Craven Manor(23)

Daniel crept towards the window and used the desk to pull himself to his feet. He gripped the thick cloth, but didn’t pull it.

The rational part of his mind was already scrambling to come up with an explanation for what he’d seen. His eyes had been playing tricks on him. She’d been a wisp of smoke, a tapping branch. A parting gift from the alcohol.

But his heart wasn’t as easily convinced. Daniel’s cheek bumped the glass as he leaned against the window and squinted towards the front step. He could see patches of bare earth, the stone step before his front door, and the tangled branches surrounding his home. Nothing moved amongst them. The rational part of his mind started screaming louder, claiming victory over the phantoms. And yet the insects still weren’t chirping.

Daniel swallowed around the lump in his throat. He raised a hand, hesitated, then rapped a knuckle against the glass.

He counted his heartbeats. His breath misted over the cold pane. Seconds passed, and he began to think he was alone. Then came tp, tp, tp right beside his head.

He jolted back as Annalise materialised on the other side of the glass. Empty eyes stared into his. Her tapping fingers pressed to the window, leaving a smudge on the glass. The corners of her mouth twitched up into a hint of a smile. Daniel blinked, and the girl was gone.

Daniel bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to be sick, as he drew the curtains. He was clammy and shaking.

The tapping didn’t return for the rest of the night. Daniel kept his curtains closed and door locked, and after sitting up for a restless hour, he crawled into bed and tried to sleep. His nerves were too keyed up to let him fall into any kind of deep rest. Annalise might not have been tapping on his door, but Daniel was certain she was still outside his home, waiting.

When he startled awake for what felt like the hundredth time, Daniel gave up on sleep and rose to start the fire. The earliest hints of morning lit the gap under his front door. He sat on the fireside rug, his hands clasped around a mug of black tea, and watched the flames.

Ghosts are real. It was still hard to wrap his head around the new knowledge. Daniel had seen supposed video evidence and read real-life accounts of paranormal activity, but in every one of those cases, it had been easy to dismiss them as a coincidence if they were too subtle, or a hoax if they were too clear. But after he’d glimpsed the spirit outside the window, even the rational part of his mind had abandoned its objections.

He’d never seen a ghost before Annalise. Did that mean ghosts were incredibly uncommon? Was Annalise special in some way? Or was there something about Craven Manor that made her linger after death?

His mind spiralled in circles, hunting for answers that didn’t exist, until exhaustion finally pulled him under. When he next opened his eyes, the sun was high enough to force a sliver of gold under the edge of the curtains. He’d knocked his cup over, and the dregs of his tea had spilt across the wooden floor, so Daniel rose to find a towel.

I’m staying, aren’t I?

He mopped up the spilt liquid then crossed to the sink and rinsed the cloth. As long as he stayed in the groundskeeper’s cottage, he would be in close proximity to a ghost. He searched his soul for negative emotions like disgust or fear, but they weren’t present. Annalise’s spirit didn’t seem malevolent. She’d answered his knock on the window, and she’d smiled. She hadn’t tried to come inside. He’d been frightened when she chased him through the garden, but that could be explained as a child playing. She was only twelve, after all.

So I stay. I finish clearing her tomb, then I make the rest of the garden a little more habitable.

His mysterious host, Bran, had to know about the ghost. That was why he wanted the mausoleum cleaned even though the house wasn’t occupied. It was for Annalise’s sake, to give her some comfort after death.

Daniel left the cloth to dry on the sink and opened the cottage’s door. He remained alert for any sign of the ghost, but the patch outside his home was clear. Birds bickered. Insects hummed. Annalise had retreated for the day.

Does she live in her crypt? That would seem logical, but… Daniel looked towards the tower protruding from Craven Manor. He could barely see its curtains. When he stared hard enough, he began to imagine he saw a face behind the glass, obscured by the shadows.

Bran’s letter told me to lock my door and close my window at night so that I wouldn’t see Annalise. It also forbade me from opening the tower door… does she stay there during the day?

Daniel tilted his head and strained to see through the tower window, but it was too far away to be sure of what lurked behind it. He might have seen a piece of furniture, a shimmer of light on a wall, or even an optical illusion playing across the glass. He turned away and followed the overgrown path through the gardens. Whatever lives there—Annalise or otherwise—Bran doesn’t want me to pry. So I won’t. I’ll keep my head down and do my job.

It felt surreal to go back to work after having his worldview shaken, but he knew exercise could help quiet his buzzing mind. Daniel felt a small rush of pride when the tomb came into sight. He’d done a lot to improve it during his two days there. The hideous thorny bushes were gone from the entrance, and the vines were charming rather than suffocating. Daniel scoped around the area, pulling out the remaining smaller bushes he hadn’t gotten the first day, and assessed what still needed to be done.

The tomb’s walls could use a scrub, but that would need a bucket and some kind of non-toxic detergent. He would have to request them next time he spoke to Joel, the delivery man.