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. He caught her wrists in one clawed hand, pinning them above her head against the rough brick wall, the texture biting into her skin. The dominance in his grip made her pulse race, her breath hitching as she squirmed under his hold, her exposed core aching for more. With his free hand, he deftly unfastened his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening with precum, the base already swelling slightly with the promise of his knot.
Serena’s eyes widened, her mouth watering at the sight of him: primal, powerful, and undeniably hers. “Blake,” she whispered, her voice thick with need, “I need you. Now.”
He didn’t make her wait. Releasing her wrists, he gripped her hips, lifting her effortlessly until her legs wrapped around his waist, her slick heat pressed against his throbbing length. The brick wall scraped against her back as he pinned her there, his claws digging into her thighs with just enough pressure to make her gasp. “You’re mine, Serena,” he snarled, his lips brushing her ear before nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck. “Every fucking inch of you.”
With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, his cock stretching her tight walls in a delicious burn that made her cry out. He filled her completely, the sensation overwhelming as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythm that was both punishing and exquisite. Serena’s nails raked down his back, catching in the coarse fur that dusted his shoulders, urging him on as she rocked against him, meeting every thrust with equal fervor.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Blake groaned, his voice rough with pleasure as he angled his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside her. Her moans grew louder, echoing through the empty bookstore, mingling with the wet sounds of their bodies moving together. His pace quickened, each thrust driving her closer to the edge, her body trembling with the intensity of it all.
Then she felt the swelling at the base of his cock, the knot beginning to form as his wolfish nature took over. It pressed against her entrance, a firm, unyielding pressure that sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through her. “Blake,” she gasped, her voice a mix of awe and desperation, “it’s—oh, God, it’s so much.”
“Take it,” he growled, his eyes locking onto hers, wild and possessive. “Take all of me.” He slowed his thrusts, rolling his hips to ease the knot past her entrance, stretching her impossibly wider. Serena whimpered, her body adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the sensation teetering on the edge of too much. When the knot finally locked inside her, binding them together, she cried out, her body shuddering as a second orgasm ripped through her, more intense than the first.
Blake’s growl turned into a primal roar, his thrusts becoming short and sharp as he chased his own release, the knot pulsing inside her, sealing their connection. “Fuck, Serena,” he panted, his clawed hands gripping her hips as he spilled inside her, his release hot and endless, filling her until she felt claimed in every way. The knot held him in place, their bodies locked together as waves of pleasure coursed through them, their breaths mingling in the charged air.
For a moment, they stayed like that, pressed against the wall, hearts pounding in sync. Blake’s forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged but tender as he nuzzled her cheek. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, though still laced with that primal edge.
Serena nodded, her body still trembling, the knot keeping them joined as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her. “Uhhh, I think I’m stuck,” she whispered, doubt creeping into her voice. “And we’ve got more work to do… this knotting thing is pretty inconvenient. Kind of impractical?”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. “But we’re not done yet, sweetheart. This bookstore’s getting a full overhaul.”
Claire grimaced at the screen and pulled her hand out of her pants, realizing she’d been typing with one hand. Werewolves were so hot, but she'd written herself into a corner with the renovation metaphors, and she was pretty sure some of the construction terminology didn't work on either an architectural or literary level. Also, was "pro bono" too sophisticated for a werewolf contractor? Maybe she should stick to simpler innuendos about his "power tools."
A sharp knock at the door made her jump. Through the window of her home office, which for some reason faced directly into her neighbor's shed, she caught a flash of a cream-colored skin-tight body suit. Claire quickly minimized her manuscript and closed the browser tabs full of renovation terminology and Maine bookstore floor plans.
The knock came again, more insistent this time, accompanied by a cheerful "Hello!"
Claire groaned. Evelyn Whitmore had apparently decided that 10 AM on a Tuesday was the perfect time for an impromptu visit. Claire shoved her laptop under a pile of laundry she kept specifically for emergency manuscript-hiding purposes.
"Coming!" she called, attempting to sound delighted rather than interrupted.
She opened the door to find Evelyn clutching what appeared to be the complete works of Shakespeare, but on closer inspection turned out to be the Cedar Lane Homeowners Association Manual (Unabridged).
"Claire!" Evelyn's smile was bright enough to require sunglasses. "I realized we haven't had our official manual review session yet. You must know all the rules."
"Oh, that's really not—" Claire started, but Evelyn had already swept past her into the house, trailing an aura of expensive perfume. She began moving things around, checking sight lines and looking at the walls and ceilings and nodding.
"Our neighborhood is designed for peak energy efficiency! It’s the latest in smart home technology that ensures these homes use as little as 40% of what non-smart/non-efficient homes use. For the systems to work, they have to be unobstructed." Evelyn pointed at a small aperture in the wall on the far side of the couch that Claire hadn’t noticed. “The system's documentation is in your welcome guide, including the location of all the sensors. Please check to make sure you’ve laid your furnishings out properly,” she removed a throw pillow from the couch “it’s part of the HOA covenants you agreed to when you moved in.”
