Caimed by Midnight

Chapter Four

The storm returned that night, bringing with it a cacophony of rain against the windows of Blackthorn Manor and winds that howled through the chimneys. Ivy found herself wide awake in her bed, the covers wrapped snugly around her, as she listened to the house creaking and sighing, almost as if it were alive.

Sleep eluded her; each flicker of candlelight seemed to cast shadows that morphed into eerie shapes, and each groan of wood sounded like footsteps echoing in the darkness.

Eventually, she decided to rise, draping a shawl over her shoulders. Perhaps a stroll through the halls would calm her restless mind.

The corridor outside her room glowed with the light of sconces, their flames flickering gently. Moving cautiously, her slippers made barely a sound on the carpet. The only interruption to the silence was the distant tick of a clock.

Halfway down the corridor, she stopped short.

A whisper, faint and ethereal, drifted through the air.

“Ivy.”

Her heart leaped in her chest. The corridor lay empty before her.

“Ivy.”

The voice called again, distant yet close, as if it seeped from within the very walls.

Her pulse quickened. Clutching the shawl tighter around her, she turned swiftly into another corridor, hoping to distance herself from the sound.

But the house seemed intent on keeping her close.

The halls twisted in unexpected ways, familiar paths ending abruptly at locked doors or leading to staircases she didn’t remember encountering. It felt as if the manor shifted around her.

By the time she arrived at the servants’ wing, she was visibly shaken. A warm light glowed beneath one of the doors, and she knocked softly.

The door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Halloway, her nightcap slightly askew. Her expression softened immediately. “Child, what are you doing wandering at this hour?”

“I thought I heard something,” Ivy replied, her voice trembling.

Mrs. Halloway sighed and motioned for her to enter. The small chamber was inviting, filled with shelves of herbs and a kettle steaming comfortably on the hearth. “The manor enjoys testing newcomers. Whispers, footsteps, doors that open and close on their own, it’s best to pay them no mind.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Ivy muttered as she settled into a chair offered by the housekeeper.

Mrs. Halloway’s sharp yet kind eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “I’ve lived here nearly thirty years. Long enough to discern which shadows are harmless and which are not.”

“Then you believe it’s alive?” Ivy inquired, curiosity tinging her voice.

Mrs. Halloway poured tea, her hands steady and assured. “Alive, cursed, haunted, call it what you will. Blackthorn Manor has a soul, and it does not sleep. The real question is not whether it lives, but whether it desires your presence here.”

The notion sent a shiver down Ivy’s spine, more chilling than the storm outside.

Before she could respond, another knock sounded at the door. “Halloway? Is Ivy with you?” called a familiar voice, Ethan’s.

Mrs. Halloway opened the door, shaking her head lightly. “You shouldn’t be out at this hour either.”

Ethan stepped in, grinning sheepishly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check on our guest.” His gaze found Ivy, and his grin softened into warmth. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one having a restless night.”

Ivy attempted a smile, her nerves still on edge. “The manor doesn’t make it easy.”

He leaned casually against the hearth, his relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “It never has. But you learn to adjust to it.”

“Do you?” she asked quietly.

His expression changed, a shadow flickering across his features. “Maybe not completely. But you learn to coexist with the whispers.”

Their conversation flowed for a while, with Mrs. Halloway brewing tea strong enough to chase away fears. The warmth of the room and the company of her guests eased Ivy’s anxiety. For the first time since her arrival, she felt a tenuous sense of belonging, as if she was not alone in the manor’s shadows.

Eventually, Mrs. Halloway insisted that they both return to bed. Ethan offered to escort Ivy back to her room, a gesture she accepted gratefully.

The corridors felt calmer now, the storm’s rage softened by the thick stone walls. Yet Ivy couldn’t shake the unsettling memory of her name being whispered in the darkness.

“Ethan,” she said softly as they reached her door, “do you believe Damian is right? About the curse?”

He paused thoughtfully. “I think Damian bears burdens that no one should carry alone. The curse is a reality for him—real enough to have shaped his entire life.”

“And for you?” Ivy pressed.

His eyes met hers, sincerity evident in his gaze. “For me, it’s real because I’ve seen its effects on him. But for you, Ivy… I cannot say yet. The manor hasn’t made its decision.”

He gave her a small, teasing bow, though it held deeper implications. “Goodnight, Miss Sinclair. Try not to let the whispers disturb you.”

But the whispers did trouble her.

Later, as Ivy drifted into uneasy sleep, she dreamt of standing in the east wing, despite knowing Damian had forbidden her from entering. The doors swung open on their own, revealing a corridor shrouded in darkness.

At the far end, a woman stood, her dark hair framing a face that mirrored Ivy’s own. Her mother.

“Ivy,” the woman whispered. “Midnight is coming. Choose wisely.”

The clock tolled, its sound heavy and final, snapping Ivy awake with a gasp. The candle by her bedside burned low, and shadows loomed closer in her room.

Pressing a hand to her chest, she felt her heart racing.

Had it been just a dream, or was it another warning from the manor itself?