Chapter One
It is the belief of most that life begins when a person is born. However, in the eyes of Wren Hayden Ashborne, this was just a common misconception. Wren remembers the moment her life began; it was a cold day in the winter of 1787.
Her father was the baron of Boxholms in England outside of London, which made her mother the baroness. Memories of her family in that place seemed far away now and covered in blood. While she did in fact have a family at one time in her life, she was the last Ashborne left.
Wren could recall the childish games she and her older sister played when they were supposed to be sleeping. She remembered her mother’s kind smile and her father’s gentle encouragements. Wren remembered it all, which is something no one could take from her. She had survived the tragedy of their loss, but she did not do it alone. She was unable.
Wren’s family was a happy one when she was young. This made it even more sorrowful, when she deigned to allow herself to remember them. She was only twelve the last time she saw them alive. Her last memory of them was a happy one. Another painful experience Wren tried to ignore, as her mind drifted back to that day.
Her parents’ names were Richard Edward Ashborne and Marie Della Wright Ashborne. Though she had taken down their paintings since their deaths, she recalled their appearances with little effort.
Her father had sandy blonde hair which he kept brushed back. His eyes were blue and filled with love, always. He wore his facial hair in a neat, kempt goatee that helped make him look more distinguished.
Marie, her mother, had mousy brown hair whose curls were always freely falling around her shoulders. Her green eyes served to illuminate the sun kissed tan of her skin. She was always smiling, always happy.
The loss of her parents was enough to drive Wren mad with hatred, but it didn’t. She still had someone to hold onto, someone to love who loved her. It was an ordinary night before she began to lose control of her life; not that she had much to begin with, given the fact that she was only a child.
An ice storm had blown in from the north and her father had instructed everyone living in Boxholms to latch their doors and windows, before he returned home to do the same. A knock came to their door as Richard and Marie were sending their children to bed, nothing unusual for a baron charged with a land with more than two hundred residents.
Richard answered the door with his wife close behind him. Wren and Elsie sat on the stairs and watched, curious as to who had arrived at such a late hour.
“Hello.” Richard spoke to the person on the porch, blocking the girls’ view of the stranger.
“Hello, my lord.” A woman’s voice could be heard; she sounded soft and meek. “I am but a traveler. I didn’t expect to be here for more than a day, I was just passing through… But the storm…”
“Let her in, dear.” Marie touched her husband’s shoulder.
“What if she’s a vagrant?” Richard whispered none too quietly.
“She isn’t. Look at the poor thing.” Marie answered back in a hushed tone, “It’s not right to turn away a hungry traveler.”
“Come on in, young woman.” Richard stepped to the side, allowing the stranger to enter their home.
The girls examined her, looking her over from their hiding place at the top of the stairs. The woman had bright red hair and fair skin. Her face had a strange kind of subtle beauty, the kind you notice once and suddenly can’t ignore.
As if she knew the girls’ position, her eyes fell upon them. Elsie was trying to convince Wren they should be bed-ward by this time but Wren wasn’t ready to go. Something about this woman fascinated her. The stranger seemed as if she were almost familiar, almost.
“Wren.” Elsie pulled at her little sister’s sleeve. “We should go.”
“Why is she here?” Wren thought aloud, not listening to her sibling.
“She’s just a traveler.” Elsie shrugged and then began coughing as quietly as she could.
“Are you alright?” Wren helped her sister to stand.
“I’m fine.” Elsie acted as if she felt great even though she was obviously weak in the knees when she walked. “Thanks.”
The girls retired to bed, laying there and talking about anything and everything they could. Elsie’s favorite topic was poetry. She could go on for an hour at a time about what she had read and who wrote it, or what their motivations could have been.
Wren was always happy to hear her talk about things that excited her, though she and her sister were very different. Elsie had always been a sickly child. Even as an infant, she was prone to fevers and infections. Elsie also had a very kind and compassionate personality, known in her family for being full of a childlike wonder; thanks to her sheltered upbringing.