Claire followed, trying not to panic as Evelyn approached her couch where the corner of her laptop peeked out from under the laundry. "You know what? The office has much better light for reading. And chairs. Chairs are good."
"Nonsense, this is perfect!" Evelyn settled into a chair, setting the manual down with a thump that probably registered on seismic monitors. "Though this room really could use some ecru - maybe ‘Linen Whisper’. Have you considered our approved color palette? In order for the light sensors to calibrate your HVAC properly you have to decorate using approved colors - I personally prefer 'Suburban Surrender' to 'Conformity Cream.'"
Claire watched in horror as Evelyn's manicured hand drifted toward the laundry pile. "Those need to be washed!" she blurted. "They're very... dirty. Possibly contagious. Ethan's been skateboarding in them."
Evelyn's hand recoiled as if the laundry might bite. "Speaking of your son's recreational activities, we really must discuss the proper protocols for wheeled transportation within Cedar Lane. Did you know all skateboards must be registered?"
"Oh, really," Claire said, trying not to roll her eyes. "With whom?"
"The Cedar Lane Safety Council. It’s all volunteer, not like a private police force or anything draconian like that. But they do like to keep track of who’s who in the neighborhood, cars, skateboards, bikes; that sort of thing. Mostly to keep out the bad elements. We have to preserve the sanctity of our neighborhood, after all." Evelyn opened the manual to a page that had been tagged with at least twenty color-coded sticky notes. "Now, shall we begin with Chapter One: 'Achieving Suburban Harmony'?"
Claire sank into the room's other chair, resigning herself to what promised to be a very long morning. Under the laundry pile, her laptop made the distinctive sound of a new email arriving. Probably her editor asking about her deadline. Evelyn's perfectly-penciled eyebrows rose inquiringly.
"Browser notification," Claire lied smoothly. "From a very respectable news site. About... lawn care."
"Wonderful!" Evelyn beamed. "We'll cover proper law care in Chapter Eight. But first, let's discuss the importance of approved outdoor noise devices… like windchimes."
Claire nodded along, mentally revising her next novel's villain to include more Stepford wife energy and a concerning obsession with beige. Sometimes reality really did provide the best material. As long as she could keep it hidden under a pile of laundry.
The Rules Review
"Now then," Evelyn said, opening the manual with the reverence usually reserved for ancient religious texts. "Let's begin with the basics of suburban harmony."
"Chapter One," Evelyn intoned, her red lips curving into what might have been a smile or a warning, "Section A: Exterior Maintenance and Cosmic Alignment."
Claire shifted in her chair, trying to look interested while keeping one eye on the laundry pile concealing her laptop. "Cosmic alignment?"
"All mailboxes must be painted in approved shades," Evelyn began, "and positioned at precisely 37.2 degrees relative to magnetic north. This ensures proper energy flow and timely mail delivery." She paused, frowning at Claire's notes. "Are you writing this down?"
"Oh, absolutely," Claire lied, pretending to jot something in her notebook while actually adding to her story ideas: Villain delivers exposition through increasingly bizarre suburban regulations.
"Wonderful! Moving on to garden ornaments." Evelyn flipped to a section marked with no fewer than twelve color-coded tabs. "All garden gnomes must face magnetic north, maintain a minimum distance of 3.7 feet from any reflective surface, and under no circumstances should they be allowed to hold miniature gardening implements."
"What about tiny fishing poles?"
Evelyn's smile tightened. "That would fall under Article 7, Subsection C: 'Prohibited Gnome Activities.' Now, about your garden..."
"My garden?"
“Gardens are required, and must be populated with approved flora of the appropriate colors." Evelyn's perfectly manicured nail traced down a page of regulations. "Cedar Lane only permits flowers in shades of..." she paused for dramatic effect.
"Let me guess. Beige flowers," Claire repeated flatly. "In a garden."
Evelyn laughed, a little too loudly. “Can you imagine?!? How horrible. No - we allow white or darkest purple. We’re partial to gardenias and tulips, but we don’t want to micromanage. We want you to express your creativity! We find uniform colors promote community cohesion. Speaking of which, let's discuss the scheduled activities." Evelyn flipped to another section. "Each day begins with Synchronized Sprinkler Meditation at 6 AM, followed by Communal Contemplation at 7 AM. Wednesdays are reserved for Wind Chime Harmonization. You'll need to have your chimes tuned to D minor."
Claire nodded numbly as Evelyn continued.
"No garlic cooking is permitted due to neighborhood allergies. Food delivery is strictly prohibited except from approved vendors. All trash must be sorted by color, material, and rare earth metal content. And of course, no unauthorized gatherings after dark."
