Chapter Fifteen: The Attic Window
1155 Words
The figure vanished with a flash of lightning.
The Dark Returned…
The attic window was vacant.
Rowan’s stomach sank.
“You saw it too?” she demanded of Elias.
He nodded.
“I swear I’ve never seen anyone stand in that window before.”
Clara backed away toward the cave entrance.
“You have to go.”
“What about you?” Rowan demanded.
“I can’t leave Moonfall Cove.”
“Why not?”
Clara stared toward the sea.
“My soul is tied to this place.”
“For now.”
---
The trip back to Ashmoor House was eerily quiet.
Rain pounded the narrow cliffside path. The fog had grown so thick Rowan struggled to see more than a few feet ahead of her.
The compass Mrs. Holloway entrusted to her spun chaotically before settling back in its original direction: toward Ashmoor House.
“It’s never behaved like that before,” Rowan breathed.
“The Heart is calling you home,” Elias replied.
“It knows something isn’t right.”
---
Ashmoor House sat completely blacked out.
Not one window glowed from the inside.
The moonlight refused to touch the decrepit old mansion.
The front door was wide open, too.
Mrs. Holloway never left the door open.
Rowan shot Elias at a panicked glance.
“This doesn’t feel right.”
“It isn’t.”
They entered.
The temperature dropped several degrees the moment they crossed the threshold.
The grandfather clock hadn’t ticked in hours.
Every portrait lining Ashmoor’s entrance hall had been turned toward the wall.
One by one, like someone—or something—had walked through the house manually rotating them.
Rowan gently righted the closest portrait.
What once depicted one of Rowan’s ancestors now revealed Ashmoor House ablaze.
She stumbled backward.
“That wasn’t here before.”
“No,” Elias breathed.
“It wasn’t.”
---
“Mrs. Holloway?”
No response.
The quiet was deafening.
The kitchen was bare.
The library was abandoned.
Every room in Ashmoor House seemed untouched by tragedy.
Until Rowan reached the music room.
The lid of the piano was pulled back.
And a single key was being pressed on its own accord.
One note haunted through the empty halls.
Then two.
Someone was playing Ashmoor’s piano.
But there was no one sitting on the bench.
---
Footsteps scraped softly from upstairs.
The attic.
Rowan peered up at the ceiling.
“Elias…”
“I know.”
Reluctantly, they ascended the staircase.
The air was frigid beyond explanation.
Tiny crystals of frost lined the banister.
Footsteps echoed through Ashmoor’s otherwise empty third floor.
When they reached the attic…
…it was already agape.
---
The attic was different when they climbed inside.
The piles of forgotten trunks and dusty old furniture were nowhere to be found.
Dozens of candles flickered throughout the room, illuminating figures Rowan hadn’t noticed before.
Rows upon rows of fresh flowers hugged the attic walls.
White camellias.
Hundreds of tiny white camellias.
Centered in the room stood an old wooden cradle.
Rocking back and forth.
As if someone was inside.
Beside the cradle rested Mrs. Holloway’s lantern.
Lit.
“I—I saw her…” Clara sobbed from behind Elias.
Rowan approached her slowly.
“What happened?” she asked Mrs. Holloway.
Mrs. Holloway looked utterly terrified.
“He came.”
“The first Keeper?”
“No.” She paused.
“The man who serves him.”
“The one wearing the hood?” Elias asked.
She nodded.
“He came for the second key.”
Rowan subconsciously placed a hand over her pocket.
“I still have it.” She whispered.
Mrs. Holloway sighed with relief.
“Oh, thank goodness.”
“Did he hurt you?” Elias asked.
“No.” She closed her eyes. Leaning against the far wall.
“He wanted me to tell you something.”
---
She locked eyes with Elias.
“He said…” Her voice cracked.
"...that your memories are returning too soon.” Elias frowned.
Mrs. Holloway shook her head vehemently.
“No.” She replied. Eyes widening.
“He’s preparing himself.”
---
Before anyone could speak.
Rowan noticed peculiar etchings in the attic floor beneath the cradle.
Hidden underneath a thin layer of dust.
She brushed it away.
A large circular symbol revealed itself.
The same crescent moon and ivy Elias had discovered in Clara’s memory.
Except this included seven stars encircling it.
Six stars remained dark.
And one star pulsated with a faint silver glow.
“What does this mean?” Rowan inquired.
Mrs. Holloway’s eyes bulged.
“The Seven Keys.”
“There are seven?”
She nodded.
“One for each of us.”
“Each key…”
“Strengthens the prison.” Mrs. Holloway replied.
“And weakens the first Keeper.”
Rowan’s eyes met the slowly pulsating star.
“But we only have two keys.”
“No.” Mrs. Holloway locked eyes with the small crystal key safely tucked away in Rowan’s bag.
“You have three.”
“The silver…”
“And the raven…”
“You have three keys.” Mrs. Holloway continued.
“The first key wasn’t a key at all.”
“It was a promise.”
---
Elias frowned.
“What promise?”
Mrs. Holloway offered a sad smile.
“The promise all Keepers make.”
“To protect the Heart.”
She stared into Rowan’s eyes.
“When you decided to stay…”
“The Heart accepted your promise and…”
“The first key was activated.”
---
Every candle in the attic is simultaneously extinguished.
Pitch-blackness consumed the room.
A booming voice echoed from behind them.
“You’ve had it all wrong.”
A match ignited.
And a small flame lit up the center of the attic.
Standing beside the cradle was the hooded man Rowan had seen in Eleanor’s memory.
His face remained shadowed beneath his hood.
His gloved hands clenched the handle of an antique black cane.
“I never wanted the Heart.” His voice was even.
“I just wanted to save it.”
Elias stepped defensively in front of Rowan.
“Don’t listen to him.”
The hooded man c****d his head to the side.
“Elias…” He smirked beneath his hood.
“Don’t you remember who pulled the trigger?”
There was complete silence.
Elias’s eyes glazed over, and his face grew pale.
“No…”
The hooded man took a slow, menacing step toward them.
“You do now.”
A tear slid down Elias’s cheek.
“It wasn’t my father who saved me.”
The hooded man’s smile grew wide.
“No. It wasn’t.”
“It was…”
Suddenly Ashmoor House began to shake violently.
Before Elias could utter the person’s name…
…the hooded man evaporated into thin air, smoke.
All that was left was his chilling last words:
“Ask Clara…”
- Writer
