Craven Manor(37)



The cat had left its seat by the fire. Daniel scanned the foyer for it, but it must have either gone upstairs or found somewhere to hide. He placed an extra log on the flames to give the cat some warmth if it returned, then he left Kyle’s satchel and backpack folded neatly by the door.

“Bran, again, I’m sorry for what happened. If there’s anything I can do to make this right, tell me. Or, uh, write a note or something.” He felt like a fool, yelling into the seemingly deserted house. This time, he didn’t even wait for a reply before picking up the cloth bag of potted lilies and moving into the garden.

His progress on the path between the manor and Annalise’s grave hadn’t gotten far, but days of walking between them had begun to wear a patch in the weeds, making it easier to find his way. He felt tired down to his bones, but he wanted to do one more thing before returning to the cottage. The ground outside the crypt was bare without the thorny bushes he’d torn away, and he wanted to fill it with something beautiful.

He knelt in the soft ground around the stones and dug holes with his bare hands. He separated the lilies out of their pots, working the roots free gently, and tucked them into their new homes.

“This will look nice.” He sat on his heels to admire the result. The lush lilies and dark ivy contrasted beautifully, and the effect would only improve as the plants grew.

A hint of colour came from inside the crypt’s seating area, and Daniel rose to investigate it. Someone had placed a small bouquet of wildflowers below the door set into the back of the enclave. They were delicate and fragile, and the bunch held no more than five stems, but Daniel was moved by the sight. Clearing this area wasn’t just for Annalise’s sake. Bran must visit her.

He backed out of the tomb and entered the path leading back to the cottage. It was still early afternoon, but exhaustion and stress compounded on each other until he felt ready to drop. He washed quickly at his sink but couldn’t muster the energy to light a fire before he fell into bed.



Tp, tp, tp.

Daniel groaned and rolled over. His neck and shoulders were stiff, and a throbbing headache pulsed behind his temple. It was hard to tell the time with the curtains blocking out the moon’s angle, but he guessed there were still a few hours before morning. He’d slept a long while and felt dozy enough to fall back under.

Tp, tp, tp.

He sat upright as the noise and its significance penetrated his sleep-fogged mind. Annalise. He rolled out of bed, hunted for his shoes in the dark, then gave up and tiptoed across the cold floor to reach the window. He pulled the curtain back and found Annalise on the other side.

She was fainter than she’d been the night before, but at least there was no trace of the blind terror she’d worn. Colourless eyes stared up at Daniel, and her lips twitched into a mischievous smile. Then she sprang away, dancing between the trees, her long hair and dress floating behind her as though she’d been suspended into a world without gravity. The girl hid behind a tree. Long pale fingers crept around the edge of the trunk, followed by one side of her face as she peeked at him. Then she leapt away again. He thought she might be laughing.

Daniel grinned. “Came to say hello, did you? I hope you liked the flowers.”

She darted in and out of the trees, sometimes drawing near before dancing away again. Daniel watched for a few minutes then went to light his fire and boil a cup of something warm. He guessed Annalise wanted to play and was trying to lure him into a game of hide-and-seek, but he wasn’t sure Bran would approve of it, so he stayed in his cottage and contented himself with watching her through the window.

Who would have thought I’d live in a haunted garden… and not mind? Daniel rubbed his bare feet together to get some warmth into them as he sat beside the window. Annalise skirted around the house, occasionally tapping on the walls to tell him where she was. When she came close to the window, Daniel tapped back and was rewarded with a delighted grin. She pressed one hand against the glass, and Daniel watched in fascination as tiny splinters of frost spread away from her touch.

“You like Bran, don’t you?” Daniel wasn’t sure if she could hear or understand him, but he wanted to try communicating with more than just knocking.

The girl bit her lip and nodded. The motion was unguarded, and Daniel sipped at his drink. “You were frightened for him last night, weren’t you? You were afraid he might be hurt.”

The ghost tilted her head and squeezed her lips together.

He tried again. “Last night, when you woke me, you were scared that a stranger was in the house. You didn’t like him.”

Again, Annalise failed to give him an affirmative response. The joy had faded from her face, though, as though a bad memory had dispelled the happy energy. Daniel felt guilty for killing her playful delight. A theory had started to grow, though, and he pursued it.

“Or… were you afraid of what the man might do?” Daniel put his mug aside. “Were you scared he was going to open a door? Didn’t you want him going into the tower?”

A glimpse of the previous night’s terror flashed through the girl’s eyes. She looked over her shoulder, towards the tower above the house, and Daniel followed her gaze.

Someone had lit a candle in Craven Manor’s tower. Through the pale glow, he could see a figure pacing past the window, back and forward, back and forward, with even, measured steps. Suddenly, it stopped and turned, and he knew it was looking towards his cottage. A sickening sense of dread curled through his stomach.

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