1
Come Darkness
Envelope me like a blanket of night
Cover mine shoulders like a cloak
And give me all that I desire
Through blood and sin
And lead me like the stars
To mine own dark destiny
I’d been having that nightmare for as long as I could remember.
This one was identical to all the others. Standing before the grand old house, I gazed at the shadowed windows. The air was thick with an ominous presence, mirroring the dread that gripped my soul. An urge to grasp the knobs of the hefty double doors battled against my will to resist.
I was aware of the terrors that awaited me inside. The floors and walls smeared with blood, and the ghastly apparitions lurking in the shadows, all poised and observing me.
But the worst was him, the one with piercing blue eyes that shone in the darkness. He was ever-present, lurking in the depths of this place, extending his hand and summoning me. Even now, I could swear I heard his voice.
“Come to me…”
Despite my efforts, the darkness of the dream seemed to prevail. My hand reached for the brass knob, and before I knew it, I was opening the door. A vast, dark foyer welcomed me, accompanied by a surge of eerily cold air. I stepped forward, the chill of the marble floor beneath my feet, while my mind protested vehemently.
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
I pulled myself out of sleep with considerable effort, even as eerie specters encircled me. Propping myself up in bed, I clutched my head, attempting to regulate my breathing. My body was rigid and covered in sweat, my pulse pounding. The chilling sensation lingered, but it gradually faded as I fully awoke.
Catching my breath at last, I lifted my head and surveyed my bedroom. In the faint early morning light, everything remained unchanged, which comforted me. As with previous times, it had been just a dream, and I was secure and unharmed in reality.
After spending a few more minutes gathering my composure, I slid out of bed and made my way to the adjacent bathroom. The golden light caused me to blink several times, yet it felt much more inviting than the pervasive darkness within. The bathroom was quite spacious, unlike my modest apartment, but that didn’t bother me. It was sufficiently comfortable, particularly now that I was on my own.
I paused at the sink, studying my reflection. My light blue eyes appeared dim, my caramel-colored hair was messy, and my complexion seemed a bit pale. Considering how I had just woken up, that last part wasn’t unusual.
Pushing myself away, I undressed and jumped into the shower, the initial cool spray of water shocking me awake. Even though I wasn’t sure what to do so early, I was determined to figure it out. Perhaps I would even do some writing. It had been some time since my last book release, and my publisher was anxiously anticipating any news from me.
To describe my career as ‘great’ would be an understatement. I carved out a significant life by sharing stories, and I attributed much of my success to my husband’s support. It was Troy who championed my tales far and wide, steering me through their rising acclaim. Everything was flourishing for us, until...
I took a deep, unsteady breath, pushing the thoughts to the recesses of my mind. No, there was no need to begin so early. It would only spoil the remainder of my day.
After freshening up, I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and went to choose some clothes from my room. The sun was climbing higher, its light filtering through my curtains, casting a warm, welcoming glow. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a white ruffled blouse, then drew back all the curtains to let in the daylight, dispelling every trace of darkness.
I was just thinking of getting some coffee when my cell phone started to ring. Running a hand through my hair in annoyance, I frowned as I turned towards it, wondering who in the world would be calling me at seven thirty in the morning.
My phone rested on the nightstand next to my bed, and I picked it up as I sat on the edge of the bed. The number was unfamiliar to me, and for a moment, I thought about dismissing the call.
However, my curiosity got the better of me. Could this be someone from my agency trying to contact me again? They had reached out to me sporadically in the last year, hoping that I was considering starting a new manuscript, and it would be better if I didn’t ignore them.
With this in mind, I tapped the button, holding it to my ear.
“Hello? Marine Blake speaking.”
“Ah, hello Ms. Blake! I do apologize if I woke you,” a jovial male voice spoke from the other end of the line.
“Um,” I was a bit caught off guard, but managed to pull myself together. “No, you didn’t wake me. But may I ask who this is?”
The man gave a warm chuckle. “Certainly. I didn’t mean to seem overly friendly so soon. My name is Edward Hines, and I’m calling to discuss an opportunity that might interest you,” he explained.
