THE 30 DAY INHERİTANCE

When most people die, they leave behind pleasant memories, old photographs, or a few kind words. But my grandfather, Arthur Blackwood, left behind only unanswered questions and dangerous riddles.

Mr. Harrison, the lawyer, looked at me, peering from under his spectacles at the thick, yellowed paper in his hand. The ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the office blended with my heartbeat. London’s autumn weather was gloomier today than ever, and the raindrops relentlessly beating against the window made the silence in the room feel even heavier.

"The condition is very strange, Emily," said the lawyer's dry, formal voice. "Your grandfather's massive estate on the outskirts of the city, his bank accounts, and the centuries-old Blackwood Manor will be left to you. But on one condition: starting tonight, you must spend exactly 30 days alone in that house. If you leave the house for even a single night, or if an outsider enters, the entire inheritance will be immediately revoked and transferred to charity."

I took a deep breath. In my twenty-two years of life, I had only seen my grandfather a few times. He was a reclusive, eccentric genius who spent his life among ancient books, architectural blueprints, and encrypted mathematical formulas. Our family thought he had completely lost his mind, but I believed he simply lived in a different, brilliant world. And now, that world was being bequeathed to me.

"But why exactly 30 days, Mr. Harrison? Why me, and no one else?" I asked with a mix of sorrow and wonder.

The lawyer gathered the papers into his folder and handed them toward me. "I don’t know that either, Emily. Your grandfather's will is legally fully valid. When he set this condition, he told me just one sentence: 'Emily is the only Blackwood capable of reading the codes.' The choice is yours. Either you go to that house tonight, or you forfeit everything.

"I didn’t have the luxury of refusing. My university debts, my struggle to survive on my own, and most importantly—my desire to find out exactly why my grandfather had chosen me—left me no other choice.

"Alright," I said, standing up. "I'm ready. I'm going to Blackwood Manor."

The taxi dropped me off in front of the massive estate, which loomed deep in the forest surrounded by oak trees, and quickly drove away. It was as if the driver didn’t want to spend even a single second near this dark house. The rain was getting heavier by the minute. Holding my only suitcase tightly, I stepped through the iron gates.

Blackwood Manor was a gothic-style, terrifying yet breathtaking structure built of black stone. The windows of the house stared back at me like a dark void. I climbed the stairs and stood before the massive oak door. The bronze handle on the door was shaped like a strange snake figure. I inserted the heavy, ancient key the lawyer had given me into the lock. The door opened with a loud creak, and the musty scent of old books wafted from inside.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. From that moment on, my 30-day countdown had begun.

The house was pitch black. Even though I found the ancient light switch on the wall, the lights didn’t turn on. It seemed my grandfather had completely isolated everything here from the modern world.

I turned on the flashlight I took out of my bag, and its faint beam illuminated the massive living room. Hanging on the walls were my grandfather’s ancient maps of human history, architectural blueprints, and large paintings. The house looked more like an ancient museum than a living space.

I walked up to the large, black grandfather clock standing in the center of the room. The clock showed exactly midnight—00:00—and it wasn't working. When I touched my hand to the dusty glass of the clock, something strange happened. A loud, metallic sound echoed through the house. It was as if giant gears behind the walls had suddenly sprung into action. I froze in place.

The hands of the broken ancient clock suddenly began spinning backward at an incredible speed! The screeching sound was so loud that I had to cover my ears. The clock hands stopped precisely on the 12, and a hidden drawer underneath the clock slid forward with a loud, mechanical thud. Holding my breath, I drew closer. I shone the flashlight beam into the drawer.

There, resting on a piece of black velvet fabric, was a bronze, encrypted box. On top of the box, there was a four-digit combination lock and a small piece of paper written in my grandfather's own handwriting:

"Welcome, Emily. The puzzle of your first day has begun. Nothing in this house is as it seems. Clue: The birth year of my absolute favorite genius composer. If you cannot open this box before sunrise, the windows of the house will automatically lock with steel shutters, and you will be defeated from day one."

I was in complete shock. My grandfather wasn't joking. This wasn't an ordinary inheritance; it was a living trap. And I had only a few hours left until sunrise.