- Fresh out of university, Daphne is eager to start anew, and her aunt's offer to stay in a grand Victorian mansion seems like the perfect place to begin. But the manor, with its dark history and unsettling secrets, is far from the peaceful haven sh...
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THE GHOST.
Daphne stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind her as the chill of the outside world gave way to the stagnant air of the Heelshire mansion.
The noiselessness was as thick as ever, the only sound being her own soft footsteps echoing on the wooden floor as she slipped her shoes off by the door.
She pulled her sweater over her head, the fabric slipping from her shoulders, and draped it over the back of the living room couch as she moved through the dimly lit space.
Each step was calculated, a slight hesitation in her pace as she approached the doorway of the kitchen, her lips parting with an involuntary flicker of anxiety.
Daphne dipped her head into the kitchen, her breath hitching slightly as she peered inside.
The evening light filtered through the small window, casting a muted glow over the room. She squinted into the growing darkness, her eyes straining to adjust.
Then, she saw him—Brahms, perched exactly where she had left him. The doll sat motionless on the kitchen chair, his porcelain face tilted slightly towards the stove, as if watching over the now-cold pot she had used earlier.
The sight of him sent a small shiver down her spine, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the uncanny stillness of the scene, the way Brahms seemed almost lifelike in his eerie stillness, yet utterly devoid of any true animation.
Daphne loosed a strained sigh, the tension in her chest easing slightly as she realized nothing had changed. The doll hadn't moved, hadn't done anything to suggest the ghostly presence she'd been entertaining in her mind.
He remained just as she had left him, his beady eyes fixed on nothing, his expression frozen in perpetual innocence—or was it something more sinister?
She couldn't decide. All she knew was that the sense of relief that had initially washed over her quickly morphed into a gnawing anxiety once more.
The old man's words refused to leave her alone, stirring up fresh doubts and questions that refused to be silenced.
Daphne lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, her gaze locked on the doll. Despite the stillness, she couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching her, lurking just beyond the edge of her awareness.
Daphne shook her head, trying to dispel the lingering thoughts that clung to her.
Old houses hold old secrets, lass.
The phrase played over and over, a reminder of the weight she was starting to feel from the place. She felt drawn to learn more about Brahms, the boy who had supposedly set the house ablaze.
