Page 4 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

I walked over, slowly. My hand moved on its own like it already knew. I picked up the envelope.

And I just stood there, holding it. Like it meant something. It might change everything.

Lenore Thorn,

Gloomsbury Manor,

66 Widow’s Hollow Road

Ashwick, Massachusetts 01984

Panic started to settle in. My chest raised and fell against my ribs as I gasped for air, my fingers in panic opening the envelope and pulling out the letter. And when my eyes scanned it, reading, my tears blurred in tears.

“Dear Miss Thorn,

It is with sincere regret that I write to inform you of the passing of your father, Ezekiel Thorn, who passed last week.

Your stepmother, Vivienne Thorn, and your stepbrother, Dorian Thorn, were also lost in the same devastating accident that claimed their lives late last week. The circumstances, while still under review, have been described as deeply unfortunate.

As his sole surviving heir, you have inherited Gloomsbury Manor, along with all adjoining lands and holdings. There are a few legal matters that require your attention, and we kindly ask that you contact our office at your earliest convenience to begin the necessary proceedings.

Please accept our deepest condolences during this difficult time.

With respect,

Cameron Ellis

Attorney at Law”

With the envelope came the business card with contents;

Cameron Ellis, Esq.

Ellis & Wren Law Offices

“Discretion. Legacy. Resolution.”

1426 Ashgrove Lane, Salem, MA 01970(617) 555-0172

[email protected]

My eyes closed, and an envelope fell from my hands. My eyes filled with tears, my heart broke apart.

Dorian died? He died.

The tears weren’t for me this time. They fell forhim. And I couldn’t stop them. One after another, they slid down my cheeks as I stood there, silent, screaming on the inside.

I didn’t want Troy to hear. And I didn’t want him to know about Gloomsbury Manor.

When we met, he only saw a nineteen-year-old girl with nothing, sleeping in shelters, scraping by. He thought I was an orphan. He didn’t know the truth.

He didn’t know aboutDorian.

I was born into old money. My family was one of the oldest and richest in Massachusetts. The Gloomsbury Manor still meant something in certain circles, told like a ghost story. And now, it was mine.

I exhaled, trying to steady myself, but the quiet sobs kept coming. Troy was still in the shower—I could hear the water pounding the tiles. Could hear the splash of water spilling over the pot I’d left running. But I couldn’t move.

I closed my eyes. The black behind my lids lit up with flickers of memory, snapshots I hadn’t seen in years. Dorian’s face. My father. My stepmother. The heavy corridors of the manor. And just like that, like someone snapped their fingers, I was there again.

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