Still, Wren stayed by her side even if that meant she didn’t go outside to play much either. The girls would invent their own games and spend hours playing them while the sun shone perfectly through the window. Though they were very close, emotionally and in age, they didn’t share all their features.
Elsie and Wren both had hair like their father’s though they were of two different shades; Wren’s hair was golden blonde while her sister’s was more pale. Their eyes were both blue. Though Wren’s was lighter and more full of life. While Elsie’s were a darker shade, they held a sparkle of youth within them.
Elsie was the same height as her sister due to the issues she had with her health, which gave the impression they were the same age. Both girls had fair skin, but Elsie’s was a bit paler. This was just another way of seeing that she was often in poor health.
Their appearances weren’t the only way they differed. While Elsie was innocent, compassionate, and kind; Wren was better known for other attributes. Wren was known around the estate for her intelligence and, though she was compassionate; she was also intuitive, curious, and energetic.
Still, no matter their differences, the siblings were inseparable. Wren was devoted to her sister, willing to do anything to ensure Elsie was happy and healthy. A few nights after the beautiful stranger arrived, the girls were once again laying down to sleep.
Just before dawn they were woken by the frantic slamming of the door to their bed chamber. Wren woke first, shaking her sister gently to wake her as well.
“Something is happening.” Wren whispered as a heavy fear sat in her chest.
“What do you mean?” Elsie sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“I heard something. I think someone closed our door.” She tried to explain.
“It was probably Mother.” She shrugged.
“I have to go see.” Wren stood out of bed, still terrified.
“I’ll come with you.” Elsie threw off her covers.
“No, I-” Wren looked to the door with a worried expression. “I don’t want you to get hurt. If something is wrong, I mean…”
“Nothing is wrong.” Elsie got up and stood beside her sibling. “I’m coming too.”
“I have a bad feeling about this.” Wren took her hand and pulled her close. “Stay behind me.”
Wren exited the room, leading her sister by the hand, toward the stairs. The entire house was silent, further adding to her anxiety and suspicion. Expecting to hear the bustling of the staff, they listened closely. Instead, there was an uncomfortable stillness below.
Descending the stairs into the dark, the girls realized that even the crackling of the fire was gone. With it so went the light they needed to see. Wren continued down the steps, but she felt Elsie’s hesitance. Squeezing her sister’s hand to reassure her, Wren walked to the first floor.
“Why is it so dark?” Elsie’s voice trembled. “Where is everyone?”
“We have to find Mother and Father.” Wren responded without answering her questions.
The girls moved forward toward the sitting room, but Wren tripped over something large. She let go of Elsie, just before she pulled her down as well. Their eyes began to adjust to the shadows, but Wren was more focused on the object that tripped her.
When she tried to stand up, she slid back down to the floor as if it was wet. She touched her knee, feeling it to discover she was now covered in the mysterious moisture. Her hand touched the object blocking her for a brief moment, before she jerked it away in horror.
Wren began telling herself this was all in her mind; as if she were freighting herself with her own imagination. Elsie felt along the walls for a candle, fumbling with a flint stone from the table beside Wren.
When the light illuminated the area they were in, both girls were shocked into silence. Elsie froze, while a horrified look took over her visage. Wren looked down and realized it wasn’t her imagination at all, it was just as she feared. The object she had tripped over was the bloody leg of a corpse.
Wren felt the tears streaming down her cheeks as she scrambled to get away from the body and back to her sister. She scampered to her feet, before looking down at herself to see her nightgown was soaked through with blood. Her eyes drifted down to the floor where she had just been.
The corpse belonged to the stable hand, Wyatt. The blood was coming from his open abdomen. His entrails were resting beside the panicked smear marks Wren had just made on the floor.
“Wren!” Elsie cried in a hoarse voice, bringing her back to the present.
“Hush now.” She took her sister’s hand in hers, ignoring the blood that covered them. “We’ll find them. Everything is alright.”
