The parish record slipped from Elena's fingers. It landed softly on the archive table, yet the sound seemed impossibly loud because her heart had stopped hearing anything else.
ELENA WHITMORE
The name stared back at her from the faded page. Written in dark ink. It was Dated 1605. Two hundred years ago. The same year as the letter, same year as the Black Door.
"No."
The word escaped her lips automatically. She leaned forward again. Reading the record for a second time.
Then a third, and fourth. Hoping the letters would rearrange themselves. She had probably misread it.
She hadn't. The old church ledger was genuine. It was Handwritten and It's pages smelled of dust and age. Nothing about it felt fake or forged and yet, there it was boldly written…
Elena Whitmore
Recorded in Blacktho
