Blackwood Manor
706 Words
The iron gates opened with a long, haunting creak.
Adrian pushed them slowly, the metal groaning against the wind as the storm raged around us. I followed him cautiously, my shoes crunching against the gravel path that led toward the mansion.
Up close, Blackwood Manor looked even more intimidating.
The building towered above us, its dark stone walls covered with creeping ivy. The windows were tall and narrow, and in the flashes of lightning they looked like hollow eyes staring down at me.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to fight the cold.
“This place is… huge,” I said quietly.
Adrian glanced back at me.
“It's been in my family for generations,” he replied.
His tone was calm, almost emotionless.
We reached the massive front door, made of dark wood and carved with strange patterns that looked almost ancient.
Adrian pushed it open.
The door swung inward slowly.
Warm air rushed out to meet us.
Inside, the mansion was dimly lit by large chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. The entrance hall was enormous, with a grand staircase curving upward to the second floor.
Everything looked expensive.
But something about the house felt…
empty.
Too quiet.
Too still.
As if the mansion itself was holding its breath.
“You must be freezing,” Adrian said, closing the door behind us.
The loud thud echoed through the hall.
“I’ll have the housekeeper bring you some dry clothes.”
Housekeeper?
So someone else lived here.
That thought gave me a little relief.
Adrian walked toward a small bell on the wall and rang it once.
Within seconds, a door opened from the side of the hall.
An elderly woman stepped out.
Her gray hair was tied neatly behind her head, and she wore a simple black dress. Her face looked kind, but the moment her eyes landed on me, something changed.
Shock.
Real shock.
Her eyes widened as if she had just seen a ghost.
For a second, she just stared at me.
Then she quickly looked away.
“Mrs. Hawthorne,” Adrian said calmly. “This is Miss…?”
“Elena,” I said.
“Miss Elena Carter,” Adrian continued. “Her car broke down. She’ll be staying the night.”
Mrs. Hawthorne slowly nodded, but her gaze returned to my face again.
That strange expression was still there.
Like she was trying to remember something.
“Of course, sir,” she said softly.
Her voice trembled slightly.
She stepped closer to me and handed me a towel.
As she did, she leaned closer and whispered so quietly that Adrian couldn’t hear.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
My heart skipped.
“What?” I whispered back.
But before she could say anything else, Adrian turned toward us.
“Mrs. Hawthorne, please prepare the guest room.”
The old woman immediately straightened.
“Yes, sir.”
She walked toward the staircase slowly, but before disappearing upstairs, she looked back at me one more time.
The warning in her eyes made my stomach twist.
Adrian noticed my expression.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
I forced a small smile.
“No… nothing.”
He studied my face for a moment, as if trying to read my thoughts.
Then he spoke again.
“Come,” he said.
“I’ll show you around.”
As we walked deeper into the mansion, I began noticing something strange along the hallway walls.
Portraits.
Dozens of them.
Paintings of women.
Beautiful women dressed in elegant clothes from different time periods.
Some looked modern.
Others looked like they were from centuries ago.
But they all had one thing in common.
They looked strangely familiar.
As if they all shared the same face.
My face.
I stopped walking.
Adrian turned back toward me.
“What is it?” he asked.
I pointed toward one of the portraits.
“Those women…”
My voice trembled slightly.
“They look like me.”
Adrian stared at the painting for a moment.
Then he looked back at me.
And smiled.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“They do.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Something about the way he said it…
didn’t sound like a coincidence.
- Writer
