Page 19 of If I Stopped Haunting You

He cleared his throat and refocused on Pen. “Hard to believe in something I haven’t seen for myself, you know?” Shrugging, he turned and rejoined the group.

Narrowing her eyes, Pen swiveled toward the east wing and quickened her pace. If the legends were to be believed, the woman in the portrait wandered that hall, and Pen was not in the mood to find out if the legends were real. She felt sick as she followed Storm back toward the light, but for now, she was more than happy to turn away from the west wing and whatever lurked in the dark.

The hall leading to the bedrooms was lined with oil paintings, small LEDs illuminating the name plaques beneath them. Pen scanned the neat lettering as Fanny motioned them on. On Greek-like pedestals, marble busts sat, with matching plaques that had been dusted and cleaned regularly based on the light lemony scent lingering in the air.

Pen ran her fingers over the maroon wallpaper, the color contrasted with an inlaid silver pattern of little laurels like the tapestry rug in the foyer. She felt as though she were walking into a vampiric lair, alluding to something horrific waiting for her at the end of the hall. She peered into rooms as they passed them, fireplaces and canopied beds lying in wait.

One by one, Fanny opened doors and showed them in, and one by one, their group dwindled. Daniela filed into a room first, closing the door with aclick,and Laszlo disappeared with a grateful sigh soon after. When they reached the end of the hall, it was just Pen, Storm, and Fanny.

Fanny opened the door to her right and nodded to Storm. “This will be yers,” she said as Storm unceremoniously dropped Pen’s bag at her feet and disappeared into his room with a grunt. “And this is yers,” she said, opening the one to their left.

It was a cozy room, much like the others. A tall oak-post bed sat a few feet from the door, an antique trunk at the foot. Afireplace was nestled into the farthest wall, and before it was a pair of brown leather chairs draped with blankets.

On the wall next to the door was a massive, towering wardrobe. Two large windows overlooked the garden on the wall across, which was sloped like a rotunda, with a padded bench beneath. It was cold, the stone walls doing little to trap the heat without the fireplace going.

Pen deposited her backpack beside the bed and dragged her duffel in from the hall. “They really went all out here, didn’t they?” She smoothed her hands over the blankets on the bed, fine and thick for the cold nights ahead. She wanted to wrap one around her shoulders, cover her face, and pretend like she was at home, burying her face in Apawllo’s soft belly. Pen needed some sense of comfort to ground her.

Fanny fiddled with the doorknob. “Most of the rooms look like this. The previous owners wanted it to feel authentic.”

She met Pen’s eyes for a moment, and Pen thought she would say something more, but the groundskeeper stayed silent.

“You hate it here, don’t you?” Pen ventured.

“If I truly hated it, I wouldnae be here now, would I? Do ye have any questions for me ’fore I go?”

“If we need anything, how do we get ahold of you?”

Pen fought a shiver at the look of pity in her eyes. “Ye dinnae get ahold of me unless it’s an emergency.”

Pen opened her mouth to respond, but Fanny closed the door without another word. Fanny didn’t seem to want to spend another second in this castle, and Pen was beginning to think that even if they had an emergency, Fanny wouldn’t be rushing to help them. Rocking back on her heels, Pen glanced around the space and to the bed, the exhaustion of the day hitting her all at once. Her bickering with Storm had worn on her, and she could feel the beginnings of a headache thrumming away at her skull.

Alone, Pen sighed and flung herself backward on her bed,staring up at the canopy. What a mess she’d gotten herself into. She’d known it would be difficult at the retreat. She hadn’t been around this many people who knew her intimately in months, but Neil Storm… Well, he’d done a number on her.

Reaching for a pillow, she pulled it to her face and screamed into it. Pen screamed from anger, frustration, guilt, and embarrassment. Why could nothing in her life go according to plan? Between Neil Storm showing up and the dawning self-made deadline she’d set, Pen would bet she’d come out of the retreat worse for wear.

She should have given Storm this. The minute he showed up at the pub, she should have backed off. Pen really needed to start thinking things through before she made rash decisions.

Like blowing her savings on a spur-of-the-moment writing retreat.

A long, terriblesqueakcut through the silence. Frowning, Pen tossed the pillow aside, leaning up on her elbows as she surveyed the room.

“Hello?” she called.

No one answered. She frowned as she searched the room. She was alone.

Licking her lips, Pen stood. People always said that strange sounds were houses settling, but what about stone castles? Besides, in the world of horror, it was always somethingmore. A ghost, memories of something sinister lingering in tainted walls, a monster, perhaps. As a horror author, Pen of all people knew not to creep toward the noise, but she couldn’t help it. Curiosity had won her over.

Pen crossed the room, fingers dancing over the fireplace, kicking up dust. She coughed, waving her hands in the air to clear away the cloud. She paused at the edge of the fireplace, her eyes bouncing around the room. Then she heard it again: that long, dreadfulsqueak. A foot on the stairs, a hand pushing a door, a terrible, monstrous thing teetering on an edge.

Whatever it was, it stilled once more, the room falling silent. She felt the faintest of drafts, cold air slithering across her skin, and Pen wrapped an arm around her middle as she stepped toward the wall. She tested the edges of the tapestry hanging there, a banner of a stag in crimson reds and forest greens. Behind it, cool air hit her fingers, a soft, chilling caress. Lifting the tapestry aside, she came face-to-face with a dark corridor. The door had been opened wide, and stone steps led up and down, dissolving into darkness.

“What on earth?” she said, leaning in.

Frowning, she slid her phone from her pocket and turned on the flashlight, moving the light up and down. This was breaking horror movie protocol number one: Never go into a dark space alone. And yet, she felt that incessant tether again. Puffing out her cheeks and slightly regretting the decision, she began her descent.

The passageway was cold and barren, only narrow stone walls and steep steps guiding her to somewhere else in the castle. Her footsteps echoed in the stairwell, and though someone like Laszlo might have needed to duck in the slender passage, she did not. Her fingers skimmed over the stone until they landed on something wooden. Pen blinked, shining the light on a short wooden door.

“Hello?” she whispered, pressing her ear up against its smooth surface. She saw nothing through the sliver of light bleeding through the side, but she heard footsteps pass her.