Chapter 7 Eliza #2
Slowly I swung my legs over the side of the bed and my feet touched the cold wood of the floor, but even that did nothing to anchor me from this horror. I glanced at the door she was pointing at—open just a sliver, and beyond it lay the dark, vast hallway.
No.
This is madness.
I need to stay here.
I should shut the door and lock it.
It felt like she was going to lure me to my death.
What if I was discovered wandering about the manor in the middle of the night?
Would Jasper Blackwood hurt me? Probably.
His smile could be nice—when it didn’t seem predatory—but it didn’t camouflage his cruel and callous nature.
He seemed like the type who would enjoy hurting me—maybe he even wanted to.
But my feet moved on their own. The pulse of the house under my skin pushed me toward her, toward the unknown, and the need to satisfy this uncontrollable curiosity.
I was held in a dreamlike calm, though I knew I was awake.
My knees trembled, my breath remained shallow—I was unwilling to take up more space than I felt like I was allowed to. As always, it was safer to do whatever was wanted of me.
She didn’t speak, and she didn’t need to. Her presence was enough as she led the way—it was what made my body move, what forced my legs to carry me out of the room and into the hallway, plunging me into the darkness of the house…where I was not supposed to be alone.
Did Jasper Blackwood know about her? Did the staff?
How could they not? The seedling of curiosity bloomed the longer I followed her.
The walls were lined with old portraits, their eyes touching me with lingering judgment as I passed.
The flickering glow of the firelight from my room was gone, replaced by the eerie stillness of the manor in the depths of the night.
I glanced back only once, but there was nothing there—only darkness behind me.
The woman silently led the way through the winding halls, her translucent form and billowing dress moving with an unnerving, almost-underwater grace that made my skin prickle.
Every cell in my body knew this was wrong, but I was drawn toward her like a moth to a flame.
She could lead me to my death—and likely was—and it didn’t matter.
I couldn’t stop. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to run and find help, though in truth, I didn’t think anyone here would help me.
The house was a labyrinth, unfamiliar, and yet I felt as though maybe I’d been here before. I struggled to grab the thread of familiarity before it was gone, but it was untouchable and fleeting.
We reached the conservatory doors, and the ghost paused. She seemed to be waiting for something—for me to understand, for me to make the choice. She watched me and I noticed a change, a gleam of hope in her eyes.
I reached for the door, my hand trembling as I grasped the cold, stiff handle.
The doors opened with an unsettling click and creak, the air inside hitting me just as it had every time I’d been there—the scent of earth and damp plants, of something secret.
The glass cage of plants was strange. Half forgotten and sad, half alive and fighting, it was both beautiful and haunting in its struggle.
I glanced back to see if she would follow me inside…
But she was gone, vanished into the faint white mist that filled the room.
When I turned back around and stepped deeper into the conservatory, the crunch of broken stems beneath my feet was sharp in the silence.
Misty, slow-curling fog moved around my ankles, and my breath clouded in front of me, the cold pressing in on my exposed shoulders and arms as I moved toward a small patch of earth near the center.
Something is hidden there.
I didn’t know how I knew it, but I did. It was like she was in my mind, pushing me. I could feel it in the trembling marrow of my bones, though I still saw nothing.
I glanced over the space in front of me, wondering what to do when a glint of golden light caught my eye.
On autopilot, I moved; my fingers shivered from the cold as I knelt, pushing aside the compacted soil.
The nearly black dirt pushed under my nails as I clawed through the earth.
There was something metal sticking up—a thin gold chain revealed itself more as I dug.
My hands came to rest on something hard and smooth.
It was small, and when I lifted it from the earth, I saw it was a delicate oval locket, tarnished by time but resplendent in its intricate design. Turning it over in my fingers, caked soil crumbled away, and I began to feel a warmth radiate from the piece, as though it were alive.
My chest strained as my breathing grew faster. This was what she wanted me to find. I opened it slowly, struggling to push my nail in past the crease of dirt, where the two sides of gold met.
The tiny hinge clicked open. Inside, a faded portrait—a woman, her features haunting and familiar, her eyes dark and knowing, stared back at me.
She was wearing the same red dress, but in the photo she was holding a small toddler lovingly against her chest, the boy beamed a magical grin; her own smile and happiness rivaled his.
There was a shadow from his newsboy hat, but the round brown eyes were unmistakably those of Jasper Blackwood.
It hit me like a truck: Was this Jasper’s mother?
The one people said he strangled? The woman whose ghost now allegedly haunted the halls of Blackwood Manor—and apparently was haunting me?
Could this woman be someone else important to their story? Perhaps an aunt or something?
I stood in stillness for a moment, holding the locket, the weight of it in my hands a strange comfort and a heavy burden. It felt wrong, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to let go. I could put it back where I’d found it, buried in the soil.
But I knew I couldn’t. The warmth of it pulsed in my palm, as if it was trying to tell me something—something I didn’t yet understand.
But suddenly, it felt as if I was meant to be here, to find this locket and find out what had really happened.
I don’t know how long I stood there, holding the locket, feeling the pulse of this woman’s history in my veins. But I knew one thing: I wouldn’t leave this mystery buried.
I didn’t know why, but I felt this strange protectiveness for the garden, for the memory of the woman who used to walk these halls.
Something wasn’t right, and I was determined to uncover the truth.
Her appearances—both in the conservatory and in my bedroom—were horrifying, jarring, but what if…
what if I could help her somehow? What if that was why she sought me out and guided me?
I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I didn’t, the consequences would be dire.
I would help her.
If Jasper Blackwood had truly murdered Hester, and Darius, then he needed to pay, and with the appearance of this woman—Hester, I was nearly sure of it—I would find the proof to make that happen.
I would do whatever I could so that Hester and her husband could rest in peace—and so the woman in the red dress would leave me alone.