“Really? Are you working with my publisher?” I asked, sitting back slightly on the bed.
“Well, that’s partly why I reached out to you,” Mr. Hines confessed. “I’ve known about your work for some time. The beauty of your storytelling, particularly how you weave the past with the present, is remarkable. You conduct extensive research for your works, correct?”
“Yes, I strive for accuracy when I write stories set in the past. It lends a sense of realism to them.”
“I wholeheartedly agree with you. But let’s not beat around the bush too much. How would you like to write a story in one of the notorious manors in this country?”
I paused, searching my memory for the manor he mentioned. In England, numerous old manors lay scattered, some nestled far from cities and towns. Many remained under the stewardship of ancestral families, while others had succumbed to neglect. It seemed that without ties to royalty or a renowned lineage, these historic homes sometimes lacked the public interest necessary to preserve them.
“That sounds interesting, sir, but which manor are you speaking of? I’ve heard of quite a few dotting the countryside and I don’t quite understand what you’re referring to when you call it infamous,” I finally responded.
“Yes, that is very true, and I’d imagine that not all know this name unless they live in the area near it. Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard of Whispering Pines Manor?”
Whispering Pines? I tried to recall where I’d heard that name before, but I couldn’t bring it up. It must’ve just been in passing somewhere long ago.
“I believe I have heard the name before, but I cannot recall where right off. Is it close to here?” I asked him.
“Well, I do admit that traveling there is quite the journey, deep into the rural areas of Dunshire. To cut a long story short, I acquired the manor six years ago after years of searching for it, and have since been restoring it to its original splendor. The manor has a rich history and is, without a doubt, a stunning location. For a writer of your caliber, it could serve as an ideal setting for an enthralling tale,” Mr. Hines elaborated.
He was quite persuasive in his efforts to sell it, yet I found it captivating as well. Having visited various manor homes, which often serve as stunning settings for my narratives, the prospect of seeing one under restoration could certainly spark inspiration.
“It sounds like it. So, are you saying that you’ll allow me to visit there and draw some inspiration from it? Perhaps tour it with you?” I inquired.
“It’s a bit more than that,” Mr. Hines conceded. After a brief pause, he added, “I understand I might be overstepping, and please correct me if that’s the case, but given your recent hardships, I thought you might appreciate a respite. How would you feel about becoming the live-in caretaker at Whispering Pines? The responsibilities are minimal, mainly maintaining the property, and it would afford you the peace to focus on your writing.”
“Wait,” I said, “you want me to live there?”
“If you would like to do so. It’s all free of charge, of course. All I’d ask is that you watch over the place and let me know if anything needs my attention,” he confirmed.
The offer piqued my interest yet left me doubtful. It was a first for me, completely unexpected. Perhaps it was wise to proceed with caution.
“This is very kind of you, but can we meet to discuss this more? No offense, but I don’t know you and this is completely out of the blue,” I told him.
“Absolutely! Would it be possible for you to meet me at your publishing office then? I believe you would be more at ease there, and I can coordinate the details with Mrs. Meyers,” Mr. Hines suggested.
“Oh, you know Mrs. Meyers?”
I didn’t bother trying to hide my surprise about that one. Rachel Meyers had been my publicist since I debuted, and I thought I knew all her connections.
Mr. Hines replied with equal cheerfulness, “I do! She’s a long-time friend of mine and the one who provided me with your number. I must apologize for calling so early, but I was too eager to delay this offer any further. It just seems like the right moment.”
“It could be,” I allowed before deciding to end this conversation. “Anyway, I’ll call her first and see what we can arrange. Would that be okay with you?”
“Yes, yes, of course! Please do what you need to, and hopefully, I’ll be speaking to you again soon enough,” he quickly agreed.
After ending the call, I sat on my bed, replaying the entire conversation in my mind. Edward Hines. The name struck a familiar chord, although I was sure we had never met. Rachel hadn’t mentioned him either, so the recognition didn’t stem from her.
