The Phantom of Annie Hall

Annie Hall had never believed in fate, only well-organized calendars and contracts signed in triplicate. She breezed into her office with her usual caffeinated determination, high heels clacking against polished tile, a leather planner tucked beneath one arm. December 1st. The busiest month of the year, and she was already behind. Her desk, as always, was immaculate: a minimalist planner, a sleek laptop, and a trio of gold pens perfectly aligned. She barely had time to open her email before her phone buzzed with a message from her manager: "Need to see you in my office. Now. – B." Betty Sutton never used emojis. That alone told Annie she should brace herself. She crossed the hall and knocked briskly on Betty’s glass door before stepping inside. "Annie," Betty said, looking up from a stack of papers. "Close the door." Annie’s stomach tightened. Betty gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "How do you feel about a little adventure?" Annie arched a brow. "Do I get a raise with it?" Betty didn’t smile. That was never a good sign. “You’re one of my most capable agents. The Winterbourne property—ever heard of it?” Annie tilted her head. “The old manor out in Sterling Hollow?” “That’s the one. We’ve been trying to move it for two years. No bites. The owner passed, it went into a trust, and the board wants it sold before the new year. One month, Annie. One month to live there, stage it, host holiday events, and close a deal.” “You want me to live there?” Diane slid a manila folder across the desk. “It’s remote. Big. Needs a presence. Someone with charm, grit, and the ability to not scare easily.” Annie paused, flipping open the file. The photos were stunning, if a little eerie. Stone turrets, arched windows, sprawling grounds under a dusting of snow. It looked like something out of a Victorian novel. Or a horror movie. “There are rumors,” Betty said flatly. “Locals think it’s haunted.” Annie blinked. “Haunted?” “Every estate has a story. Ignore it. You're there to sell a legacy, not play ghost hunter.” She took the file, heart drumming behind her ribcage. “One month?” “One month. You leave tomorrow.” Annie dropped her keys onto the counter and kicked off her heels the moment she got home. Her apartment was small but stylish, warm lights glowing against exposed brick. She poured herself a glass of wine, then grabbed her phone and FaceTimed the only person who would appreciate this madness. Aiden answered on the second ring, already smirking. “Well, well. If it isn’t Manhattan Barbie. What’s the crisis today?” She took a sip. “How do you feel about haunted mansions?” His brows shot up. “Is that a serious question?” “I’ve been assigned to live in a possibly haunted estate—Winterbourne. Ever heard of it?” “You mean that creepy-ass place in the Hollow? With the Gothic windows and the death garden out back?” “Oh, fabulous. I was hoping you'd say something reassuring.” Aiden leaned closer to the screen. “Annie. Bestie. Why are you doing this?” “Because my boss asked. Because I’m capable. Because if I sell this property, I’ll get the kind of bonus that lets me upgrade from a cabernet in a coffee mug to actual stemware.” “Okay but... Ghosts.” “I don’t believe in ghosts.” Aiden tilted his head. “You also didn’t believe in overwatering succulents, and we know how that ended.” Annie laughed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll check in daily. You can be my emergency contact if the walls start bleeding.” “I demand a full video tour. And if there’s a library, you better haunt me with selfies.” Packing took longer than expected. Her usual wardrobe didn’t exactly scream country manor charm, so she threw in a few cozy knits, warm boots, and a scarf collection that had been gathering dust in the back of her closet. She tossed in a few books for the inevitable quiet nights, her French press, and her favorite wool coat. By morning, the snow had thickened. A car from the agency arrived just after dawn, the driver helping load her bags into the back. The ride took nearly four hours, winding from the city into quieter, frost-covered hills. As the GPS counted down the final miles, the trees thickened and the world seemed to exhale into silence. Snow dusted every branch and road sign, turning the landscape into something from a dream. And then she saw it. Winterbourne Estate rose behind a wrought-iron gate, flanked by old stone columns and a frozen garden. The mansion loomed, timeless and regal, its dark silhouette framed against a gray December sky. Lights flickered in the windows. As the driver opened the car door for her, a gust of wind sent her scarf dancing. “Here we are, Ms. Hall,” he said. Annie stepped out, breath clouding in the cold air. The wind whispered through the trees. She stared up at the estate, unease curling low in her stomach. And in one of the windows on the second floor, just for a second, she could’ve sworn she saw someone watching her. But when she looked again, the window was empty.