Where The Dead Still Love

The first thing Elena Hart noticed about Blackwood House was that there were no birds. Not a single one.

The trees surrounding the property were thick enough to swallow the sky, their branches twisting together above the long gravel driveway like a skeletal fingers. Leaves rustled in the August wind, but the sound was wrong somehow. Too deliberate. Too close. She slowed her car.

The old house appeared between the trees. For several seconds, Elena simply stared. It was enormous she thought to herself.

Three stories of dark stone and blackened wood rose from the hill, crowned by steep gables and narrow chimneys. Tall windows stared down from beneath pointed arches, most of them dark despite the late afternoon sun.

The house looked less abandoned than it did....

Patient and waiting

Elena swallowed

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "Thirty nights." That was the deal. Thirty nights living in the Blackwood House, then she could sell it. At least, that was what the lawyer had told her. She had almost laughed when he'd first explained the conditions. ALMOST!

The property had belonged to the Blackwood family for generations. After the last surviving member died without children, ownership had passed to a distant relative--Elena's grandmother, and now, somehow, it belonged to Elena. She still didn't understand why though.

Her grandmother had never talked about Blackwood house. Not once. Elena had spent most of her childhood believing her grandmother had grown up in a small farmhouse two counties away. Apparently, that had been a lie.

The lawyer had given her a key. A single old brass key, and a warning. "You need to stay there for thirty consecutive nights," he'd said. "Why?" Elena said. He had looked uncomfortable. "That's the condition attached to the property, "and what happens if I don't?" Elena spoke. "You forfeit it." Elena is a slowly starting to get annoyed but asks anyways "Who gets it?" The lawyer hesitated but finally answers with a simple "I don't know." That answer bothered her more than anything else.

Now, sitting in her car with the engine idling, Elena looked at the house again. She should have turned around.

Instead, she grabbed her purse. "Thirty nights," she repeated. She stepped out of the car. The moment her shoes touched the gravel, the wind stopped. Completely. Elena froze. The silence was immediate.

No leaves. No insects. No distant traffic. Nothing. She slowly looked around. The trees stood motionless. Then--- A bird cried somewhere deep in the woods. Elena nearly jumped out of her skin. "Jesus," she laughed nervously.

“Get a grip.” She grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and started toward the house. The front door was larger than she’d expected. Black wood. Iron hinges. A brass knocker shaped like a wolf’s head. The key slid into the lock easily.

When she turned it, something inside the house clicked. Then the door opened by itself. Elena stopped.

The darkness beyond the doorway seemed impossibly deep. “Hello?” Her voice disappeared into the house.

No echo. She frowned. “That’s creepy.” She stepped inside. The temperature dropped instantly. Cold wrapped around her arms. Elena rubbed them and looked around. The entrance hall was beautiful in a decaying sort of way.

A massive staircase curved toward the second floor. Dust covered nearly everything, but underneath it Elena could see polished wood and intricate carvings.

A chandelier hung overhead. Its crystals were black with age. On the walls hung portraits. Dozens of them. Men. Women. Children. All Blackwood's, presumably.

Elena walked closer to the nearest portrait. A young woman stared back at her. She had dark hair. Pale skin. Gray eyes. And an expression that made Elena uncomfortable.

The woman looked terrified. Elena moved to the next portrait. Then the next. Some were centuries old. Others looked surprisingly modern.

She stopped in front of one particular painting. A man. Late twenties, perhaps. Tall. Broad shoulders. Black hair. A severe jawline.

He wore a black suit with a white shirt buttoned all the way to his throat. But it was his eyes that held her. Gray. Almost silver.

Elena stared at the portrait. She couldn’t explain why, but something about him felt familiar. Not familiar like she’d met him before. Familiar like she’d dreamed about him. She stepped closer.

The painted man’s expression was cold. Almost angry. Yet there was something beneath it. Sadness. A deep, unbearable sadness.

Elena reached toward the painting. Her fingers were inches away when— “Don’t.” She screamed.

Elena spun around. Nobody was there. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Who’s there?” Silence.

She backed away from the portraits. Then she heard it again. A man’s voice. Soft. Close. “Don’t touch that.”

Elena stared at the portrait. Her mouth went dry. The voice had come from behind her. She slowly turned. Nothing.

The hallway remained empty. She laughed shakily. “Okay.” Her hand trembled as she grabbed her suitcase.

“I’m officially losing my mind.” She hurried toward the staircase. Halfway up, she noticed something. A door.

At the end of the second-floor hallway. Unlike every other door in the house, it was painted red. A heavy iron lock was wrapped around the handle. Elena stopped. She stared at it.

The voice came again. This time from directly behind her. “Don’t go near that door.” Elena spun around.

And this time, she saw him. A man stood at the bottom of the staircase. Tall. Pale. Dark hair. Gray eyes. The same man from the portrait. Elena couldn’t breathe.

He looked exactly like the painting. Exactly. Except the painting was over a hundred years old. The man slowly lifted his eyes to hers.

His expression changed. Not anger. Not fear. Recognition.

“It’s you,” he whispered. Elena’s stomach dropped. “What?” He took one step toward the staircase. “Elena.” She gripped the railing. “How do you know my name?” He didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked toward the red door. His face went pale. Then he looked back at her. “You shouldn’t have come here.” Elena’s heart pounded. “Who are you?” The man’s jaw tightened.

For the first time, she saw fear in his eyes. “My name is Silas.” A cold breeze swept through the hallway. The chandelier above them began to swing. Silas looked at her one last time.

Then he whispered the words that would change Elena’s life forever. “I’ve been waiting for you for ninety-three years.”

The lights went out. And something behind the red door began to laugh.