Chapter 1 - The Cottage on Moonflower Lane
Chapter 1
The Cottage on Moonflower Lane
The rain began just as Elara Vale reached Moonflower Village.
Of course it did.
She stood beside the old wooden sign at the edge of the village, her suitcase sinking slightly into the muddy road, and stared at the words carved into the weathered timber.
WELCOME TO MOONFLOWER VILLAGE
Someone had painted tiny purple flowers around the letters.
Elara frowned.
She had never understood why people decorated signs with flowers. Especially in places where the rain could ruin everything.
She pulled the hood of her coat over her head and looked down at the letter in her hand.
The paper was old.
The handwriting was even older.
Dear Elara,
If you’re reading this, then I’m afraid I’ve already gone.
I know we haven’t spoken in many years. Perhaps you don’t even remember me properly.
But I’ve left you something.
The cottage on Moonflower Lane.
It’s yours now.
Take care of it, and perhaps it will take care of you.
—Mirabel
Elara had read those words so many times that she knew them by heart.
Her aunt had died three weeks ago.
Elara had barely known her.
Mirabel Vale had lived alone in Moonflower Village for almost thirty years, running a tiny tea shop that Elara’s mother had always described as “strange.”
Not dangerous.
Not frightening.
Just strange.
After Mirabel’s death, a solicitor had contacted Elara and informed her that she had inherited the property.
Elara had almost refused.
She had a job she hated, an apartment she could barely afford, and a life that seemed to be going nowhere.
Then her landlord increased the rent.
Her employer let her go.
And suddenly, a strange cottage in a village she’d never heard of didn’t seem like such a terrible idea.
At least it was free.
Probably.
Elara started walking.
Moonflower Village was prettier than she expected.
Small stone houses lined the narrow road, each one surrounded by gardens overflowing with flowers. Warm yellow lights glowed through windows despite the fact that it was still afternoon.
A bakery sat on the corner.
A little bookshop stood beside it.
Further down the street, she spotted a green-painted building with a sign that read:
AGNES BELL’S BAKERY
The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread drifted through the rain.
Elara’s stomach growled.
She ignored it.
Food cost money.
She needed to save what little she had.
According to the letter, Moonflower Lane was at the far end of the village.
She followed the road until the houses became fewer.
Then she saw it.
The cottage.
Elara stopped walking.
For a moment, she simply stared.
It wasn’t the run-down little house she’d imagined.
It was beautiful.
Old, yes.
But beautiful.
Stone walls were covered in dark green ivy. Purple flowers climbed around the windows. A crooked chimney rose from the roof, and warm light glowed behind the glass of the front windows.
Elara blinked.
She checked the letter.
Then looked at the cottage again.
The house was supposed to be empty.
She slowly approached the front gate.
It creaked open by itself.
Elara froze.
“Okay,” she whispered.
The gate swung wider.
She looked around.
There was nobody there.
“Probably the wind.”
The rain had almost stopped now.
Elara stepped through the gate.
The moment her foot touched the stone path, every flower in the garden turned toward her.
She stopped.
Her heart skipped.
The flowers were definitely moving.
Slowly, almost politely, they followed her with their petals.
Elara stared at them.
“That’s not normal.”
One of the flowers shook.
She decided not to think about it.
She reached the front door.
Before she could knock, it opened.
Elara jumped backward.
“Good.”
She stared into the dark hallway.
“Very normal.”
The cottage remained silent.
Elara stepped inside.
The door closed behind her.
She turned around immediately.
“Nope.”
She grabbed the handle.
Locked.
“Fantastic.”
She tried again.
Nothing.
“Open.”
The door remained closed.
“Please?”
Nothing.
Elara sighed.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of haunted-house nonsense my aunt was involved in, but I am extremely tired.”
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Elara stared at it.
“...Thank you.”
She stepped farther inside.
The cottage smelled like lavender, old books, cinnamon, and something sweet she couldn’t identify.
The hallway opened into a cozy sitting room.
A fireplace stood against one wall.
A faded green sofa sat beneath a window.
Bookshelves covered almost every available space.
There were jars everywhere.
Jars of dried flowers.
Jars of strange leaves.
Jars containing tiny glowing stones.
And one jar that appeared to contain nothing except a small cloud.
Elara walked closer.
The cloud moved.
She quickly walked away.
“Not looking at that.”
Her suitcase suddenly moved.
Elara turned.
It had rolled several feet across the floor.
She stared at it.
Then at the floor.
Then back at the suitcase.
“Uneven floor.”
The suitcase rolled another inch.
“Very uneven floor.”
She dragged it upstairs.
The bedroom was surprisingly clean.
A large bed stood beneath a window overlooking the garden.
There was a wooden wardrobe, a writing desk, and a small mirror with an ornate silver frame.
Elara put her suitcase down.
For the first time since arriving, she allowed herself to breathe.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
Maybe she could stay here for a while.
Find another job.
Save some money.
Figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
It wasn’t the future she’d imagined.
But perhaps that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
She walked back downstairs.
