Chapter 26
I sat propped in bed several hours later, the silver tray gleaming before me as Nelly prepared my tea.
I watched her closely, every herb, every cube of sugar she stirred into the cup. Though I was nearly certain of my own insanity, I never could quite shake the fragile doubt that I clung to stubbornly.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” she asked after a time, breaking the silence.
I blinked, startled from my thoughts. “Hmm?” I murmured.
“Anything else,” Nelly repeated softly, but I couldn’t help noticing a note of impatience… or perhaps annoyance laced beneath her gentle tone.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “That will be all.”
“Very well,” she said briskly, turning at once to gather the dress I’d worn that day for laundry.
An uneasiness prickled the back of my neck as I watched her.
“Actually,” I said, pushing the tray away, my stomach twisting. “I don’t think I’ll have tea tonight.”
Nelly glanced up at the tray, then at me. Something cold filtered over in her eyes for the briefest moment before she sighed and gave me a tight smile.
“His Grace won’t be pleased if you don’t. You know the doctor said it is important for you to stay hydrated.”
“You may tell His Grace,” I said coolly, “that I am perfectly capable of knowing my own body and I am not thirsty.”
Her smile faltered as she let the dress fall back to the chair unceremoniously. Gathering the tray, she crossed the room to the door
“At least drink some water,” she called as she left, her voice firm as it faded into the hall.
I turned my gaze to the water pitcher across the room, then to Poe, perched solemnly on the bedpost, watching me with uncanny patience.
“Drink some water,” I mocked, soft and sing-song, before whispering, “Tell me, Poe… am I mad?”
The bird tilted his head, feathers puffing. “Long intervals of horrible sanity,” he crooned in his familiar rasp.
I laughed, a small, fractured sound. “Good point.”
Still smiling faintly, I stood and crossed the room, pouring a small glass of water before drinking it down completely and returning to bed.
Poe glided down from his perch, landing gently on my bedside table.
“Once upon a midnight dreary,” I murmured, smiling at Poe, his black eyes glinting. “While I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping…”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I froze.
The next sound was sharper. Louder.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Not the door.
Somewhere within the room.
Poe shifted, his wings half-spreading. “’Tis some visitor,” he breathed, voice eerie and soft, “tapping at my chamber door.”
My throat tightened. My pulse quickened as I looked around the room.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“It’s just the wind,” I breathed. “Only the wind.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jumped out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor too quickly, as the sound grew closer. Poe shrieked, the sudden swish of his wings sending my nerves into panic.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound came again, closer now. Low and Hollow. Dread crept through me like ice water down my spine.
Creeeeeak.
The sound slithered through the silence.
My legs struck the table as I stumbled back, searching for space that wasn’t there. The sharp edge caught my thigh, pain flashing white through the fog in my mind.
The wardrobe door was swinging open, slowly, deliberately, its hinges moaning under the strain. It rocked once, twice, as if teased by an unseen hand. The candlelight trembled across the mirror, throwing my reflection into warped shapes.
“Who’s there?” My voice cracked like brittle glass.
Only the hollow breath of wind answered.
Poe’s wings burst into motion, the sudden sound making my heart jolt painfully. He circled the room once before landing on the windowsill. With a single sharp peck at the pane, he turned toward me, black eyes gleaming like oil in the dim light.
I’m out of here, his look seemed to say.
“You’re going to leave me?” I whispered hoarsely, my lips trembling despite my attempt at levity. I crossed to the window, as he pecked again, each step a battle between courage and foolishness. The night air rushed in cold and damp when I pushed the pane up, smelling of rain and decay.
“Some hero you are,” I told him sourly, “if I die, you’d better tell someone what happened.”
“Farewell… my Lenore,” Poe crooned, his voice a silken dirge before he launched himself into the night. His silhouette vanished into the fog beyond the garden wall.
I stood there for a moment, staring into the darkness, the echo of his wings fading like a heartbeat.
Farewell, my Lenore.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound returned, sharper now, nearer. The wardrobe door stood partially open, its interior a yawning mouth of shadows. And this time, I knew.
The noise was coming from inside.
I turned toward it slowly, my pulse hammering in my throat.
The candle on the table next to it flickered, the flame guttering low as if trying to retreat. The tapping grew louder. Metal scraped against wood.
