Craven Manor(49)

Daniel closed his eyes and turned to face the town. He visualised how it must have once looked—sturdy, humble buildings, clear dirt roads, and gardens full of life. He imagined hearing wailing shrieks and broken yells as something evil moved from building to building, striking down life wherever it existed. Some would have made a stand with pitchforks and kitchen knives. Others would have fled for the only place they felt safe—the church.

He opened his eyes. The church doors were missing from their hinges. He retraced his steps down into the weedy yard and found them—two massive, heavy blocks of wood, lying amongst the weeds. Massive claw marks scored the doors. Daniel’s mouth dried as he looked across them. The scores were longer than his arm and at least two inches deep.

The monster tore the doors off their hinges and threw them aside like they weighed nothing. He tried not to imagine the terror the townspeople must have felt as the creature stepped across the threshold and claimed the lives inside.

He couldn’t stand being in the wretched town any longer. He ducked his head and jogged through the scene of a centuries-old slaughter. Questions warred for space in his mind. Why hadn’t he ever heard of Flinton or its fate before? Why had the bodies just been left to rot in their houses?

A path to his right disappeared into the forest, and Daniel knew it had to be the road leading to Craven Manor. He turned away from it and towards the path he’d arrived on. He didn’t feel as though he could breathe properly until he was back inside the smothering plant life and away from the horrible, overwhelming decay.

He had the answer he’d been seeking, at least. Kyle had told the truth about Flinton. And he’d likely told the truth about the cause of death, as well.

Bran had shown Daniel only his cat, crow, and dog forms, but Daniel shuddered as he imagined what other beasts Craven Manor’s owner was capable of creating. A bear made entirely of shadow. An oversized wolf. Or perhaps something Daniel had never seen before. Some otherworldly nightmare full of hatred and cruelty, breaking windows and crushing roofs as it swept between houses.

He admitted to bashing his mother’s skull in with a rock in the garden. I should have taken that as a warning that he has no compunction about murder in cold blood.

It was growing too dark to see the path clearly, but Daniel refused to slow down. He had a desperate, itching need to get away from both the town and Craven Manor, and he didn’t care how many times he tripped over exposed roots or got snagged in scratching vines.

Bran had lost his strength in the last two hundred years. His animal forms were all desperately thin and old. And most of the time, his human body could barely lift anything heavier than a flower.

The small bouquet of wildflowers outside Annalise’s crypt gave Daniel momentary pause. It was hard to reconcile the image of a bloodthirsty killer with the man who had stayed to care for his sister. And Annalise clearly trusted him. When Daniel had asked her about her brother, she’d smiled.

Maybe Annalise doesn’t know what Bran did to the town. If Kyle’s story was accurate, the incident in Flinton had happened after her death. She could be ignorant of Bran’s true nature, and maybe that was why he was so kind to her. Even killers wanted to be thought of as heroes.

It made a lot of sense. Bran was polite and considerate towards anyone who was on his side. He only showed his crueller aspect if his morals were questioned or his secrets challenged. Like what Kyle had done.

Daniel felt sick. Once again, he’d put faith in a person, only to find out he’d picked the wrong side.

It wasn’t too late, though. He was away from Craven Manor. With the gold coins, he could travel somewhere Bran wouldn’t ever find him. He could rent an apartment, maybe even buy a cheap car, and finally be able to get a job and straighten out his life.

Daniel staggered as he stubbed his toe against a fallen log, and frowned as he hopped around it. The plan sounded good, but it left him feeling uneasy. He’d earned the first two coins with the work he’d done around Annalise’s tomb. But the second payment had been in advance, for the week of labour yet to come.

His eyes were sore from stress. Daniel wanted to rub at them, but he still couldn’t forget the feel of the bubbling black fungus under his fingers. He blinked furiously instead.

You can’t give up the coins. They might be the difference between having a normal life or becoming trapped on the streets again. Besides, it’s not like Bran needs them.

Keeping the money still felt wrong. Daniel tried shrugging, but the uncomfortable twinge wouldn’t go away. He was taking money that rightfully didn’t belong to him. The fact that he was taking it from an evil man didn’t make his conscience any lighter.

I’ll sleep on it. Tomorrow might bring a clearer idea of what I need to do.

The vegetation finally cleared, and Daniel found himself back on Tilbrook Street. He turned left, towards the town. Indecision and loneliness ate at him. He wished he had someone he could talk to, a kind ear that would listen and give honest, unselfish advice. Someone like his grandmother.

Daniel stared at the moon slowly rising above the trees. There was someone in his life who matched that description… in a way. She wasn’t the most conventional place to look for help, but she might be the best. After all, Daniel remembered her telling him about the years she’d spent in the local historical society.

He pulled up his collar to shield against the wind chill and quickened his steps towards Mrs. Kirshner’s apartment.