Chapter 2
2
T he rain has finally abated, morphing into a gentle mist. I’m soaked to the bone, the weight of my clothes dragging me down, each step more laborious after hours of walking.
Is there anything worse than soaked jeans? The wet denim chafes between my thighs with every step, and it’s agonizing.
At least I’m no longer freezing—a silver lining, I suppose.
Instead, I feel that strange, clammy sensation—chilled on the outside, burning from exertion on the inside.
The road has been nothing but a trail of endless hills, and I’d be fine if I never had to climb another in my life.
The overcast sky, heavy with clouds threatening another downpour, has slowly darkened as the hours pass. I worry that if I don’t find a sign of humanity soon, I’ll be walking in complete darkness. With the cloud coverage, not even the glow of the moon will light my way, and I really don’t want to find out what roams these woods at night.
There’s a break in the trees ahead, but I don’t dare get my hopes up. Without making the conscious decision to do so, my pace quickens. I don’t know what I’ll do if it turns out to be nothing.
Oh God, what if it’s a service road?
“Please be a driveway. Please, please, please, I need this to be a driveway,” I pant out under my breath.
I’m almost afraid to look when there’s only a few steps to go, but when I do, relief nearly brings me to tears.
It’s a driveway.
Not far ahead, an ornate, Gothic-style iron gate bars the way.
It’s massive, impossible to climb with its menacing sharp points decorating the entire top. I guess that’s the point, but my initial relief is already draining away.
That is, until I notice it’s unlocked. I push, expecting the gate to swing open, but it doesn’t budge—not even a fraction of an inch. I’m not proud of it, but I stomp my foot and let out a frustrated growl. Okay, I might’ve stomped my foot a few times, but I’ve earned the right to act like a child for a moment.
Besides, Father isn’t here to see.
No one is.
I put my back against the gate, pushing with my entire weight, and finally, I feel it give way, sort of. The hinges squeal, the sound echoing into the distance.
I begin to worry that whoever lives here hasn’t opened this ridiculous gate in far too long, making it a strong possibility no one will be at whatever awaits me at the top of this driveway.
It doesn’t matter. Worrying about possibilities is pointless when things could go a myriad of different ways.
I push against the gate again, and this time it moves the slightest bit easier. A few more pushes, and I force it open just enough to squeeze through.
After several minutes of climbing the winding driveway, I feel my annoyance growing. Why would anyone want such an impossibly long driveway? The way it slithers through the trees makes it feel like it’s far longer than it has any business being. Doesn’t Vermont get a bunch of snow in the winter? I can only imagine how treacherous it would be to navigate this nonsense.
It’s embarrassing how loud I’m breathing by the time I see the trees thin and begin to crest the top of the driveway. I’m two minutes away from gasping for each breath. To be fair, I have been walking for hours—soaking wet, no less.
With each step, the house reveals itself a little more, starting from the top points of the spires, until a full image finally materializes. Perhaps “house” isn’t the correct word. The gate at the bottom of the driveway should have been a clue, that a gigantic gothic manor waited at the top. Set against dense woods and an ever-darkening, cloud-strewn sky, it looks even more imposing.
The heaviness of the stone walls and pointed archways are balanced by the delicate spires and stained glass windows. The place is massive, with too many chimneys to count. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to keep all those fires burning.
My eyes take their time as they drift across the roofline and snag on a hunched shape. I gasp, terrified of finding out whatever animal that might be. It’s unnaturally still. Fear keeps me from looking away—until I squint and look closer.
A nervous giggle bubbles out of me the moment I realize what it is, and my reaction to a silly stone gargoyle feels rather ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person. They’re not the kind of thing you’d find on the sprawling antebellum manors back home.
The grounds are a strange blend—half-overgrown, as if nature’s taking back what’s not cared for, but carefully manicured patches suggest someone still tends to it, or once did. It doesn’t give any clue to whether I’ll find help here or not.