My hands twisted together until my knuckles burned.
Don’t open it.
Don’t open it.
And yet… I had to.
If there was truth to be found, it was behind that door. Proof that I wasn’t losing my mind. Proof that there was something wrong in this house beyond me.
“This is it,” I encouraged myself, stepping closer. “This is my chance.”
The floor groaned under my bare feet. My fingers brushed the wardrobe’s edge.
A breath I didn’t know I was holding shuddered loose.
‘Here I opened wide the door—darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing…’
The wardrobe gave a groan as the door swung fully open, its hinges screaming one final warning before silence reclaimed the room.
Inside, the faintest breath of air brushed against my skin. Cold. Damp. Moving.
Not just a wardrobe at all. There was a faux panel in the back.
I pressed my hand to the wood, it groaned as I slid it aside with ease. My pulse stuttered. I reached for the candlestick, my trembling fingers grazing melted wax. The tiny flame quivered but thankfully didn’t die. I lifted it toward the dark.
A narrow passageway yawned before me, swallowed in shadow. Its walls were of rough-hewn stone, slick with moisture, the air thick with dust and something coppery.
My throat constricted. “Oh, God…” I breathed.
The tapping had stopped as if it had only begun in the first place to lure me. The silence pressed so heavily that my own breathing sounded foreign. I hesitated only a moment longer before stepping inside.
The floor dipped beneath me, uneven and cold.
I trailed my hand along the wall, the grit rough beneath my palm.
The passage curved sharply after a few steps, forcing me to turn sideways to fit.
My nightgown caught on a nail, tearing roughly, but I didn’t dare stop.
Every instinct screamed to turn back, but something deeper pulled me forward.
Then I saw it.
Light.
A faint glowing amber ahead.
There were wall sconces. Burning.
My blood went cold.
Someone had been here recently.
I tightened my grip on the candleholder and crept forward, pressing my lips together to still my breathing.
The passage twisted again, winding like a serpent through the manor.
Behind me, the wardrobe door gave a soft thud as if it had shut itself.
I froze, glancing back, the sound echoing faintly along the corridor.
Trapped.
The realization clawed at my ribs, but there was no going back now. I followed the sconces, each one lit, leading me deeper. The air grew warmer, carrying with it the scent of smoke and something sweet like lavender.
No. It was certainly floral, but I couldn’t quite place it. There was a bitter note to it that stung my nose.
My stomach turned, but I forced my legs forward, trailing my hand along the wall.
Then my fingers brushed over a smooth section of stone that was different from the rest. I stopped, realizing it wasn’t stone at all, but wood. Small, rectangular frames had been cut out of the wall. Curious, I pressed on one gently. It gave way beneath my touch with a soft click.
I leaned forward, holding the candle aloft. Through the small opening I’d created, I could see into a room. A parlor. One I didn’t immediately recognize.
I drew back, heart thundering, a strange thrill stirring in my chest. Turning down the corridor again, I saw more of those discreet frames, spaced evenly along the wall, like hidden eyes. Each one must have led into a different room of the manor.
A chill rippled through me at the thought. Someone could have stood here.
Watching.
Unseen.
I pressed on, determination outweighing fear. Every few steps, I paused to test another panel, peering into small sitting rooms, hallways, even a stairwell. The further I went, the more I realized just how vast and interconnected this hidden world throughout Blackthorn truly was.
My candlelight trembled over the rough walls as I continued forward, desperate to learn where the labyrinth would end and what secrets it meant to hide.
The passage opened into a small stone landing where another door waited, half-rotted, its handle gleaming faintly in the candlelight. Beneath it, a thin crack of light spilled across the floor.
Someone was on the other side.
I crouched, pressing my ear to the seam of the wood. Muffled voices drifted through.
A woman first, her voice sharp, almost desperate.
“…I’m tired of waiting. I want her gone! I want you all to myself…”
Then a man spoke, low, calm and cold.
“You have no patience. I’m not finished with her yet.”
My breath hitched.
That voice.
Sylum.
I staggered back from the door, covering my mouth. The candlelight trembled in my hand, the flame bending toward the crack beneath the door like it wished to listen too.
There was a long pause then an audible gasp.
“You like her, don’t you?!” the woman seethed.