Craven Manor(25)

Calm down. He leaned his back against a tree trunk and rubbed his palms over his closed eyes. Slow breaths didn’t do much to calm his racing heart, but they did help clear his head. Think it through, Daniel, and don’t do anything hasty. This isn’t some recent death where a killer needs to be apprehended and grieving families are seeking peace. The bones had been buried for more than two hundred years. They were too fragile to be any more recent than that. Which shifted the scene from an unsolved crime to something like archaeology.

From where he stood, he could see the skull’s cap. The smudged dirt and dark fissures were clearly visible. It will still need to be reported, even if no action is taken. There might still be a great-grandchild out there who wishes they knew what happened to their ancestor. And it deserves a proper burial. The only question is—should I leave a note for Bran and wait on his advice or go to the police directly?

His attention drifted from Craven’s slate roof to its tower, and his composure crumbled. A face glared down at him through the blurred glass. With no light inside the room, barely any features were visible except for a pale face and a long-fingered hand pressed to the window.

Daniel’s blood turned cold, and the fading sunlight wasn’t enough to warm him. The figure was only visible for a second, but then it turned and faded into the room.

It couldn’t have been Annalise’s ghost. The previous night, she’d been close to invisible—almost like a wisp of evaporating fog. But the shape in the tower looked solid.

Does someone really live here, after all? It was nearly impossible to believe. The dust had been too thick and the lightless hallways too dark. But what other explanation was there?

He gave the bones a final, lingering stare then pushed away from the trunk and marched towards the house.

The crows had settled around the entrance again. There were more of them; fresh visitors clung to the stone ledges and the nearby trees. Their attention felt heavy, as though the dozens of eyes trained on him carried weight. Daniel kept his head down as he jogged up the stone steps and entered the foyer.

He looked for signs that someone had disturbed the space, but couldn’t find any. The crumbling chairs were still covered in grime. There were no new paths in the slowly decaying leaves scattered across the floor. Flecks of dust floated in the air, but not enough to suggest someone had passed through recently.

It seems impossible, but I know I’m not alone. Daniel lifted his chin. “Bran! I want to talk.”

His voice reverberated through the manor’s countless empty chambers. Daniel let the words hang in the air for a moment, then he called again. “I found the bones in the garden! If you can’t explain them, I’ll need to report them to the police.”

His only answer came from muffled echoes. He shuffled his feet. Nerves and wavering conviction made his voice crack.

“Bran, or whoever lives here, I’m grateful for the job. But I can’t ignore a skeleton. I either need to hear something from you, or I’ll have to call in outsiders.”

He waited in the foyer until he began to feel foolish. Noises floated to him—the sound of creaking wood, the hollow whistle of wind forcing its way between gaps in the stones—and beneath it all was a sound so subtle that he couldn’t separate it from his imagination: fingernails scratching on wood. But no footsteps, and no words.

He’s not going to answer. Daniel scuffed his shoe across the marble, disturbing dead leaves in its path, then backed towards the door.

Something crumpled under his shoe. It didn’t have the normal brittleness of the dead leaves, and Daniel lifted his foot. He’d stepped on a white envelope that had been left on the entryway’s top step, the place he’d walked over just minutes before. Daniel picked it up and looked about himself. He searched for movement among the gardens, but the only disturbance came from the murder of crows lurking above him. He flipped up the envelope’s flap and pulled out the paper.



Bury the bones, please. I cannot stand to look at them.

You seek answers. Join me for supper in the dining room at seven tonight.

-Bran



Daniel returned the note to the envelope as he shuffled down the stairs. A sense of dread had returned, and it made his eyes water and the hairs across his arms prickle. This proves it. As improbable as it seems, I’m not alone at Craven Manor. He’s been watching me. Through the windows? Among the trees? There’s no way to know. But he was here, meters away from me, and I didn’t hear or see him. It’s unnatural.

He tucked the letter into his pocket and increased his pace as he lurched into the gardens. Bran wanted him to bury the bones. That felt wrong, but Daniel had to remind himself that the bones were old. Re-burying them wouldn’t make him an accomplice or a criminal. And if Bran’s answers didn’t satisfy him, the remains could always be un-interred.

The unmarked grave wasn’t difficult to find. Daniel had left debris scattered around the scene. The weed he’d pulled out hung to one side, its roots slowly drying in the sun. His gloves lay on the ground. And the hole was dark and raw, like a still-bleeding wound in the ground. The white bones stood out in stark contrast against the loamy earth.

The grave wasn’t deep—only a few inches of earth covered the bones. Daniel raised a shovelful of soil to pour over the bare skull, but unease stilled his hand. He hated the idea of leaving the skeleton exposed. He could heap dirt over the exposed bones, but it would only wash away. Whoever this person had been in life, they deserved a proper grave. He scooped out a clear patch of ground near the skull and began digging a new hole.