"Define 'unauthorized,'" Claire ventured.
"Any gathering not approved by the HOA Special Committee." Evelyn's smile widened. "Your husband David should join! He has... potential."
Something in Evelyn's tone made Claire's skin crawl. "And what exactly does the Special Committee do?"
"Oh, the usual." Evelyn waved a hand dismissively. "Maintain community standards, enforce regulations, perform occasional rites—"
“Rites?” Claire asked, arching an eyebrow.
Evelyn stopped abruptly. "Did I say rites? Well, you know. Bloom rotations, that sort of thing. For the community flowerbeds."
A notification sound from Claire's laptop pierced the silence. Claire jumped, accidentally knocking over the laundry pile. Evelyn's eyes fixed on the exposed corner of the computer with predatory intensity.
"What's that?"
"Just a... calendar reminder," Claire said quickly, shoving the laptop deeper under the clothes. "I need to go shopping, the GAP’s new fall beige lineup just came out."
"How dedicated!" Evelyn beamed. "Now, back to the inside of your wonderful new home. These systems are automated; no human can see through the sensors and no readings go outside your home, so you don’t have to worry about privacy. The systems will, however, send an alert to the HOA should they not be able to complete their tasks as assigned. If they’re blocked or the color palette is an unapproved shade..."
Claire tuned out as Evelyn continued, focusing instead on the woman’s long, blood red nails that looked like they’d been sharpened. On her desk, her laptop made another noise. Definitely her editor this time, probably wondering why Chapter Seven of The Werewolf's Renovation had devolved into a detailed critique of suburban conformity.
"—and finally," Evelyn concluded what felt like hours later, "all residents must participate in the monthly book club. We're currently reading Eat, Pray, Hedge Maintenance: A Spiritual Journey.'"
"Sounds riveting," Claire managed.
"Oh, it is." Evelyn stood, smoothing her completely smooth body suit. "The chapter about pruning shears had half the neighborhood in tears. Now, I'll leave you with the compliance forms. They must be submitted in triplicate, notarized, and signed in the special red ink which provided in your welcome basket."
She placed a stack of papers on Claire's desk. "Do give them your full attention. We wouldn't want any... unfortunate incidents."
As Evelyn clicked her way out of the office on her perfect beige heels, Claire eyed the manual like an animal that might snap at her at any moment. She quickly shoved it under the laundry pile with her laptop.
Through the window, she watched Evelyn stride across the lawn, pausing to adjust a neighbor's wind chime by exactly two degrees. The sprinklers activated in perfect synchronization, and somewhere in the distance, a lawn mower started up, its engine humming in what sounded like D minor.
David's Involvement
David Parker wiped sweat from his forehead as he wrestled with the hedge trimmer. Three hours into yard work, and he still couldn't get the shrubs to match the precise geometric specifications outlined in page 47 of the HOA manual. Every time he thought he had the angle right, the shadow would shift, revealing another irregular branch mocking his efforts.
"You're holding it wrong."
He nearly dropped the trimmer at the sound of Evelyn's voice. She stood on his lawn in a champagne-colored sheath dress that clung to every curve, designer sunglasses perched perfectly on her nose beneath a wide-brimmed fedora. Her high heels sank ever so slightly into the grass, though she somehow maintained perfect balance. Her magnificent breasts strained against the expensive fabric, defying both gravity and HOA rules on shadow directionality. David found himself wondering if there was a specific rule about cup size in Cedar Lane.
"The angle should be exactly thirty-seven degrees," Evelyn continued, stepping closer. Her perfume carried notes of vanilla and something darker, something that made his pulse quicken. "Here, let me show you."
She moved behind him, her body pressing against his back as she adjusted his grip on the trimmer. David was momentarily self-conscious about his sweat dampened shirt, but she was pressing against him firmly and didn’t seem to mind. Her hands were cool against his sun-warmed skin. "Like this," she murmured, her breath tickling his ear. "Firm but gentle. Control is everything." She pressed against him more firmly, and wiggled, ever so slightly.
David swallowed hard. When had yard work become so... intimate? "I've been studying the manual," he managed.
"Mmm, I can tell." Her hands lingered on his arms. "You have such... attention to detail. The Special Committee needs men like you, David. Men who understand the importance of proper maintenance."
He turned to face her, painfully aware of how close they were standing and the tight feeling in his pants. "The Special Committee?"
"A select group of residents dedicated to maintaining Cedar Lane's standards." Her red lips curved into a smile that made him think of predators. "We meet nights to discuss community matters. Would you be interested in joining us?"
"I should probably check with Claire first—"
"Oh, David." Evelyn's laugh was like silk sliding across skin. "The Special Committee is invitation-only. Very exclusive. Very... private." Her fingers traced his forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Besides, don't you want something that's just yours? After everything that's happened with your career?"
