Chapter 1: The Key in the Will
The letter arrived on a rainy Thursday, tucked between bills and a charity flyer, as if it were just another piece of ordinary mail. Evelyn Moraine stood barefoot in her apartment kitchen, a coffee mug cooling in her hand, the city storm rumbling outside her windows like a warning.
She didn't recognize the return address—Blackthistle & Fenn, Attorneys at Law—but the name scrawled in formal ink inside the envelope made her breath catch in her throat.
Mildred Thorne. Her mother's sister. A woman Evelyn hadn't seen in over two decades. A woman everyone had presumed long dead.
"To Evelyn Thorne Moraine,
By the final wishes of the late Miss Mildred Thorne, you are hereby named the sole inheritor of her estate, including all possessions and the property known as Blackthistle Manor, located on the northern cliffs of Coldwater Reach..."
The rest blurred. Legal terms. Requirements. A contact number. A key taped to the bottom of the page. Old brass, ornate, cold even through the paper.
Evelyn stared at it.
"Of course there's a manor," she muttered to herself, setting the mug down. "Because creepy aunts who disappear without a trace always leave behind gothic manors."
Still, she held the key longer than she meant to, her thumb tracing the worn etching on its edge. A part of her—the part that still dreamed of escape, of starting fresh, of rewriting everything—stirred.
Three days later, she was driving north along the coast in a rented car, a single suitcase in the trunk, and a bottle of bourbon hidden in the glove compartment.
Coldwater Reach was exactly as it sounded—cold, grey, and perched on the edge of nowhere. Mist hung low across the ocean like ghost-breath, and the waves beat the cliffs with a rhythm that felt personal. The town itself was little more than a few scattered houses, a church, and a weathered inn.
Blackthistle Manor sat alone, veiled in fog, overlooking the black sea like it was waiting.
The drive up the private path was choked with ivy and silence. No birdsong. No wind. Just the hum of her tires over gravel and the soft thump of her heartbeat.
Then the manor came into view, and she stopped the car.
It looked like a storybook had rotted.
Three stories tall. Stone walls the color of ash. Towering windows, many boarded. A crooked chimney bled smoke into the air—smoke—which made no sense, because the house was supposed to have been abandoned.
Evelyn got out slowly, key in hand. The air smelled of salt and decay. The gate creaked open under her touch.
She climbed the porch steps. The front door was large, black, carved with roses.
The key slid in like it had been waiting for her.
The lock clicked.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and memories. The house groaned softly, like something waking up. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
The foyer was vast. A chandelier loomed above, its crystals dull with age. A staircase curled up into darkness. Faded portraits lined the walls—figures with sharp eyes and faint smiles.
She shivered.
A mirror hung directly across the entryway. For a moment—just a breath—she thought she saw a figure standing behind her in the reflection.
She turned.
Nothing.
Just the silence. And the cold.
She explored room by room, her footsteps echoing. The kitchen was untouched, antique, but everything was in its place. The study smelled of old paper and pine. And everywhere—roses. Carved into wood. Pressed into wallpaper. Faded into curtains.
In the upstairs hallway, she found a door that wouldn't open.
She jiggled the handle. It rattled like it was trying to resist. Evelyn narrowed her eyes.
"That's not suspicious at all," she muttered.
When she turned away, she thought she heard something on the other side. A breath. A whisper. A soft sound like skin brushing wallpaper.
She froze. Listened.
Nothing.
She walked faster after that.
That night, she sat by the hearth in the old parlor, a fire crackling with more enthusiasm than expected. The bourbon helped dull her unease. Outside, the wind howled and the waves crashed. The house moaned and creaked and sighed.
She told herself it was just old. Just settling.
The fire dimmed. Her eyes grew heavy.
That was when she heard it.
A soft knock. From upstairs.
She sat upright.
Another knock. Gentle. Rhythmic. The locked door.
Evelyn rose, heart in her throat.
The knocking stopped.
Silence.
She stood at the foot of the stairs, staring up into the dark.
Then she saw him.
A shadow. A man.
Standing at the top of the stairs.
Watching her.
The fire cracked loudly behind her. When she turned back, he was gone.
But upstairs… the door creaked open.
[End of Chapter 1]