The kitchen was even more beautiful.
Copper pots hung above a large wooden counter.
Shelves were filled with jars of tea leaves.
A huge kettle sat beside the fireplace.
Elara picked up one of the jars.
A handwritten label read:
MOONLIGHT TEA
She opened it.
The leaves shimmered faintly.
She immediately closed the jar.
“Absolutely not.”
She turned toward the fireplace.
There was a stack of wood beside it.
Elara carried two pieces over.
She arranged them inside the fireplace and searched for matches.
Before she found any, a flame appeared.
Elara jumped.
The fire crackled happily.
She stared.
“No.”
The flames danced.
“Definitely no.”
She backed away.
Something landed on the kitchen table.
Elara screamed.
A black cat sat there.
It was enormous.
Its fur was completely black except for a small white patch beneath its chin.
Its golden eyes stared directly into hers.
Elara put a hand over her heart.
“Where did you come from?”
The cat blinked.
“Are you hungry?”
The cat stared.
Elara opened a cupboard.
“Do you have food here?”
The cat flicked its tail.
“That’s a no.”
She searched another cupboard.
Nothing.
She opened the refrigerator.
Almost empty.
A carton of milk.
Three apples.
Half a loaf of bread.
Elara looked at the cat.
“You hungry?”
The cat looked offended.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She poured some milk into a small bowl.
The cat jumped from the table.
It walked over, sniffed the milk, then looked back at her.
“What?”
The cat sighed.
Actually sighed.
Elara stared.
“Did you just sigh?”
The cat sat down.
Then it spoke.
“Finally.”
Elara dropped the bowl.
It shattered on the floor.
The cat calmly stepped around the broken pieces.
“Humans are so dramatic.”
Elara couldn’t move.
The cat looked up at her.
“You look exactly like her.”
“Who?”
“Mirabel.”
Elara swallowed.
“You knew my aunt?”
The cat began licking one paw.
“I lived with her.”
“You...”
Elara pointed at the cat.
“...talk.”
“Yes.”
“You can actually talk.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re a talking cat.”
The cat stopped grooming itself.
“Don’t make it sound so strange.”
Elara stared at him.
“What should I call you?”
The cat’s tail curled around his paws.
“Moss.”
“Moss?”
“Yes.”
“Like the plant?”
He gave her a long, unimpressed look.
“Like Moss.”
Elara slowly sat down.
Her legs suddenly felt weak.
“This is a lot.”
Moss jumped onto the chair opposite her.
“You haven’t even seen the interesting parts.”
Elara looked toward the hallway.
“What interesting parts?”
“The garden.”
“No.”
“The library.”
“No.”
“The forest.”
“Definitely no.”
Moss tilted his head.
“The blue door.”
Elara’s expression changed.
“What blue door?”
For the first time, Moss looked nervous.
He glanced toward the far end of the hallway.
Elara followed his gaze.
There was a narrow corridor she hadn’t noticed before.
At the end of it stood a door.
Blue.
Very blue.
The paint looked fresh despite the rest of the cottage being old.
Elara stood.
Moss immediately jumped down.
“Don’t.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because Mirabel said so.”
Elara walked toward the door.
Moss followed.
“Elara.”
She stopped.
It was the first time he’d called her by her name.
“How do you know my name?”
Moss didn’t answer.
Instead, he stared at the blue door.
“Your aunt left instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“She said that if you ever came here...”
He hesitated.
Elara waited.
Moss’s golden eyes met hers.
“...you must never open that door.”
Elara looked at the door.
Something about it made the hairs on her arms rise.
She reached for the handle.
Moss hissed.
“Don’t!”
Elara pulled her hand back.
“Fine.”
She stepped away.
“Happy?”
Moss nodded.
“Very.”
Elara returned to the kitchen.
She cleaned up the broken bowl and decided she needed sleep.
Tomorrow she would figure out the tea shop.
Tomorrow she would figure out the talking cat.
Tomorrow she would figure out why the flowers moved.
Tonight, she wanted nothing more than a bed.
She climbed the stairs.
But as she reached the landing, she heard something.
A soft sound.
Like someone whispering.
Elara stopped.
She looked back.
The hallway was empty.
“Moss?”
No answer.
She listened.
There it was again.
A faint knock.
Elara’s heart began beating faster.
It was coming from downstairs.
She slowly walked back down.
The cottage was silent.
The fireplace had gone out.
The lights had dimmed.
And at the end of the hallway stood the blue door.
Elara stared at it.
Three slow knocks echoed through the cottage.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
She didn’t move.
A fourth knock came.
Then a voice whispered from behind the door.
“Elara...”
Her blood ran cold.
The voice was a woman’s.
Old.
Familiar.
Impossible.
Elara stepped closer.
She knew that voice.
It was the voice from the few childhood memories she had of her aunt.
“Mirabel?”
Silence.
Then the whisper came again.
“You’re finally home.”
Elara reached for the handle.
And somewhere behind her, Moss whispered:
“Don’t open it.”
