Chapter 1
The fog had been clinging to Briarholt Manor for three days straight, as if it knew what lay hidden in the cellar. Evelyn stood at the edge of the drive, suitcase in hand, wondering if her brother had been right to warn her not to come. A single light flickered in an upstairs window, though she could have sworn the house had been empty for years. As she squinted through the mist, the light shifted — and for the briefest moment, a shadow moved across it. She realized with a start that the shadow had paused, as if it knew she was watching.
Evelyn tightened her grip on the suitcase handle and took a cautious step forward, the gravel crunching far too loudly beneath her feet. The flickering upstairs light steadied for a moment, as if the house itself had noticed her approach. She forced herself to take another step, her suitcase scraping over the gravel, each footfall bringing her nearer to the looming doorway. She felt eyes on her from the shadows of the porch, though no one was visible.
Despite the chill crawling up her spine, something inside her pushed her forward, toward the darkened doorway. She lifted her suitcase and stepped onto the threshold, the floorboards groaning beneath her weight. She raised her hand and knocked once on the heavy door, the sound echoing through the empty manor, but no answer came. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, brass key, turning it nervously in her hand before sliding it into the lock. The lock seemed stiff, refusing to turn at first, forcing her to jiggle the key until it finally yielded.
Evelyn stepped fully into the foyer, pausing to take in the worn floorboards and faded wallpaper. The silence of the house pressed around her, broken only by the soft creak of the floor under her shoes. A sudden draft stirred the curtains at the far end of the hallway, carrying a faint, musty smell that made her wrinkle her nose. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then, all at once, every lamp, sconce, and chandelier in the manor blazed to life, casting sharp, twisting shadows that made the walls seem alive. Evelyn gasped, spinning around, but before she could react, a heavy blow struck the back of her head, and darkness swallowed her.
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Chapter 2
The first thing Evelyn noticed when she woke was the taste of rust in her mouth, followed by the steady drip of water somewhere in the dark. She tried to sit up, but a bolt of pain shot through her skull, forcing her back against the cold stone beneath her. A faint light flickered somewhere to her left, too dim to reveal more than the outline of rough walls. She turned her head toward it, the movement sending another spike of pain through her temples. Her fingers instinctively reached up, finding a tender lump at the base of her skull. The pain sharpened under her touch, sending a wave of dizziness that made the room sway. The world tilted in slow motion, the edges of the room blurring into shadow.
She drew in a shaky breath, the damp air chilling her lungs and carrying a faint metallic tang. It reminded her of the smell of old coins, or blood left too long in the open air. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to focus on the sound of the dripping water instead. Each drop struck stone with a hollow plink, the rhythm steady but unnervingly loud in the otherwise silent room.
She opened her eyes again, straining to make out more of the chamber, but the flickering light revealed only jagged stone and deep shadow. Beyond the edge of the dim glow, something shifted, breaking the silence with the faint scrape of stone against stone. Evelyn held her breath, straining to separate the sound from the echoes of the dripping water. The scrape came again, slower this time, as though something—or someone—was deliberately moving just out of sight. Her breath caught in her throat, and she wished desperately for the courage to call out, though her instincts screamed to stay silent. The flickering light dimmed for a heartbeat, and when it flared again, she could have sworn the shadows had shifted.
Then she saw it. Something tall and narrow now stood where there had only been bare wall a moment before. It swayed almost imperceptibly, as though it breathed, its outline refusing to resolve into anything familiar. Evelyn blinked hard, convinced it was a trick of her battered senses, but when her eyes opened, the shape was still there—closer now. Her breath came faster, fogging in the cold air, and she realized the thing was closing the distance without making a sound. Each flicker of the weak light seemed to bring it a step nearer, though she never saw it move. She pressed her back harder against the wall, the rough stone biting into her skin, but there was nowhere left to retreat. The weak glow sputtered once more, and in that instant she thought she saw a hand—long, bony, and reaching for her. When the light steadied, the hand was gone, and the tall shape had melted back into the shadows at the far side of the chamber.
She leaned forward slightly, straining her eyes into the gloom, half-praying the light would flicker again to prove she hadn’t imagined it. The silence pressed in heavier than before, as if the scrape of stone had never happened, as if the chamber were mocking her fear. Evelyn forced herself to breathe evenly, trying to make sense of what she’d seen and whether it had been real—or just a trick of pain and fear. Regret seeped into her thoughts, sharp and unrelenting, making her wonder if stepping foot in Briarholt had been a mistake she could never undo.
Her mind drifted to the key, the one that had brought her here, and a new dread coiled in her gut: she couldn’t remember what she’d done with it after turning the lock.
Brairholt Manor