Could he be a different kind of author, possibly one specializing in history? I wondered.
Well, there was one surefire way to get answers about that. All it would take was another quick phone call.
I stood up and selected Rachel’s contact. She has been my publicist for several years, and over time, we have become quite close. She was particularly supportive after the loss of Troy, making her feel more like a friend than just a colleague. She has often assured me that I could reach out to her for anything.
She answered the phone in the same friendly tone I was accustomed to from her.
“Good morning, Marine. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. Is everything okay?”
Of course she’d worry about me calling her like this. We hadn’t spoken in at least a month now and it was only about eight in the morning now.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I reassured her before diving into the matter at hand. “I realize it’s early, but I just received a phone call that I needed to speak to you about. Are you acquainted with an Edward Hines?”
“Oh, yes! I know Ed quite well. He’s an old friend I met towards the end of my college years. So you’re saying he just got in contact with you?”
So she did give him my number. That must’ve meant she knew what he wanted too.
“Yes, he just called and offered me a stay at an old manor house in the countryside that he’s renovating. I think he referred to it as Whispering Pines,” I explained.
“Yes, that’s the name of it,” Rachel affirmed, pausing slightly. “It’s quite an offer. I visited the house a few weeks back and it’s come a long way—it’s truly stunning. The only downside, I suppose, is its remote location in the countryside, far from any other places.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem out of the ordinary for such abandoned houses,” I mused, making my way to the kitchen to prepare my coffee. “Does it include any modern amenities, or has it been mostly left unchanged?”
“From what I understand, the completed sections do have electricity and a Wi-Fi signal. I think that’s roughly sixty percent of the house at this point. Naturally, the layout and the new furniture are in keeping with the era of its construction. As I mentioned, it’s quite stunning, despite its remote location,” Rachel described.
It was odd, but I could swear there was a hesitation in her voice, as if she knew something she was reluctant to say out loud.
“Is the secluded part what bothers you most about this place?” I asked her.
“Well,” she hesitated again, “I suppose that’s a significant concern on my mind regarding all this. You’ve been quite secluded over the past year, Marine. And while country life may be peaceful, it might just be too isolating.”
Settling into my modest table, I shrugged and replied, “I understand, yet I also believe it might offer a refreshing change of pace, and it could serve as inspiration for additional novels. If possible, I would like to arrange a meeting with him to explore this further.”
Rachel exhaled deeply on the other end of the line. “I suppose we could arrange that for later today if that’s what you wish. My schedule is fairly open, and I’d guess he’s eager to meet you now. How about you give me an hour or so, and I’ll get back to you with the details?” she proposed.
“That’s fine. I’ll be here,” I agreed.
Releasing a weary sigh, I ended the call and placed the phone on the table before me. Clasping my hands beneath my chin, I leaned on them and shut my eyes.
Is this the right decision at this moment? Choosing to go to that place would mean I’d have to leave this one behind, at least temporarily, and distance myself from the memories that haunt me. But would that be beneficial, or merely an attempt to bury my pain?
Picking up my phone, I unlocked the screen and tapped on the photos, pulling up the last one of Troy and me. He appeared so full of life in this image, his youthful grin complementing his attractive features. His dark eyes were sparkling, echoing the shade of his wavy hair, as he stood with his arm draped over my shoulders.
It was difficult to grasp that he had been gone for more than a year. I could still picture the day he left our flat, assuring me that he’d be home by six and we would go out for dinner afterward.
However, he never returned. His car veered off the road and hit a large tree at high speed, resulting in his instant death.
I placed the phone down, turning aside as I fought back tears. Perhaps I should accept this offer and leave this place. It might be the change I need to continue healing and progress with my life.
With that in mind, I got up and decided to occupy my time until Rachel called me back. Hopefully, soon enough, I’d be meeting with her and Mr. Hines, and find out more about this manor.
Yet even as I thought this, the strange sense of foreboding remained deep within me. What awaited me with this place?
I guessed only time could tell.
