dead-end. Could it be that this place had no library? Did Lord Ashworth not read?
Rounding another corner, Vivian encountered a stairwell. Unlike the grand staircase at the main doors, this small set must be used for servants. It wound upward in a spiral, the walls made of stones, smooth from years of contact.
She doubted she would find a library up these stairs, but curiosity urged her onward. With the candle halfway gone, Vivian climbed the steps, carefully lifting her nightgown to avoid a fall. Once at the top, she came across a single long hall.
The house was silent. Not even the moaning of the night winds could penetrate these walls.
Vivian started to her left, her heart thumping a quiet rhythm against her breast. She was tempted to try the unlit doors until she realized that she had found the servants’ quarters. There was nothing here for her.
She turned back the other way. It was unwise to be up here, dressed as she was, so late after turning in for the night.
She reached the staircase when movement down the other hall caught her eye. The form was small, such as a large dog or a young child. Vivian blinked, watched for it again. Her pulse drummed in her ears.
It could be a trick of the wind. Maybe it was a phantom or ghost lurking to frighten foolish visitors.
What if it were the monster Ashworth continued to speak of?
Her mouth dried. Knees trembled.
Then, a door at the end of the hall opened and shut. So someone had been in the darkened corners watching her.
A strangling vice tightening in her throat, Vivian raced down the stairs to the floor below. But once there she could not remember how to return to her rooms. She had turned so many ways she couldn’t find her way back.
The candle burned lower. Hot wax dripped onto her fingers.
Following three dead-ends and two full circles, Vivian finally found the plaster covered walls again.
Her stomach ached, her jaw hurt from clenching, but at least she was closer.
Vision blurry from anxious tears, Vivian fought to rein in her panic. As she ventured down another passage, nothing looked familiar. The bitter taste of fear saturated her tongue, but she had to keep going.
Vivian turned another corner, then bumped hard into a large figure blocking her path.
Her flame died.
Chapter Six
Terrifying blackness. Buried alive.
Harsh, deep breathing echoed in Vivian’s eardrums. A waft of sandalwood swirled in her nostrils.
She swayed like an open boat in rough seas.
For the first time since entering Silverstone Manor, a true, piercing terror gripped her heart.
She tried to find her voice, to scream, but nothing would come forth. Trapped, paralyzed, she could do nothing but wait.
Without warning, large hands snatched her upper arms. Strong fingers pressed through the gown’s fabric, bruising her flesh with a death-like grip. She struggled helplessly against his power, twisting, kicking. The candleholder loosened from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
She closed her eyes, willing the words to form in her mouth. “Wh-whatever it is you seek, please address it now. Else release me so I may find my bed.”
One hand came free of her arm, leaving the skin to throb from the crushing grasp. She thought he might release her then but instead a finger grazed her chin. Stunned, she gasped, afraid of what he may do next.
A growl resounded above her head, his ferocity chilling her blood. He released her and thrust her away from him. She stumbled into a wall where the cold stones prevented her tumble.
Suddenly a glimmer of light flashed from far down the corridor, gradually brightening the walls as it came closer. In an instant, her attacker disappeared in the other direction.
Vivian stumbled toward the light, her heartbeat frantic. Now that the mystery had passed, panic rushed up her throat. She bit her lip to keep the hysteria away.
A figure hobbled toward her, his candle illuminating old paintings and chipped murals. At last, she reached him.
The old
Rounding another corner, Vivian encountered a stairwell. Unlike the grand staircase at the main doors, this small set must be used for servants. It wound upward in a spiral, the walls made of stones, smooth from years of contact.
She doubted she would find a library up these stairs, but curiosity urged her onward. With the candle halfway gone, Vivian climbed the steps, carefully lifting her nightgown to avoid a fall. Once at the top, she came across a single long hall.
The house was silent. Not even the moaning of the night winds could penetrate these walls.
Vivian started to her left, her heart thumping a quiet rhythm against her breast. She was tempted to try the unlit doors until she realized that she had found the servants’ quarters. There was nothing here for her.
She turned back the other way. It was unwise to be up here, dressed as she was, so late after turning in for the night.
She reached the staircase when movement down the other hall caught her eye. The form was small, such as a large dog or a young child. Vivian blinked, watched for it again. Her pulse drummed in her ears.
It could be a trick of the wind. Maybe it was a phantom or ghost lurking to frighten foolish visitors.
What if it were the monster Ashworth continued to speak of?
Her mouth dried. Knees trembled.
Then, a door at the end of the hall opened and shut. So someone had been in the darkened corners watching her.
A strangling vice tightening in her throat, Vivian raced down the stairs to the floor below. But once there she could not remember how to return to her rooms. She had turned so many ways she couldn’t find her way back.
The candle burned lower. Hot wax dripped onto her fingers.
Following three dead-ends and two full circles, Vivian finally found the plaster covered walls again.
Her stomach ached, her jaw hurt from clenching, but at least she was closer.
Vision blurry from anxious tears, Vivian fought to rein in her panic. As she ventured down another passage, nothing looked familiar. The bitter taste of fear saturated her tongue, but she had to keep going.
Vivian turned another corner, then bumped hard into a large figure blocking her path.
Her flame died.
Chapter Six
Terrifying blackness. Buried alive.
Harsh, deep breathing echoed in Vivian’s eardrums. A waft of sandalwood swirled in her nostrils.
She swayed like an open boat in rough seas.
For the first time since entering Silverstone Manor, a true, piercing terror gripped her heart.
She tried to find her voice, to scream, but nothing would come forth. Trapped, paralyzed, she could do nothing but wait.
Without warning, large hands snatched her upper arms. Strong fingers pressed through the gown’s fabric, bruising her flesh with a death-like grip. She struggled helplessly against his power, twisting, kicking. The candleholder loosened from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
She closed her eyes, willing the words to form in her mouth. “Wh-whatever it is you seek, please address it now. Else release me so I may find my bed.”
One hand came free of her arm, leaving the skin to throb from the crushing grasp. She thought he might release her then but instead a finger grazed her chin. Stunned, she gasped, afraid of what he may do next.
A growl resounded above her head, his ferocity chilling her blood. He released her and thrust her away from him. She stumbled into a wall where the cold stones prevented her tumble.
Suddenly a glimmer of light flashed from far down the corridor, gradually brightening the walls as it came closer. In an instant, her attacker disappeared in the other direction.
Vivian stumbled toward the light, her heartbeat frantic. Now that the mystery had passed, panic rushed up her throat. She bit her lip to keep the hysteria away.
A figure hobbled toward her, his candle illuminating old paintings and chipped murals. At last, she reached him.
The old
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