Whispers of Serpent's Manor

Arrival at Serpent's Manor

Atop the wind-swept cliffs of Grimloch, the ancient Serpent’s Manor stood tall and imposing, casting a foreboding shadow over the restless sea below. Centuries of storms had scarred its imposing stone facade, with ivy clinging desperately to its weathered surface. The salty mist from the sea filled the air, mingling with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

“Alas,” Coby said, his voice barely audible over the howling wind, as his gaze landed on the weathered roadsign for the Serpent’s Manor. Gracie and Ewan fell silent, their eyes glued to the entrance. Two ominous wrought-iron gates loomed ahead, the metal bars twisted into intricate patterns. Above, a sign proudly displayed the manor’s name, accompanied by a snake’s head logo, its forked tongue playfully poking out. Gracie’s eyes widened in awe, and she rubbed her arms up and down to remove the chills. The car’s headlights cut through the relentless rain, illuminating the twisting driveway framed by beams of light.

The guardhouse door swung open with a loud creak, and a security guard quickly emerged, holding an umbrella above his head as he walked towards the driver’s door. As the rain fell, the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella created a soothing, rhythmic melody. The rain pattered against Coby’s face as he opened the window, causing him to squint while explaining the reason for their visit.

“Lady Grimloch has been expecting you,” the security guard sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. He quickly retreated into the guardhouse, unlocking the towering electronic gates. With a wave of gratitude, Coby proceeded through the gates and followed the twisting driveway, mesmerised by the vibrant colours of the lush landscape illuminated by the car’s headlights. A chill ran down his spine as he heard the ominous caws of ravens nearby. In the soft glow of the moonlight, Coby could feel their intense yellow stares penetrating his soul.

The headlights framed a fountain, standing sentinel in the centre of the expansive courtyard. The sound of water trickling and splashing filled the air, blending with the distant sound of crashing waves. Two intricately shaped water features, resembling intertwining snakes, playfully exchanged water in graceful arcs. Coby, aware of the sudden silence, passed a fleeting glance between Gracie and Ewan, their eyes wide with a combination of shock and wonder.

The grand estate was more imposing than any tale had dared to describe. Its sprawling grounds were a tangle of overgrown gardens, where statues of serpents and mythical creatures seemed almost lifelike in the eerie twilight mist. The smell of damp earth mingled with the fragrance of blooming flowers, creating a hauntingly sweet scent that hung in the air.

Before them stood the manor, a towering monolith that exuded ancient grandeur and whispered secrets. The sound of the wind whistling through the cracks in the stone walls added an eerie undertone to the scene. Adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes both majestic and macabre, the manor itself was a masterpiece of Gothic architecture.

Coby parked his car below the steep stone staircase, its worn steps leading up to the grand veranda. The rain poured down in relentless torrents, creating a symphony of rhythmic pitter-patter against the car’s roof.

Emerging from the heavy wooden doors, Lady Grimloch’s presence commanded attention. The sound of her heels click-clacking against the stone echoed with purpose through the night, albeit slower than the brisk pace of yesteryears, a subtle testament to her venerable age. Her two imposing companions stood by her side, their aura of unwavering loyalty palpable. The umbrella they held above her formed a protective shield against the downpour.

Lady Grimloch stood there, her small frame contrasting with the imposing presence of her companions, her eyes deep with decades of experience, nervously darting to her watch. Adorned in a black dress that resembled a funeral gown, and a hat that cast a shadow over her face, she stood her ground, her gaze fixed beyond the threshold. The lines on her face, etched by time, were softened by the dim light, adding to her mysterious allure.

The stone staircase, weathered and worn, exuded an aura of timeless elegance. Coby ran up the stairs, his hand outstretched in a friendly gesture, but Lady Grimloch remained aloof, clutching her purse tightly—her fingers adorned with rings that seemed as ancient as she, bearing the weight of history.

“Mister McTavish, you’re horribly late,” she sneered, her lips curled into a frown, her voice carrying a hint of disdain. It was a tone honed by years of holding court, commanding rooms with nothing but her presence and words.

Coby, slightly shivering from the chill, glanced at his watch and realised they were only five minutes late. “I sincerely apologise for any inconvenience, my lady,” he cooed, his voice soothing against the backdrop of the storm, “the weather has been less than...”

“Whatever!” Lady Grimloch (Creighton) interjected, waving her hand in dismissal, the air around her crackling with impatience. “By the time winter begins, I will have already returned.” Her voice was firm, betraying no hint of frailty, yet her movements were measured, conserving energy as one does who has navigated many seasons. While she listed the instructions about the kitchen staff being off, and the caretaker, Coby’s gaze wandered, and he saw Ewan unloading the suitcases and baggage, the weight of them clear in the strain on his face, dragging them up the stairs.

Lady Grimloch continued, her voice echoing with authority, “Cameron, the groundskeeper, has cut enough wood to last you for a while. If you need him, he is in his cottage.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Coby replied, his voice distant, as his eyes roamed the estate, the sheer scale of it dwarfing his presence. The towering manor, with its intricate gothic spires, sent a shiver down his spine—a cocktail of excitement and trepidation at the stories hidden within its walls.

“And remember,” Lady Grimloch added, the sharpness in her grey eyes hinting at a challenge, “the private library is strictly off bounds to guests. I expect you to respect that boundary without exception.” Her words hung in the air, a veil of frost wrapping itself around the promise of untold secrets.

With a decisive turn, she descended the stairs, her posture unyielding, her companions a silent, formidable shadow. A chauffeur quickly guided her into the luxurious black Rolls Royce, which swiftly vanished into the distance.

“Turtle lips,” Ewan quipped beside Coby, his laughter a sudden burst of warmth in the crisp air.

“What was that?” Coby asked, his mind momentarily torn from the manor’s enigmatic allure.

“That lady’s frown,” Ewan chuckled, “reminds me of turtle lips.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, a playful camaraderie inviting Coby into the fold.

“Ewan!” Gracie chided with faux sternness, though her laughter soon joined theirs, echoing softly against the grandeur of the manor. Their mirth stood in stark contrast to the looming silhouette of the house, which seemed to watch over them with an air of silent anticipation.