The reminder of his job loss stung, but Evelyn's touch made him momentarily forget. She was right: he did deserve something of his own.
"The next meeting is tonight," Evelyn continued. "At my house."
A small voice told him to say ‘no’. But Evelyn's presence was intoxicating, and the way she looked at him made him feel important. Like a man who could control more than just wayward shrubbery.
"What time?" he heard himself ask.
Evelyn's smile widened, showing perfect white teeth. "Midnight. Wear something... appropriate." Her eyes traveled down his body. "Red is required for approved gatherings after dark"
She turned to leave, her hips swaying in a way that made him understand why men in noir films were always getting in trouble over dangerous blondes. His brain helpfully informed him that he was about to become a walking midlife crisis cliché, but other parts of his anatomy were voting to embrace the stereotype. "Oh, and David?" She glanced back over her shoulder. "Don't be late. The Committee is very strict about punctuality."
David watched her go, the hedge trimmer forgotten in his hands. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of Claire in her office, looking up at him from her laptop. He felt a twinge of guilt, but pushed it aside. This was just a committee meeting. Just neighborhood business.
He picked up the HOA manual he’d been using for reference, noticing for the first time that the pages felt warm to the touch. Maybe that was just his imagination.
The sprinklers kicked on, their synchronized rhythm matching his heartbeat.
David ignored it all. He had hedge-trimming techniques to learn.
Ethan's Rebellion
Ethan Parker had decided that if Cedar Lane was going to be weird, he might as well be weird back at it. He adjusted his headphones, cranking up the volume on his carefully curated playlist of metal covers of children's songs. The sight of "Here Comes the Sun" performed by Norwegian death metal artists had already made three different neighbors clutch their pearls this morning.
"Ready to commit some minor acts of civil disobedience?" Lila appeared beside him, her wild red curls practically vibrating with anarchic energy. She was wearing what appeared to be a hand-painted t-shirt featuring a garden gnome making an obscene gesture.
"I thought today was 'Cream-Colored Clothing Coordination Day,'" Ethan said, eyeing her shirt with admiration.
"It is." Lila grinned. "I'm coordinating with chaos."
They were supposed to be attending the neighborhood's scheduled "Morning Meditation" session. Instead, they had other plans. Ethan dropped his skateboard to the sidewalk, the wheels making a satisfying scratch against the pristine concrete.
"Did you bring it?" he asked.
Lila pulled a small package from her backpack. Inside were several packets of wildflower seeds - the kind that grew in completely random, uncontrollable patterns. The exact opposite of Cedar Lane's prescribed "Uniform Garden Arrangements."
"These bad boys will turn the grass in the community areas into a riot of color," Lila said with obvious pride. "I got the most aggressive spreading varieties I could find. They'll be impossible to remove without completely redoing the grass."
"You're evil," Ethan said admiringly. "I like it."
Lila's cheeks went pink, almost matching her hair for a moment. Before either of them could fill the awkward silence, they heard the distinct click of designer heels on pavement.
"Young man!" Evelyn's voice carried across the lawn like it had been professionally amplified. She was striding toward them in another beige sundress, her smile fixed and predatory. "Are you aware that skateboarding is only permitted between the hours of 2 and 4 PM, and only while wearing approved safety gear?"
"Sorry," Ethan called back. "My mom tried to buy me beige pads, but they clashed with my existential dread."
He could actually see a vein throbbing in Evelyn's temple. She turned to Lila, her smile tightening further. "And you, young lady. That shirt is not on the approved clothing list. Your parents would be horrified."
"Really?" Lila examined her shirt with exaggerated surprise. "But I followed all the guidelines. It's hand-painted using materials from the approved craft store, and the gnome is giving the official HOA salute."
Ethan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
"You need a haircut, young lady. I’ve half a mind to give you one myself.”
"Oh no," Lila gasped in mock horror. "Not unauthorized volume! Quick, Ethan - we better escape before she measures it with the official HOA hair compliance ruler."
Ethan didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Lila's hand and they took off running. Behind them, they could hear Evelyn shouting something about "violation forms" and "parental notification."
"This way." Lila pulled him down a side street he hadn't noticed before. The houses here looked exactly like all the others, but something felt different. The shadows were deeper, the wind chimes silent. A single black house stood in the cul-de-sac.
"Welcome to the HOA blind spots," Lila said, grinning. "I mapped them all out. There's a whole network of places where their surveillance doesn't quite reach. Perfect for plotting chaos. Or just eating lunch without those assholes getting in your business."
They ducked behind a large hedge (definitely not trimmed to regulation height) where Lila had set up what she called "little Exarcheia." It consisted mainly of a beat-up lawn chair, some questionably obtained HOA documents, and a collection of garden gnomes that had been modified to be tiny anarchists engaged in acts of sabotage.
