The Ashmoor Chronicles Book 1 The Silence Between Us

Rowan didn’t see the house first. It was quiet. No…Rowan meant silence. There was a difference. It wasn’t the cozy silence you find in sleepy beach towns at night. This silence screamed wrong. It was the type of silence that smothers you the second you step into a room. The taxi disappeared around the corner leaving only a dull roar of ocean waves crashing against the cliffside. Rowan tightened her grip on the cracked leather strap of her oversized duffle bag and peered through the wrought iron gates. Ashmoor House pierced the horizon beyond them. Approaching it felt like traveling back in time. Ivy crawled up brick walls and clawed for the roof like it longed to devour the entire house. The windows were tall and wide like milky gray eyes staring back blindly at her. Ashmoor used to be grand, she could feel it in her bones. Gardens must’ve flourished on the property at one point—but now wild roses and ivy grew where once landscapers had entertained. A great ebony raven sat perched atop the largest chimney, tilting its head at Rowan and eyeing her with knitted black brows. “This isn’t real.” Rowan hissed. It was. She spent the last three days worrying about finals and convincing her mom to renew their lease downtown by the bay. Eleanor had called her. Her grandmother. Had passed away. Now she was here…all alone. Standing in front of the Estate her grandmother used to own; a grandmother she hadn’t known she had. Home that her mom seemed to never speak of. Rowan reached out and grasped the cold iron gate. It let out a loud groan before she even touched it. Like it had been expecting her. Slowly, the gate creaked open on it’s own with no pushing from Rowan. Cold sweat trickled down her spine. “There has to be wind.” Rowan said out loud. The trees weren’t moving. Rowan took a deep breath and stepped onto the gravel path leading to Ashmoor. She began walking forward slowly on the uneven stone path. Dust danced mockingly around her feet. Mocking spirits. They swirled in place as if they were waiting for her to walk by. She could feel eyes burning into the back of her neck with every step she took. Waiting. Watching her come. She reached the entrance of the home. The front door hung open just slightly. Rowan knew someone had been there before her. The smell hit her the second she stepped foot in the entryway. Cedar. Old books. Rain falling on parched wood. Home. It filled her empty lungs as she took a deep breath. Embraced her. Rowan stepped into Ashmoor House. Warm sunlight beamed in through the leaded glass windows coating the ground with dancing dust. Portrait after portrait lined the grand staircase that spiraled up to who-knows where. Men. Women. She didn’t know any of these people. Smiling down at her. Grandparents? Aunt’s? Uncle’s? Cousins? They all stared at her. Whispering her name. Yet Rowan… Had no idea who they were. Footsteps echoed through Ashmoor House’ entryway. “Hello?” She called out into the empty halls. Nothing. Just the soft chirp of a grandfather clock from further inside. Rowan dropped her bag onto the ground next to her. Tick. She jumped and the sound ceased. Absolute silence. “Hello?” She called louder, kicking a stone beside her in frustration. That’s when she heard it. Music. Someone was playing the piano inside Ashmoor House. Rowan paused. Her heart began to race. But it was someone. Slowly. Beautifully. Someone was playing the piano for her. Rowan followed the sound of tinkling piano down a long dark hallway and into a row of closed off rooms. She slowed when she came to Ashmoor house’s antiquated music room. She could see where someone had recently played. Piano sheets peeked out from dust covered book shelves lining the walls. Sunlight beamed in from the large window behind the grand piano. Darkness sprawled across the rest of the music room from lack of visitors. Oakwood arms reached out from both sides of the piano bench. It beckoned her closer. Rowan closed the distance between her and piano, gulping down a thick strand of saliva. Someone had been here. Its lid was cracked open. Showing its keys. Its bench… Was empty. Suddenly—the music stopped. The hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck rose to attention. She spun around quickly. Hoping to catch someone. See who had been here. Instead, there sat one white camellia blossom. Dropped. On the piano keyboard. Plush petals. Soft. Rowan peered at the lone flower sitting innocently on the piano keyboard. As if someone had just placed it there.