The flowerbeds, however, have been left to their own devices, wild and overgrown. An entire section of one wall is being consumed by ivy. Every so often, I catch a glimpse of what looks like a massive stained glass window, peeking through the gaps in the aggressive greenery.
The house feels… off, like it’s holding its breath. Something’s not right, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s unsettling, like the beginning of one of those movies I wasn’t allowed to watch. The ones where some deranged killer slaughters unsuspecting teenagers in increasingly graphic ways.
While I’ve never seen an entire horror movie from start to finish, when no one was around to catch me, I’d sneak bits and pieces on the TV. I saw enough to roll my eyes at their stupidity. Why would anyone enter a building that clearly screams, “enter and die,” in the first place?
Now that I find myself standing before the dark wooden front door with no other options in sight, I think I just might understand.
Once I gain enough courage, I lift my fist to knock, and the door swings open after the first rap against it. I stand frozen, my hand still raised, for longer than I’d like to admit.
“Well, if that isn’t foreboding…” I murmur, taking a deep breath and stepping across the threshold. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
When several moments pass in silence, I take another step inside—then scream as the door slams shut behind me.
Get it together, Celest. It’s probably just the wind that’s starting to pick back up in preparation for another storm. That’s got to be it. I keep trying to convince myself as I unwrap my jacket and tie the soaked fabric around my waist.
The entryway is vast and circular, with twin staircases curving up either side of the room, leading to—well, I’m not honestly sure, I’m assuming it’s the second floor. The walls, covered in dark wood paneling and carved with pointed arches that mimic the ones outside, are on the verge of oppressive.
The intricate design continues throughout the room, reaching up to the impossibly high ceiling. The largest chandelier I’ve ever seen hangs at the center, its dull light casting eerie shadows. That must mean the power is still on, and that’s got to be a good sign, right?
“Hello!” I call out again, just in case. The heavy silence is my only response—again. There’s a little voice in the back of my head warning me to run and never look back. Against my better judgment, I ignore it, having nowhere else to go.
A hallway between the staircases is filled with shadows, hinting at an even darker interior. My fingers trail across the round table in the center of the space as I make the stupid decision to go toward the creepy hallway.
There’s a large arrangement of fresh flowers in the center of the table—further proof that someone is here, has recently been here, or will be returning soon. Never mind the fact the flowers are black roses, which feels a little too on the nose if I’m being honest.
I try not to dwell on what kind of person chooses black roses in the middle of summer and call out again.
“Hello!” I’m not surprised when there’s no response, and continue my way down the hallway of doom, deeper into the manor.
The darkness in the hallway is all-encompassing, making it impossible to see. I keep my hand on the wall, letting my fingers drag lightly across the grooves of the paneling.
I nearly jump out of my skin when a door slams somewhere in the manor.
My heart pounds against my sternum as I call out to whoever it was, “Hello?” Still, I get no response.
“Is someone there?” The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I get the uncanny feeling that I’m being watched. I shake my head after a panicked glance around, convincing myself that if I can’t see, neither can anyone else.
I’m having to convince myself a little too often for my liking. Not that I’m feeling too positive about any of this.
My hand reaches the end of the wall, and the sound of my steps echoing makes whatever room I’ve stepped into feel cavernous.
I haven’t risked checking the battery on my phone, but the glow of the screen will at least light up the room long enough to get a quick look around—if it turns on at all.
Unzipping my ruined purse, I breathe a sigh of relief that the rain was unable to soak through to the documents inside, and pull out my phone.
It’s shocking when my phone lights up, and I smile, only for my heart to sink at the sight of the dreaded 1% across the empty battery icon. I try not to waste it and look around with the few seconds I have left before my screen goes dark again.
This must be the Great Hall. A few hallways branch off—wait, what was that? I swear I see a large shadow move in my peripheral, but just as I swing the faint glow of my phone toward it, the screen goes dark again. My breath comes in stuttered bursts, drowning out all sound.
Am I imagining it, or do I hear footsteps ghosting across the floor? I point my phone in the direction I saw the moving shadow, for a split second, my screen lights up again, just as it flickers and dies. That single flash makes me jump back, scream, nearly dropping my phone in the process.