"Check this out," Lila said, pulling out a map of Cedar Lane. She'd marked various locations with symbols that looked suspiciously like the ones carved into the sidewalks, except these were drawn in glitter pen. "These are all the places where weird stuff happens. Pets disappear, you get confused, the symbols glow and, sometimes, you can hear chanting coming from Evelyn's basement."
"Wow. I thought the weirdest thing was the HOA's obsession with monochrome," Ethan said, studying the map.
"That's just their cover. The real weird stuff happens after dark. During the 'Special Committee' meetings." She made air quotes around the words. "My parents are members, but they won't tell me what happens. They just come home looking... different. More beige on the inside, if you know what I mean." A cloud passed over Lila’s usually sunny features.
A wind chime somewhere started playing what sounded like a warning dirge. In the distance, they could hear Evelyn's voice, still calling out violations.
"We should plant the flowers now," Lila said, pulling out the seed packets. "Before she finds us again."
Ethan looked at her. This weird, brilliant girl who'd turned suburban rebellion into an art form, and he felt something that he’d never felt before. He’d have done whatever she wanted, just to be around her.
"Hey," he said, "want to really freak them out? We could paint Evelyn’s mailbox an unacceptable color."
Lila's eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and mischief. "Now you're thinking like a suburban anarchist."
Together, they bent over the map, plotting their next act of rebellion.
David Makes a Discovery
David sat in his home office, staring at the email on his screen. The words blurred together, but he'd read enough rejection letters lately to know the template: "Thank you for your interest... highly qualified candidates... unfortunately..."
He closed the tab and looked around the room. His marketing awards lined the shelves. Twenty years of corporate success reduced to paperweights. The photo of him accepting Partner of the Year at Braithwaite & Partners caught his eye. He was smiling broadly at the camera in his best suit, sure that corner office was just the beginning. Now that suit hung in the closet like a museum piece from someone else's life.
His phone buzzed. Another text from Evelyn: "David, your lawn edges exceed regulation height by 0.3 inches. Please address this violation immediately. Precision is vital for community harmony."
He should have found it ridiculous. Instead, something in his chest loosened at the clear directive. At least someone still thought he was worth managing.
Another buzz: "The Committee values attention to detail. I know you understand the importance of proper control."
David's hand trembled slightly as he set down the phone. She always seemed to know exactly what to say, how to make him feel seen. Understood. The way she touched his arm, her grip firm but gentle, telling him he had potential...
The sound of laughter drifted through the window. Claire talking to Margaret in the backyard again, their voices carrying across the lawn. He moved to the window, watching them. Claire was radiant, gesturing animatedly as she talked. He hadn't seen her laugh like that in months. Years, maybe.
His eyes fell on the ever-present pile of laundry on the couch. She'd been doing that lately, leaving things unfinished. She was distracted. He should help out more, show initiative. Be useful. The laundry at least was something he could do to contribute.
As he lifted the first shirt to fold it, something hard shifted underneath. Claire's laptop, open and unlocked. He should close it, respect her privacy. He did not.
The screen was displaying a word document titled "The Werewolf's Interior Designer - Chapter 12":
"The load-bearing wall isn't the only thing that needs support tonight," Blake growled, his claws leaving delicate scratches in the freshly installed wainscoting. Rachel felt her professional demeanor crumbling as his massive form pressed her against the French doors she'd special ordered from Milan.
"The clients will be here in the morning," she protested weakly, even as her hands traced the powerful muscles of his shoulders. "The staging has to be perfect—"
"Then let me help you rehearse." His voice was pure animal now, rough with desire. "You've been teasing me all day with your talk of crown molding and mounting techniques."
Rachel moaned as his teeth grazed her neck. "The interior design board would never approve—"
"Forget the board," Blake snarled, ripping open her silk blouse. "Tonight I'm going to show you exactly how to nail the finishing touches."
David stared at the words, the unfolded laundry forgotten in his hands. His wife was writing... this? While he couldn't even get a callback interview? The room felt too small suddenly, the walls pressing in. Through the window, Claire's laughter rang out again, and something inside him cracked.
His phone buzzed: "Your home is in need of power washing, David. Proper household maintenance is essential for community standards. Perhaps we should discuss your domestic situation tonight. I can help you regain control."
He stared at the message for a long moment, then began typing his response with shaking hands: "What time?"
The lawn sprinklers activated with military precision, their rhythm matching his heartbeat as he pressed send. On his shelves, the awards stared back at him, their reflective surfaces showing a man who looked less and less like the person in those old photos, and more like someone desperate to be told what to do.
Someone who would do anything to feel useful again.
