Soul Lines (Completed)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Elle's POV

I regarded the narrow two-story Georgian house with squinting eyes, dread dripping down the back of my throat. The house was a historical landmark in Acuteraden and had been left untouched for decades. It had slowly collected dust along the cracks in the walls, and now the building stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was squeezed between two streets, the front yard forced into a 'v' as the road forked into two. Ochre paint peeled from the exterior walls, and the large sash windows were boarded with cardboard, crumbling under the constant rays of sunlight.

White ornate gable trim had been added to the house during the Victorian era, but they had lost some of its majesties now that they were covered in dark cobwebs, the paint peeling away sorrowfully.

'The family residence of the Clarke sisters was infamous for many reasons. Housing deceit and treachery upon both humans and werewolves, the household was run by Master Andrew Clarke, who allowed his sisters, Elizabeth and Anne, to reside during the eldest's divorce to a monstrous man.' Carmon looked across the group, her eyes lit with mischief as she spun the tale with her twist of events. 'The sisters were never ones to get along, but Master Clarke trusted their misalignment to benefit him, forcing the girls to police their actions. Neighbours held complaints of the torturous noise that echoed from within the hallowed walls, and guests were rare.

'It is said that one day, as Elizabeth was resting in the garden's pavilion, her sister brought tea, and the two girls had a joyous luncheon. That night, Elizabeth fell ill, poisoned, and passed before eve broke, leaving Anne the sole resident within the manor.'

The tourists looked dubiously at the house, disbelieving the story as it occurred, but my skin prickled listening to Carmon's story. I knew she spoke a version of the truth, it was prettied up with several omissions, but they only aided the mystery of her story.

The house harboured dark secrets that few knew about, the kind meant to be forgotten and never spoken of. Even Carmon wouldn't voice all the horrors that had occurred in the hundred years that the slaughterhouse had been in use.

Picked off one by one and in mass selection, werewolves had once feared for their lives in the small town of Aucteraden. The Clarkes had gotten their wealth when a werewolf's head was comparable to a gold crown's. Fear latched its icy fingers around the hearts of humans, pulling strings like a puppeteer, while werewolves lived in terror.

Bones were laid to waste under the manor, sealed in chambers that had chains shackled to the stone walls. Hundreds of rooms used to imprison werewolves, where bones still wore silver manacles like glittering fashion statements. With the help of an excavator, it would take only minutes to find evidence of the abattoir that had been ignored for decades.

'The servants quit as tales of spirits haunted the man. Elizabeth's own greed sanctioned her to the manor's shackles, but Anne ignored the ill-fated warnings, choosing to stay. It was a night not unlike like tonight when Anne clambered from her bed, blood seeping from her eyes as her sins appeared before her.' Chills shook my body as a howling wind roared through the trees. 'She made it as far as the stairs before Elizabeth took her vengeance, pushing her to her ultimate death at the bottom, her sins written upon the walls in the blood that ran from her eyes.

'If you listen closely, you can hear the girls fighting inside the manor. Some have claimed to see lights within Elizabeth's room flickering as shadows walk past the windows.' It was one of Carmon's greatest lies. She was setting them up, hoping that later that night, when we were celebrating the Pansélinos festival, they would look up at the haunted window after she had snuck into the manor and lit the lamp in Elizabeth's room.