Page 60 of Once Upon a Midnight Dreary
She twisted.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
She gritted her teeth and tried again, more carefully this time, easing the pin deeper, listening to the faintest clicks within the mechanism.Her pulse thundered in her ears.
A soft gust of cold air brushed her neck, and she startled—turning, half expecting to see someone standing behind her.But the room was empty.
Just the house.Watching.
She turned back to the lock, heart hammering now, and tried again.Click.A soft give.
One more turn—
With a final twist and an audible snick, the lock gave way.
She sat back on her heels, breath catching, as the cabinet creaked open.Dust billowed out.The air inside was thick and still.Untouched.
As if it had been waiting.
With a shaking hand, she opened the door to the cabinet and peered inside.It was impossible to see the contents.She rose and grabbed the nearest candlestick, holding it down close enough to cast the pale light inside.
Papers.A leather-bound journal.Steeling her nerves, she reached inside and scooped it all out.The papers fluttered to the floor at her knees.The notebook landed with the thump on its side.
She set aside the journal and started with the papers first.It appeared to be old letters.Written to her father.She scanned the contents but found nothing of note.She picked up the notebook next.The cover was leather and tied with a leather cord.She placed the candlestick on the floor beside her to untie the book and flip open the cover.
It was a journal.
Her father’s.
The first entry was nothing more than a description of their arrival at Ravenfell when she was barely a year old.He mentioned how her mother worried about her falling down the stairs as a toddler.
The second entry discussed the state of the manor.How his father had left it needing repairs.And how he was determined to see the old building renovated while keeping the original charm.
The old chap didn’t see fit to keep up with things, it seemed.Now it falls to me.Eleanor is quite beside herself at the idea of spending money to restore it to its former glory.But I’ve promised she can design the garden however she likes.
She smiled at this, knowing how much her mother loved the garden and her prize-winning flowers.Then another entry several months later.
I sense the place is unsettled.I knew this, of course, going in.The family rumor was that the place was haunted, but I never put too much stock into that.Neither did my father.
She flipped more pages.There seemed to be long spans of time between entries.As though he’d forgotten about the journal and only picked it up when something disturbed him deeply enough to need a record.
I hired an architect to begin renovations on the manor.A highly respected one, too.And yet it seems the house will not have it.During our brief visit, doors that opened easily for me would not budge for him.The west wing was cloaked in darkness and shadow, as though trying to keep us out.The blueprints he left behind have been on the desk, untouched.Yet when I looked at it, the ink has run.
I do believe there is a presence here.Perhaps this house does not want to be saved.Perhaps it’s better left to decay in peace.
Victoria paused, staring at the words.A chill rippled down her arms.Her father had felt it too—this constant surveillance, the unseen eyes.He’d brushed it off as superstition…but still, he wrote it down.Her hand skimmed the edge of the page, fingers resting against the ink.
“How right you were, Father,” she whispered.
Turning another page, her breath hitched at the scrawl of a new date months later.
I’ve written to the Chancellor at the Office of Unnatural Matters for more information.What I found…shocking.I daresay I cannot let Eleanor or Victoria into that area of the manor.Eleanor is already beside herself and certain the house is alive.For once, I cannot disagree with her.I’ve seen things.Felt things.Unexplainable things.
Her pulse quickened.A draft curled beneath the cabinet door.The candle flickered.