The shadow moved. I’m positive. It was standing just a few feet in front of me.
“I-Is someone there?” My voice shakes. “Please… I n-need help.” I hold my breath and listen, but not a single sound is made. Maybe I didn’t see what I thought I did. Maybe my nerves are fried, making me imagine things.
I take cautious step after cautious step toward where I remember seeing one of the hallways. If I can just find a room with an outlet, everything will be all right. I know I have no signal and can’t call for help, however, the thought of having a fully charged phone offers me a modicum of comfort and safety.
Ridiculous, I know.
I feel the entrance to the hallway and take a few steps down it, before I hear something heavy being dragged across the floor behind me. When I take a few steps back toward the Great Hall, I’m met with a wall—the opening is gone.
I run my hands along the edges, feeling two sharp corners where the wall has shifted. How is that even possible?
“Oh, God, what is this place?” My voice sounds like it’s on the verge of hysterics. “Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.” I force myself to take a deep breath, turn back, and continue down the hallway.
My fingers trace the wall, searching for a doorway. When I feel the wall give way to an opening, I think I might have found one, only to turn down another hallway. This time I pretend not to hear the sounds of the house shifting behind me and keep moving forward.
I squint, spotting a faint glow beneath a door at the end of the hall. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me—it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen tonight. Still, the fact I can see anything at all is enough to make me get to the door as fast as possible.
“H-hello! Is anyone here?” I knock on the door with the faint glow beneath it, my voice steadier this time. “My car broke down a ways down the road, and I could really use some help.” Silence greets me, thick and oppressive, broken only by the crackle of fire beyond the door.
I fumble for the knob, twist it, and push the door open—only to find the room empty.
The fire’s glow is the only light, casting warmth across the room from a massive hearth that dominates one wall. Above it, the marble mantle stretches in a single, smooth piece, following the curve of the pointed arch beneath it. Its elegance stands out against the dimness around it.
For a few minutes, I stand in front of the fire, letting the heat seep into my chilled skin, trying to dry my clothes. I untie my jacket, draping it over a chair near the flames, then set my purse down beside it after pulling out my charger. My mind keeps skirting the strange things I’ve noticed, pushing them aside, unwilling to let them surface.
With a quick glance around the room, I notice there are no lamps or anything else that requires electricity. I convince myself—once again—that it doesn’t mean there aren’t any outlets. I’ll just have to start in the corner and inspect every inch of each wall. It’s not unusual for old homes to hide plugs in the strangest places.
I search the back of the built-in shelves that take up one whole wall last. It’s tedious, but I remember watching on one of those historical home makeover shows, where they put a sideways plug in the back of the old built-ins.
Strange objects clutter the shelves, each more unusual than the last. Some are faded, others ornate, and a few downright bizarre. I pick them up one by one, my fingers tracing their shapes, trying to make sense of them. There’s a tarnished brass key with smooth, worn edges, a small porcelain figure of something unidentifiable, and a cracked glass vial with a dried flower inside. I can’t help but wonder who collected such an eclectic mix.
Only a few shelves remain, and I still haven’t found an outlet—but I refuse to give up. There’s got to be at least a single plug somewhere in this ridiculously huge home.
Without warning, the exhaustion that’s been building seems impossible to ignore.
Once I finish the obviously pointless task of checking these last few shelves, I’ll let myself curl up in one of the chairs by the fire. Maybe by the time I wake up, this will have all been a dream, or at least I’ll find whoever lives here and ask them to help me.
A glint catches my eye, pulling me from thoughts of a fireside nap.
I pick up the hand-held mirror, its tarnished surface obscures the face staring back at me, but it still reminds me of the one back home—the one tied to memories better left in the past. This one only shows shadows, and I’m unsure which one I am now.
I stare at the old mirror, but my mind drifts. It flickers between the one I left behind and the reflection in my hands, pulling a memory to the surface—a memory I wish I could forget.
One of many.