CHAPTER 9 - THE ROSES OF NIGHTCLIFF
1370 Words
Morning approached, but light never completely reached Knight Manor.
The storm had quieted to a gloomy drizzle, clouds hanging low over the rocks. The water seemed wounded, its waves curling with a steady, rhythmic malice.
Elena stared at the window, gaze riveted on the garden below the one Alexander had termed Evelyn’s refuge. The flowers there grew impossibly vivid, a blaze of crimson against the grey. Even from above, she could see how nicely the shrubs formed a circle, as if meant to conceal something rather than embellish.
Alexander hadn’t talked since sunrise.
He sat in the recliner beside the fire, peering into the flames. The drink from last night still sat undisturbed on the table beside him.
Finally, Elena turned from the window. “You said you buried her necklace behind the roses.”
He didn’t look up. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“You think secrets will keep us safe?” she asked quietly. “They never do.”
Alexander rose, crossing to her. His eyes were gloomy yet compassionate. “Elena, that garden is cursed by memory. Everything left there rots.”
“Then why do the roses keep blooming?”
He didn’t respond.
By midmorning, the rain changed to mist, a thick, shrouding fog that clouded the scene beyond the terrace. Elena covered herself in a wool coat and headed outdoors.
The air was harsh with salt. She followed the cobblestone walk through the gardens until she reached the circle of flowers. The aroma reached her instantly pleasant yet tinged with rot, as if something under the dirt was nourishing them.
She knelt and brushed away moist petals. Her fingertips encountered stone-smooth, flat surfaces. A burial marker. But the lettering had been eroded by time, the letters practically gone.
She tugged at the roots, burrowing into the damp clay until her nails were stained with earth. Something little and metallic caught the light.
She gasped, lifting it cautiously.
A locket tarnished, oval, its hinge rusty yet intact. She opened it gently. Inside was a picture.
A guy and a lady.
Alexander and Evelyn.
Only… the Evelyn in this image seemed weird. Her eyes were lifeless, her smile fake. The borders of the picture were scorched, a type of burn Elena had previously observed on the walls near the locked chamber.
As she looked, a drop of water landed on the image. Not from rain from above.
She glanced up.
A solitary rose petal floated down from nowhere, resting on her hand. Then another. And another.
Within seconds, petals were falling like red snow.
The air surrounding her seemed to vibrate quietly, vibrating through her chest.
“He said I was safe…”
Elena froze. The voice again. Soft. Sad.
Coming from underneath her.
“Evelyn?” she whispered.
The earth under her palm pulsed once softly, like a heartbeat. Then again, stronger.
She rushed back, frightened. “Oh, God…”
Footsteps approached through the fog. Alexander emerged, breathless, his coat wet.
“I told you not to come here!” he cried, grasping her arm.
“She’s here!” Elena wept. “Under the roses!”
He shook his head angrily. “No, that’s impossible!”
“She spoke to me, Alexander!”
The wind surged abruptly, blasting through the garden. The roses thrashed, their petals breaking loose and soaring into the air. The soil underneath them broke a small fracture going right across the circle.
Alexander dragged her back. “We have to go!”
But Elena’s eyes were focused on the dirt. Something was pushing up through it, something little and pallid.
A hand.
They both froze.
The pale fingers dug through the earth, straining for the surface. The scene was so unbelievable, so hideous, that Elena couldn’t scream.
Alexander’s face was drained of colour. “No… no, it can’t be…”
The palm clenched once, then dropped limp, dissolving into ash that dispersed in the wind.
The rift filled itself, leaving nothing but the flowers swinging softly, innocent again.
Elena’s breath came rapidly. “What was that?”
Alexander’s voice was barely a whisper. “A warning.”
They returned home quietly. Inside, the storm started anew, as if the planet itself was furious.
In the library, Elena finally spoke. “Tell me everything. No more lies.”
Alexander’s shoulders slumped. “There was a fire,” he started. “You know that. But what you don’t know is… it began because of her. Evelyn. She got captivated with the thought that the mansion was alive, that it wanted to retain her.”
He stared toward the window, at the changing fog. “One night, she tried to burn it all down. I stopped her, but she promised she’d never leave. She vowed she’d remain with me forever, even if it meant dying in these walls.”
Elena’s voice was quiet. “And now she has.”
He turned to her. “You don’t understand, Elena. Every woman who’s lived here since has… sensed her. Seen her. Catherine told me it would happen again, but I believed you were different. Stronger.”
Elena’s eyes blazed. “You mean you thought I wouldn’t notice.”
“I mean, I hoped I wouldn’t lose you, too.”
The confession crushed something within her. She wanted to despise him, to shout, yet she saw the truth in his eyes. Guilt. Fear. Love.
She crossed the room and grasped his hands. “Then help me end it.”
He paused. “How?”
“Whatever she wants, we give it to her.”
That night, they returned to the garden together. The fog had increased, and the water below thundered like a drumbeat. Alexander brought a light; Elena clutched the locket.
They stood before the flowers in quiet.
“What do you want, Evelyn?” Elena murmured.
For a long while, there was nothing. Then, from someplace far below, a faint sob.
Alexander’s grasp on her hand intensified. “I’m sorry,” he whispered aloud, voice cracking. “I couldn’t save you. I tried.”
The wind changed. The flowers leaned toward him, like bowing. Then one by one, their petals started to fall again, this time not wild, but intentional. They swirled together, creating words in the earth at his feet.
“Truth.”
Elena knelt, trembling. “She wants the truth.”
Alexander’s eyes glistened in the lantern light. “The truth is, I loved her. But I also longed to be rid of her lunacy. When she burnt the home, I confined her in that room… I believed I’d rescue her from myself. I was wrong.”
The air turned cooler. The roses still.
Then, slowly, the earth in the middle of the circle started to drop, exposing a little, battered box.
Elena grabbed for it, plucking it from the soil. Inside was a bundle of ancient letters wrapped with silk ribbon, Evelyn’s handwriting.
She opened the top one.
My precious Alexander,
If you read this, it implies the house has picked another. It will take her, too, as it did me, unless you disclose what you’ve concealed. Only the truth can set us free.
Tears obscured Elena’s eyesight. “She knew…”
Alexander’s voice cracked. “She always did.”
As the last phrase was read aloud, a delicate warmth filled the yard, not fire, not lightning, but something softer. The air shimmered, and for a while, a woman’s figure stood amid the flowers, her red hair sparkling, her eyes no longer empty but tranquil.
Evelyn.
She gazed at Alexander with a weak, melancholy smile, then turned to Elena.
“Thank you.”
And with that, she was gone.
The flowers fell still. The storm broke apart. The fog faded.
For the first time since Elena came, sunshine hit Knight Manor.
Back inside, Alexander clutched the letters close, his eyes moist yet calm.
“It’s over,” he muttered.
Elena nodded, but deep down, she wasn’t sure. The house still spoke, softly, in the breeze, not scary anymore, but vigilant.
As she turned toward the window, the flowers outside swung softly in the golden sunshine.
Peace, it seemed, had finally returned.
Or perhaps… simply another lull before the next storm.
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