Page 142 of Whisper of Nightmares

Euphemia rushes down the stairs on the tips of her toes, hoping no one will hear her. She wants to confront the spirit first. If they find her with the long-forgotten deed to the manor, surely, they’ll have questions. Questions Euphemia simply doesn’t know how answer until the real Dagfinn is here.

Carefully slinking down the stairs and across the foyer, Euphemia slips into the parlor.

Despite the large windows, the room seems dim without a fire in the hearth. Outside, storm clouds slowly roll across the sky, swallowing what remains of the morning light.

Or perhaps the darkness has nothing to do with the storm.

Perhaps it has more to do with the haunted Dagfinn standing in the corner.

His head hangs toward the ground, autumn locks fallen across his face, making him look even more deranged.

“Hugr?” Euphemia says with a voice like a shaking leaf.

The haunted Dagfinn’s head snaps up.

Its neck twists at an impossible angle as those abyss-like eyes gaze upon her.

Its jaw swivels from side to side, drool dripping.

A rasping, gurgling sound emerges from its throat, just audible enough to make the hair on Euphemia’s arms stand on end.

The haunted Dagfinn takes a shambling step toward her.

Euphemia reaches into her chemise and pulls out the deed.

“Here. I found it. The original deed to Thorfell Manor.”

The thing that is not Dagfinn steps again.

Hastily she unfolds it, her hands trembling. “T-this is what you want. Isn’t it?”

Another step. The stench of moss grows heavier.

Doubt creeps into her belly.

What if this isn’t the deed at all? What if it’s just a random piece of parchment that drifted into the garden and was buried by accident?

Upstairs, Euphemia listens to the frantic steps of her mother-in-law popping and out of the rooms. It won’t be long before she checks down here.

Euphemia can’t stop now.

This is the only plan she has.

She just has to be more convincing.

Euphemia thinks back to what Otho told her.

She holds the deed out more firmly. “You were murdered in this house. Your lands were taken. But your children escaped.”

The thing with Dagfinn’s body stops moving.

It’s head tilts to one side, dark eyes staring at her soul.

Euphemia wants to run, but forces herself to continue. “Your children escaped. They lived. The country of England made your murderers promise to take care of them, but then they buried this deed and hid from their responsibilities.”

The thing before her hisses.

“I would be enraged if I were you. You have every right to be. But the family who lives here did not do this to you. And if you leave this body, I believe the man who belongs in it will make sure this deed—the one naming your heirs in it—is honored.”