Wren’s voice trembled as she spoke, but she moved forward none the less. They exited the small room and began to go down the corridor leading to their parents’ chambers. They found three additional dead bodies, all lying scattered about the small space.
The cook who made their breakfast each morning had his throat cut open, revealing the tendons within. A man that worked with their father lay face down beside the cook. He too had been disemboweled and was laying in a puddle of his own blood and tissue.
The girls walked slowly, holding their breath for fear of screaming and calling the attacker to them. The next corpse was that of Elliot, the tutor who was teaching the girls Italian. He lay directly in front of their parents’ bedroom, still holding his wound to stop the bleeding. But alas he had exsanguinated to death from his chest.
“Who-” The words got stuck in Elsie’s throat as she squeezed her sister’s hand in her own. “Why-”
“Listen to me.” Wren turned to face her sister, “If the killer is in there we shouldn’t both go in…”
“Then neither of us should go. Wren, please.” More tears fell from Elsie’s eyes. “Don’t leave me here, alone.”
“Alright.” Wren hugged her tightly, “You’re right. I won’t, I won’t leave you.”
“What if-” She held back a sob. “Mother and Father-”
“Don’t you remember what Mother always says? Hmm?” She waited for her sister to nod before continuing. “The Ashbornes are blessed by angels. Besides, Father will protect them.”
Elsie didn’t answer, she simply nodded and took Wren’s hand again into her own. Wren led the way, stepping around Elliot. When she pushed the door open, it squeaked and scrapped. This sent fear shooting through both girls.
They waited for retaliation, but none came. Relief turned to panic when they realized their parents’ room was dark as well. Stepping in, they looked around in the candlelight. Both saw something that would traumatize them for as long as either of them lived.
Richard was dead. His body was propped up as if on display. Elsie began sobbing uncontrollably, a painful noise came in between every breath she took.
Richard looked like he was leaned back, sitting comfortably with his back on the wall behind the bed. His arms tied to the posts, outstretched. Wren tried to tear her gaze away, but she was stuck there with hot tears streaming off her chin.
He had a large and deep cut across his chest and stomach. The wounds were so deep that Wren could nearly see two complete ribs. Her breath was heaving as if she were trying not to hyperventilate, she glanced at her father again.
This time, she noticed her mother was not on the bed with him. Frantically, her eyes searched the room. Still, she didn’t see her mother. A sound drew her attention, though she was afraid to find its source.
Something was beside the bed, making an odd noise. Wren gestured for Elsie to remain in place, but her sister didn’t even see her. Elsie was still sobbing and covering her eyes to block her view of the room.
Wren circled the bed quietly, allowing her sibling to keep the candle. She hoped it lit up enough for her to see into the shadows cast from the bed. When she looked into the darkness, she found the source of the noise.
Her mother lay on the ground, nearly dead. Even still, her eyes recognized her children and she looked afraid for them; to Wren’s understanding.
“Elsie!” Wren cried out, causing her sister run to her side.
“Mother!” Elsie hit her knees beside her sister, and looked over their beautiful mother’s grotesque wounds.
Marie had been cut in the throat, blood had already pooled around her head and coated her entire chest. The noise had been the sound of her trying to breath.
The rasping, gargling noise which would forever haunt the memory of her youngest daughter had a horrifying explanation; one that left the sisters without hope or knowledge of what to do next.
Marie raised her hand weakly, reaching toward the girls. Her mouth moved but no words emerged apart from the sound of Marie struggling to breathe through her own blood. Wren read her lips and took her hand, knowing now there was nothing she could do.
“We love you too.” Wren continued sobbing. “We love you, Mother.”
Within an instant the noise stopped, proceeded by one final breath which Marie exhaled along with a spattering of blood. Footsteps came from the corridor causing both girls to cling to one another, they waited beside the bed with their mother’s corpse for the murderer to return for them.