Margaret's Warning
Claire couldn't take another minute of staring at her laptop screen, trying to figure out how to write the climactic scene where her werewolf contractor finally finished the bookstore's renovation. There were only so many ways to make installing drywall and crown molding sound sexy. She needed air. Or wine. Or both.
The walk to Margaret's house was short but felt like crossing a border. The manicured lawns and identical houses gave way to something distinctly different. Margaret's house stood like a rebellion in architectural form. It was painted the darkest black Claire had ever seen, with chrome skull doorknobs that managed to grin at exactly the angle most likely to give Evelyn Whitmore a fit.
Before Claire could knock, the door swung open. Margaret stood there in her usual leather jacket, now completely unzipped to reveal a tank top that was losing a battle of containment. Her short black hair was artfully tousled, like she'd just gotten off a motorcycle. Or had rough sex. Claire shook her head to clear it.
"I was hoping you'd stop by," Margaret said with that grin that made Claire forget about proper sentence structure. "I've just opened a fresh bottle of claret. And I wanted to talk to you about the HOA and your husband."
"That sounds ominous," Claire said, struggling to make eye contact.
"Then you better come inside before the HOA sees us talking. You’ll get put on the naughty list." Margaret winked.
The interior of Margaret's house was everything Cedar Lane wasn't: dark woods, rich colors, and not a beige throw pillow in sight. The walls were covered in what looked like vintage motorcycle posters and... medieval weapons? Claire searched for evidence of the efficiency electronics but didn’t see any.
"Are those real?" Claire asked, pointing to a particularly wicked-looking blade mounted above the fireplace.
Margaret turned quickly and her large breasts bounced against her tank top. She looked down at her chest, then back up to make eye contact with Claire. "They’re definitely real, they’re fantastic, and they’re definitely mine. But I wasn’t born with them," Margaret said flirtily, handing Claire a glass of red wine. Claire blushed. Her expression grew serious. "We need to talk about the Special Committee."
"The one Evelyn keeps trying to recruit David for?"
Margaret nodded, taking a long sip of wine. "There's more going on in this neighborhood than just an unhealthy obsession with environment friendliness. The Committee isn't just about property values and lawn maintenance. They're planning something. Something big."
"What kind of something?"
"The kind that involves ritual sacrifice and eternal youth." Margaret leaned forward, and Claire caught a whiff of her smell that managed to be clean and dirty at the same time. "Evelyn's not just the HOA president, she's the leader of a vampire-worshipping cult. And she's got her sights set on your husband."
Claire laughed out loud, spraying a fine mist of red wine on Margaret’s white tank top. "A vampire cult? Seriously?" She set down her glass. "Look, I write supernatural romance novels, but that doesn't mean I believe in any of it. Evelyn's definitely strange, and probably running some kind of scam, but vampires? Also, who worships vampires? Shouldn’t a satanic cult be trying to summon a demon?"
"Not the kind of vampire cult you're thinking of," Margaret explained, leaning forward. "They're not vampires yet. They're trying to become vampires through blood magic rituals. The cult believes if they complete certain rituals, their vampire lord will grant them eternal youth and power."
Claire took a large gulp of wine. "And David..."
"Is being groomed for initiation. Evelyn likes to seduce her victims first. Makes the conversion easier." Margaret's eyes met Claire's. "I'm sorry. I know that's not easy to hear."
"I know how it sounds," Margaret said, leaning back and brushing at the wine on her tank top. "But think about it. The weird rules about garlic in cooking. The fact that all the windows in the neighborhood face away from direct sunlight. The way nobody ever sees Evelyn eat anything except--"
"Stop." Claire held up a hand. "The HOA is creepy and controlling, I'll give you that. And something's definitely going on with these Special Committee meetings. But there has to be a rational explanation. Maybe it's a pyramid scheme. Or real estate fraud. Hell, maybe they’re swingers. Or--"
"Or a suburban vampire cult," Margaret finished. "Trust me, I was just as skeptical when I first started investigating."
Claire raised an eyebrow.
"I know, but hear me out. Recruitment sessions. She picks vulnerable targets - usually men going through some kind of crisis. Like losing a job." Margaret's hand found Claire's knee, warm and steady. "I watched this neighborhood for months before moving in. I'm sort of... well, let's say I'm a private investigator specializing in unusual cases."
"A vampire hunter," Claire said mockingly. "Right. And I suppose you've got holy water in your motorcycle saddlebags?"
"Holy water doesn’t work on vampires, that’s all folklore." Margaret's grin only widened at Claire's skepticism. "Though I have to admit, this is the first time I've had to deal with a vampire cult operating through an HOA. Usually they're more into abandoned castles than suburban development."
"And Evelyn is..."
"Not technically a vampire. Yet. But she's working on it. She is a powerful blood witch." Margaret's thumb traced small circles on Claire's knee, sending shivers up her spine.
