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Kaitlin nodded, her mind obviously already working on the problem at hand. “I can swing by after work and take a closer look. Maybe do some research on the symbols, see if I can find anything in the historical archives.”

Amy smiled. “That would be great, Kait. I’ll let Sully know to expect us.”

Matt sighed, his expression turning serious. “I wish I could join you, but I’m pulling an overnight shift at the station. Gotta keep the island safe from things that go bump in the night.”

Amy rolled her eyes, her snark returning in full force. “Yeah, I’m sure the island’s criminal masterminds are just waiting for you to take a night off.”

As they finished their meal, which turned out to be a delicious haddock pie, Amy’s thoughts kept drifting back to the markings, apprehension settling in her gut like a lead weight. Finding such a large one must have rattled Sully’s crew further. She wondered whether she still had a construction crew left.

They all knew the mansion held secrets, but she never imagined they’d be etched into the very walls of the house. With Kaitlin’s help, maybe they could unravel their mystery before it unraveled them.

Chapter 3

The east wing was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against Amy’s ears and made her more aware of every breath she took. The soft creak of the old floorboards beneath her shoes echoed faintly. Shadows stretched long across the walls as the late afternoon sun filtered through the grimy windows, casting distorted patterns of light over the strange symbols etched into the wood. The mansion itself was alive and listening.

Amy stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the markings. Seeing them in person was a far cry from the photos Sully had sent earlier. The rough texture of the lines caught the light in odd ways, making the symbols shift and writhe under her gaze. She reached out hesitantly, her fingertips brushing against one of the carvings. The grooves were deep, deliberate, as if whoever had made them had been working against both time and fear.

A shiver skittered across her skin.

“God,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “You feel it, don’t you? This… heaviness?”

Amy let her palm rest on one carving, closing her eyes briefly. She slowed her breathing, as if she were meditating, letting herself tune into the subtle thrum beneath her skin. The one she always felt calling to her from the mansion. As expected, it was warm, steady, almost like fingers resting gently against her back and urging her forward. She said nothing, not with Sully watching, but the sensation unsettled her. It felt too real to be wishful thinking.

Beside her, Kaitlin leaned closer to a section of wall, her penlight illuminating another set of symbols hidden in the shadows. Her usual British detachment faltered. “I did a quick search on these after I got back to the office,” she said. Her voice was hushed, as though speaking too loudly might disturb whatever lingered here. “They might be apotropaic symbols. Witch marks meant to ward off evil. Common in very old homes, especially near entrances or windows. And those iron nails your crew found? Same purpose. Protection.”

Amy’s mind raced, her gaze darting to the walls, the windows, the faint outline of the doorframe. “Do you think they’re everywhere? Around every entrance?”

Sully, standing a few feet away with his toolbox, didn’t answer immediately. His jaw was tight, his movements measured as he pried loose a section of trim along the window with more care than usual. The sound of the wood splintering sent a jolt through the room. “Let’s find out,” he muttered.

Amy flinched as the trim came away to reveal yet another set of carvings beneath. The markings seemed even more intricate here, the lines overlapping like a tangled web.

“I would assume they cover all the entrances in this room, maybe the whole house,” Sully said grimly, brushing the dust from his hands.

Kaitlin crouched near the floorboards where the afternoon light didn’t reach, her fingers tracing the faint outline of a symbol partially obscured by years of grime. “It’s fascinating, really. Whoever built this place, right Sully? These are original floorboards?” She paused as Sully nodded in agreement. “This wasn’t just superstition. This was planning. Intention. They knew if they kept them under the wood trim, and in the subfloor, they would be less likely to be disturbed. As if there was something they felt threatened by.”

“Or someone,” Amy murmured, her voice catching in her throat. The unease that had settled in her chest earlier now crushed her ribs inward.

Kaitlin glanced up, her brow furrowed. “This room,” she said, gesturing to the high ceilings and the view beyond the fogged glass. “It was important. They had a view of the gardens, the sea… A master bedroom, maybe?”

Sully straightened, his tools dangling loosely at his side as he spoke. “The foundation turned most of the rooms into dormitories by dividing them with drywall. But this one…” He scanned the room. His voice was quieter now, stripped of its usual sarcasm. “This one wasn’t touched.”

Kaitlin stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Amy, what do you know about the original owners? I’ve dug into the mansion’s more recent history, around my birth and the murders, but I didn’t look much beyond that into the family who built it.”

Amy hesitated. Her gaze drifted to the nearest window. The faint reflection of her own face stared back at her, distorted and ghostly in the glass. “Not much,” she admitted. The words felt hollow, inadequate against the growing sense of dread in her gut. Maybe she should know about them, seeing as she now owned the house.

“I grew up with the story that this place was built by a sea captain,” Sully said, his tone edged with dry skepticism. “Built the place, then got himself lost at sea. His widow used to walk the widow’s walk at night, waiting for him to come home. Island legend says she still does—the Woman in White.”

Amy shot him a sharp look. “I didn’t think you believed in any of that stuff.”

Sully met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “I don’t. Not ghost stories.”

Kaitlin, oblivious to the tension between them, knelt near the window and brushed her fingers against another set of symbols. “I’ll need to do more research. It might just be tradition—something they did for every new home back then. Still…” She trailed off. “It’s strange how hidden they are. Like they weren’t meant to be seen, just… there.”

Amy nodded absently, her mind churning. The air in the room felt heavier now, thick with something unseen but undeniably present. Another chill had her rubbing her arms to shake the feeling. “Thanks, Kait. Let me know what you find.”

As they left the room, Amy glanced back one last time. The symbols seemed to gleam faintly in the fading light, as if the house itself was watching them leave.

“Wine on the porch?” Kaitlin asked, breaking the silence as they stepped into the hallway. Her voice was light but strained.