Blackthorn Manor
Chapter 2
Blackthorn Manor
Eleanor did not move.
She stood beneath the great stone archway, staring at the open doors of Blackthorn Manor.
The rain had stopped.
Not gradually.
It had simply… stopped.
One moment, water had been pouring from the sky. The next, the world was silent.
Eleanor tightened her fingers around the handle of her suitcase.
“Hello?”
Her voice disappeared into the darkness.
No answer.
She looked behind her.
The iron gates stood open.
The road she had travelled was empty.
There was no carriage.
No coachman.
No footprints in the mud except hers.
A cold sensation crawled up her spine.
Leave.
The thought came suddenly.
So clearly that she almost obeyed it.
Then she remembered the letter.
You must return home before the first frost.
There are things waiting for you.
She swallowed.
“I’m here now,” she whispered.
The manor seemed to listen.
Then somewhere inside, a floorboard creaked.
Eleanor stepped through the doorway.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind her.
She spun around.
Her heart pounded.
“Very funny.”
Nothing.
She tried the handle.
It wouldn’t move.
“Open.”
She pulled harder.
Nothing.
Then she heard it.
A piano.
Soft.
Slow.
Playing somewhere deep inside the house.
Eleanor froze.
The melody was beautiful.
Sad.
And strangely familiar.
She couldn’t explain why, but she knew the tune.
She had heard it before.
In a dream, perhaps.
Or a memory.
She followed the music.
The entrance hall stretched before her, enormous and shadowy. Old portraits covered the walls. Men and women in black clothing stared down at her with solemn expressions.
Eleanor lifted her lantern.
Dust floated through the golden light.
Then she stopped.
One portrait was different.
A young man stood in the painting.
Dark hair.
Pale skin.
Black coat.
And those same unnaturally calm eyes.
Eleanor’s breath caught.
It was him.
The man from the gate.
The man who had told her he had been waiting.
She moved closer.
There was a small plaque beneath the painting.
ADRIAN BLACKTHORN
Eleanor stared at the name.
“Adrian…”
The piano stopped.
Silence filled the hallway.
Then—
Tap.
Eleanor looked toward the staircase.
Nothing.
Tap.
Again.
It was coming from upstairs.
She raised the lantern.
“Is someone there?”
A figure appeared at the top of the staircase.
Eleanor’s blood ran cold.
It was Adrian.
He stood perfectly still.
Watching her.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said.
Eleanor’s fear turned to anger.
“You invited me.”
“I did not.”
“You were at the gate.”
His expression changed.
For the first time, something like fear crossed his face.
“You saw me?”
“Yes.”
Adrian slowly descended the stairs.
Step.
Step.
Step.
But when he reached the final stair, Eleanor noticed something strange.
There was no sound.
His shoes made no contact with the floor.
Her fingers tightened around the lantern.
“You’re dead.”
Adrian stopped.
The silence between them seemed endless.
Then he gave her a sad smile.
“Yes.”
Eleanor took a step backward.
“Then why can I see you?”
Adrian looked toward the portrait of himself.
“That’s the question you should be asking.”
A sudden wind swept through the hall.
The candles along the walls burst into flame one after another.
Eleanor gasped.
The portraits began to change.
Not visibly.
Not exactly.
But their eyes—
Their eyes were moving.
Every painted face was turning toward her.
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“Eleanor.”
She looked at him.
“How do you know my name?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he whispered:
“Because your family has been keeping you away from this place for twenty-three years.”
Eleanor’s heart stopped.
“My family?”
Adrian stepped closer.
“You were never supposed to come back.”
A chill passed through her.
“Why?”
Before he could answer, a woman’s voice floated down from the upper floor.
Soft.
Broken.
Almost a whisper.
“Adrian…”
He turned sharply.
His face went pale.
The voice came again.
“She’s here.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Who is that?”
Adrian looked at her.
And for the first time, Eleanor saw genuine terror in his eyes.
“The woman who killed me.”
The candles went out.
And something screamed upstairs.
Oh boy. It's not looking good for Eleanor at the moment. 😔
🥰