Chapter 9: The Awakening Shadows
The chamber was suffocatingly dark. The last candlehad flickered out, leaving Claire and Samuel swallowed by shadows. The whispers hadn't stopped; they had grown louder, a chorus of overlapping voices, some pleading, some warning.
Claire clutched Eleanor's diary to her chest, her breath uneven. "Samuel," she whispered, "stay close."
Samuel's voice was barely audible over the voices. "I—I don't think we're alone."
A gust of cold air rushed through the chamber, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic. Then came a sound that sent ice down Claire's spine—footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Coming from the darkness.
Claire fumbled for her flashlight, her hands shaking as she clicked the switch. The beam cut through the black void, revealing the altar. The bloodstained stone gleamed under the light. The footsteps stopped.
Then, from the farthest corner of the chamber, a figure emerged.
Shrouded in shadows, the figure was tall and unnaturally thin, its face obscured beneath the hood of a tattered black cloak. It stood motionless, watching.
Samuel let out a choked breath. "Claire…"
The whispers rose in intensity.
"The offering failed."
Claire's grip on the flashlight tightened. "Who are you?"
No answer. The figure took a slow step forward.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voices weren't coming from one place anymore—they were everywhere, as if the very walls were speaking.
Claire turned, scanning for another exit. The collapsed tunnel was sealed tight. But there—on the opposite side of the chamber—a doorway.
It was barely visible, a narrow archway carved into the stone, half-hidden in the shadows. A way out.
She tugged on Samuel's sleeve. "Run."
They bolted.
The whispers turned into screams. The air thickened as if unseen hands were trying to pull them back.
The moment they reached the doorway, Claire felt something cold graze her arm—a sensation like fingers brushing against her skin. She yanked away, plunging into the darkness beyond.
The Hidden Passage
The corridor was tight and winding, the stone walls damp beneath Claire's fingertips. Samuel's footsteps echoed beside her, his breath ragged.
"I don't think it's following us," he gasped.
Claire didn't slow. "Don't stop moving."
The passage twisted downward, the air growing colder. After what felt like an eternity, they stumbled into another open space—a study.
Old wooden bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with aged tomes. A large desk sat in the center, covered in dust, as if abandoned for decades. Candles, unlit, were placed on every surface.
And on the far wall—a painting.
Claire froze. It was a portrait of Eleanor Blackwood.
Her piercing green eyes stared back at them, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders. But there was something wrong.
The paint around her hands was smudged, as if they had been moving. And in the dim light, Clairecould have sworn…
Eleanor's lips had parted.
Samuel took a shaky step back. "Tell me I'm imagining that."
Claire barely heard him. She was drawn to the desk. A single letter lay on top, its wax seal broken. The ink had faded, but the handwriting was elegant and precise.
She picked it up, reading aloud.
***"To whoever finds this—"***
***"I am still here. The manor will not let me leave. The ritual was never completed, and so I remain, bound to the shadows. Beware the one who watches. He is not what he seems."***
The last line was smudged, barely legible.
***"Do not trust the caretaker."***
Samuel frowned. "Caretaker?"
Claire's stomach churned. "Samuel… Blackwood Manor doesn't have a caretaker anymore."
The room suddenly shook. The bookshelves rattled, dust falling from the ceiling. A low groan reverberated through the stone.
Something was coming.
Claire shoved the letter into her pocket. "We need to get out of here."
Samuel pointed to another archway. "There!"
They sprinted through, plunging into another passage.
The whispers followed.
The new tunnel sloped upward, leading them closer to the surface. The air became lighter, carrying the faint scent of wood and dust.
Then—Claire saw it.
A wooden door at the end of the passage. Unlike the iron doors below, this one looked…normal. Old, but not ancient. It had a brass handle.
Claire reached for it.
Samuel hesitated. "What if it's locked?"
She twisted the handle.
The door creaked open.
Light streamed in.
Claire and Samuel stepped through—into the study of Blackwood Manor.
The realization hit them like a blow. They were back inside the house.
The fireplace was cold, the bookshelves undisturbed. Outside the window, dawn was beginning to break.
Had it all been real?
Claire turned back toward the secret door, but—it was gone.
Only a solid wooden wall remained. No passage. No tunnel.
Samuel paled. "Tell me I'm not losing my mind."
Claire touched the wall, her heart racing. It was smooth. Seamless.
As if the entrancehad never existed.
She turned to Samuel, her voice shaking. "We're not done yet."
Because Eleanor Blackwood's diary was still in her hands. And the final words were burned into her mind.
"I am still here."
And whatever had kept her trapped in the manor was still watching.
To be continued…
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A/N:Next ch tommaro. save this book pls.vote with gems.