“Miss Elodie?”
I jumped back on my feet and tucked the book back onto the spider-kissed shelf.
“Miss Elodie, are you in here?” The unfamiliar voice called again, and I blew out the candle, hoping the shadows would hide me. I stayed frozen, the sound of my own breathing unnervingly loud.
“Miss Elodie.”
I twisted around as a candle lit to life on the wall, the soft glow revealing who the voice belonged to. The old butler who I’d seen at dinner, and who’d smiled at me twice since my arrival, stood before me. His eyes were calm, grey like fog and milked with age, but still gleaming with knowledge. Like he knew things no one else did. He seemed old enough to do so.
“I see you’ve found the old library,” he remarked looking up at the crooked shelf.
I stayed silent. I felt oddly small, like a child caught where she shouldn’t be. He smiled again, fixing the edge of his black tuxedo. “I think you might enjoy the new one more.” As he spoke, even the corners of his eyes curled upwards. “It’s in the east wing, not far from your room.”
The manor had two libraries. My chest flared with excitement, but I kept my expression composed.
“Your grandmother asked me to ensure you’d found your way back to your bedchamber,” he continued, stepping past me and sliding his palm lightly over the book spines, straightening them. “Thornhill is an enchanting place, Miss Elodie. But I must warn you, ancient homes tend to hold onto their memories. Some doors are better left locked.”
I twisted the bracelet on my wrist. My voice felt raw when I finally spoke, “What is that supposed to mean?”
His eyes dimmed. “It’s more of a feeling than a fact, Miss. But I’ve learned it’s wise to listen to those.”
He sounded just like my mum. She had always trusted hunches and believed in ghost stories. Seeing her scared andparanoid of non-existent things had taken a toll on me. It was why I preferred facts and logic over things I couldn’t see.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, playing with the sleeve of my cardigan.
“Because you needed to be warned.”
My brows furrowed. “Alright,” I replied uncertainly.
Was I really believing what he was saying? I studied the wooden panels, thinking of the woman I thought I saw in the hallway. Thornhill was ancient, built many centuries ago. Perhaps these walls really did whisper after all. They would have witnessed many things. Held stories and lies...
“If there’s nothing else, I’d suggest you retire. As your grandmother wished.” The butler turned toward the wide open door and was already half-lost in the dim corridor when I called after him without thinking.
“Alistair.”
He paused, and turned back, his face surprised but not displeased. “Yes, Miss Elodie?”
I hesitated. “Would you show me the other library sometime?”
His smile deepened. “It would be my pleasure.” With that, he disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps soft as dust on the rug.
The candle trembled in my hand as I stood alone in the quiet. I quickly relit it and padded through the hall, my breath catching once as a cool draft brushed my neck like a passing thought. My imagination seemed heightened by my new surroundings. As soon as the bedroom door closed behind me, I locked it and pressed my back against the wood, my fingers clutching into the wings of the little iron moth melted to the key. I wasn’t afraid, not really, yet I still took a moment to savour the quiet click of safety.
The manor breathed around me, the wind crushing against the glass of the window, making my thoughts stir. I’ve always had a wild imagination. My mind enjoyed playing tricks on me. But today drained me in a way I’ve never experienced before; everything felt more alive here. I stripped and left my clothes draped on the edge of the bed, tiptoeing naked across the cold tile to the bathtub. Its curling silver claws reflected the warm lamplight.
I ran the water and sat on its edge, eyeing the girl in the mirror. The resemblance to Lilian was unnerving. The high cheekbones, the cold-bloom skin, the dark curls falling like shadows over her collarbone. She was carved from everything my mum and I had once shared. But in her gaze, I saw none of my mother. Just a quiet question, and something sharper that made my insides tighten… I looked away.
The water reached my fingers, and I slipped into the soft steam, the warmth closing around me like a lullaby. There was just something otherworldly about stretching out in a tub. My eyes drifted shut, my thoughts finally giving way to silence.
Screech.
I jolted and looked around. The bathroom was dark, unmoving. I must have dozed off right before the lights went out. Something probably messed with the wires. The water stormed around me like the ocean as I stood and blindly searched for my towel. When I found it, I wrapped it around my body, the faint echo of water droplets falling back into the tub following my every movement. I climbed out of the tub, nearly slipping on the slick, wet tiles.
I stepped out into the bedroom and lit the candle left on the nightstand before returning into the dark bathroom. The steam had fogged the mirror, and I wiped my palm over it. The candlelight painted twisted shadows over my face.
Thump. Thump.
I stilled, the air freezing in my lungs. I swallowed so slowly, it hurt. Just the pipes, I told myself. Yet, I still waited for the noise to reveal itself once more. It was like footsteps, soft but tender against the rug. The pipes gurgled on the wall, and I trembled.