"Actually," Claire said, surprising herself with how steady her voice was, "I'm more annoyed that she's using such a cliché technique. Seducing the vulnerable husband? That's amateur hour."
Margaret laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Got something better in mind?"
"Maybe." Claire found herself leaning closer, despite herself. Maybe this woman was crazy, but she was still drawn to her, enjoying her company. "But first, tell me more about how exactly one becomes a supernatural security consultant. I might need the material for my next book."
"That," Margaret said, her voice dropping as she looked away, "is a very interesting story. But we should probably deal with the real vampire cult first. Evelyn's planning something for the next full moon."
Before Claire could respond, a sharp knock at the door made them both jump. Through the window, they could see a familiar cream-colored figure standing on the porch, manual in hand.
"Speaking of the devil," Margaret muttered. "Surprise HOA inspection. Right on schedule."
Claire looked down at Margaret's hand, still on her knee, then at the very non-regulation interior of the house. "What do we do?"
Margaret's smile turned predatory. "Want to help me scandalize Evelyn Whitmore? I've got some ideas that would definitely violate Section 8, Subsection C: 'Appropriate Behavior During Inspections.'"
And despite everything; the vampire cult, David's potential betrayal, the general weirdness of Cedar Lane, Claire found herself smiling back. "Tell me more about Section 8."
Neighborhood Observation
David stared out the kitchen window, watching Mrs. Wilson across the street adjust her garden gnomes. Everything in Cedar Lane moved with a precision that stirred something in him. A longing for order he hadn't known he needed. A longing for someone to exert control.
"You missed lunch," Claire said from behind him. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. She looked annoyed, which caused fine lines to crinkle in crows feet beside her eyes. When had he started noticing things like that?
"Sorry. I was observing the neighborhood patterns." He gestured vaguely at the window. "Did you know the Chen family coordinates their entire schedule? Even their dog walks are timed to maintain optimal use of time of day and traffic loads on the sidewalks."
"That's... weird, David." Claire moved closer, but stopped short of touching him. They'd been doing that lately – orbiting each other without connecting. "You do see how weird that is, right?"
"It's organized," he corrected, stiffly. "There's a difference. The HOA has systems for everything. Structure. Purpose." He pulled the HOA quick reference manual from his back pocket, its pages warm against his palm. "Look at this section on proper waste bin placement. The angles are calculated to maximize—"
"Since when do you care about garbage can angles?" Claire's voice had an edge to it. "You used to joke about this stuff. Now you're cataloging violations?"
David shifted uncomfortably. She'd seen his writing in the pocket guide notes section then, the place where he'd started documenting infractions. Just observations really. Like how Margaret's house violated sixteen different color codes, or how their son's skateboarding occurred outside designated hours.
"The Special Committee values attention to detail," he said. "Evelyn says—"
"Evelyn says, Evelyn says." Claire's laugh had no humor in it. "That's all I hear lately. Evelyn's meetings, Evelyn's rules, Evelyn's special committees. What's your obsession with post-menopause Barbie?"
"Nothing." The denial came too quickly. "She's just... she understands the importance of order. Of having a place. A purpose."
"And I don't?"
The question hung between them. Through the window, he could see three different neighbors mowing their lawns in perfect parallel lines, their mowers humming in harmony.
"You don't understand what it's like," he said finally. “Being... unnecessary."
"So you're necessary to the HOA?" Claire stepped closer, really looking at him now. "To Evelyn?"
"The Committee needs people who understand vision. We have to control factors in the neighborhood in order to optimize our environmental efficiency" The words felt rehearsed, like he was quoting someone else.
"Control?" Claire's eyes narrowed. "Why does that keep coming up? Because something's not right here, David. Margaret says—"
"Margaret?" Now it was his turn to laugh without humor. "The woman who painted her house black just to cause trouble? Who's she to give advice about anything?"
"At least she's honest about who she is." Claire's voice was quiet. "Can you say the same, lately?"
Before he could answer, the sound of sprinklers starting up cut through the tension. 6 PM exactly. David found himself checking his watch against the rhythm.
"I'm going to my first Special Committee meeting tonight," he said, already turning away. "Don't wait up."
"It's our anniversary, David."
He paused at the door. Their anniversary. How had he forgotten? But the manual in his pocket felt heavy, reminding him of more important obligations. Of order. Of purpose. Of Evelyn's smile when he got things right.
"We'll celebrate another time," he said. "The Committee needs—"
"The Committee needs?" Claire's voice cracked. "What about what your family needs?"
David looked back at her, and for a moment he saw her clearly. Really saw her, his wife, looking at him with a mixture of worry and loss. But then a wind chime chimed discordantly somewhere down the street, and he shook his head.
"I have to go," he said. "The meeting starts at midnight. And... the Committee… doesn't tolerate lateness."
He left Claire standing in the kitchen, the sprinklers keeping perfect time with his steps as he walked away from whatever they'd been, towards whatever he was becoming.
The First Violation
Claire knew something was wrong the moment she turned onto Cedar Lane. Her neighbors stood on her front lawn, arranged in a semicircle around her garden bed like statues at some kind of suburban Stonehenge. Even from here, she could see they were all wearing variations of the same disapproving expression.
She'd spent the afternoon with her agent, discussing the upcoming deadline for "The Werewolf's Renovation" and gossiping about her weird neighborhood. For someone in the fantasy smut business, her editor has a real thing for “realistic, grounded world building” and was having a hard time with the werewolf general contractor. Not so much the plot as much as what was physically possible. She’d have to do more refining on her werewolf anatomy. Apparently, a contractor with claws that could slice through drywall but not cause serious damage while finger fucking the heroine was “unrealistic.” Claire had argued about their ability to retract before giving in and agreeing to revisit some details of the story.
Now, pulling into her driveway, she remembered with dawning horror what she'd done that morning. She’d planted those wild roses she'd picked up at the garden center. They’d looked so nice. The roses had already bloomed. Somehow. In less than eight hours. Their vibrant red petals seemed to mock the neighborhood's carefully curated color palette.
As Claire stepped out of her car, no one spoke. No one moved. They just... watched. Mrs. Chen's pruning shears clicked rhythmically. Mr. Henderson's garden hose dripped in what might have been Morse code. The Wilson twins, age seven, stood perfectly still in their matching outfits, holding hands and staring at her with identical, empty smiles.
"Is there a problem?" Claire asked, trying to sound casual while calculating how quickly she could reach her front door.
"Oh, Claire." Evelyn materialized from the crowd like a beige-clad ghost. "We're all just so... concerned." She gestured at the roses. "Unauthorized plantings can be so disruptive to the neighborhood's harmony."
The crowd murmured. Claire caught fragments: "...disruption of the natural order..." "...affects property values..." "...blood price must be paid..."
"Blood price?" Claire asked, her head snapping to where she thought she heard the voice.
"HOA fines," Evelyn corrected smoothly. "Section 7, Paragraph 13 clearly states that all flora must be pre-approved and properly assessed by the Gardening Committee. The fine for unauthorized roses is significant. The natural ecology can’t be threatened like that."
"They're just flowers," Claire said, rolling her eyes.
The crowd gasped. Mrs. Chen's pruning shears snapped shut with a sound like a gunshot.
"Just flowers?" Evelyn's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, Claire. Nothing in Cedar Lane is 'just' anything. Everything has meaning. Purpose. Order." She ran a perfectly manicured finger along one of the rose petals. "These will have to be removed, of course. Tonight. Under the proper lunar conditions."
"I'll do it now," Claire offered, reaching for the roses.
"No!" Evelyn caught her wrist. Her hand was ice-cold. "The Gardening Committee will handle it. According to protocol. With the proper protective gear and regulatory oversight."
The neighbors had begun humming softly, a sound like wind through abandoned houses. The Wilson twins were still staring, their smiles growing wider.
"Fine," Claire managed. "Whatever makes the HOA happy."
"Oh, Claire." Evelyn's laugh was like breaking glass. "The HOA is never happy. But we do strive for perfection."
The crowd parted silently as Claire walked to her door. Behind her, she could hear them beginning to chant what sounded suspiciously like gardening regulations in Latin.
Later that night, a sound woke her. At first, Claire thought it was just David's CPAP mask, which made him sound like Darth Vader with seasonal allergies. Claire had nagged him to get treatment for his obvious sleep apnea for years, but he’d started wearing it after Evelyn mentioned he looked tired after attending the late night community meetings. Now he lay beside her, the mask askew, making sounds that fell somewhere between heavy breathing and a malfunctioning Roomba.
But no, this noise was different. Through the window, she could see the wind chimes swaying without wind, playing what sounded like a funeral march. Then came another sound. A soft thump, followed by scratching.
David snorted in his sleep, the CPAP mask whistling in harmony with the wind chimes. Claire considered waking him, but lately he'd been so distant, almost asleep while he was awake, that she doubted he'd be much help. Besides, she was feeling flush with a hot flash, an occurrence that was, annoyingly, more and more frequent.
She slipped out of bed and made her way downstairs, following the sound to her front door. When she opened it, the roses were gone, the garden bed empty except for a perfect circle of disturbed earth. In the center of the circle, pinned with what looked like a solid gold tent peg, was a dead bat.
A note was taped to the front door, written in elegant calligraphy on cream-colored cardstock:
"Welcome to Cedar Lane's Gardening Club. Meetings are mandatory. Bring your own shears.
- E.W.
P.S. - This is a warning. Next time the penalty will be serious."