Shadow's Plaything

Chapter 1: Leaving the big city

I stood in the middle of my bedroom, evaluating my belongings which were neatly divided into categories such as clothing, creative instruments, womanly stuff, books, and so on. My present problem was figuring out how I was going to pack everything because I only had two large suitcases and a backpack, which weren’t enough to furnish everything. The books alone would take up one of the luggage. I should have known better than to postpone packing until the last minute, but I had an uncanny knack for losing track of time.

Blowing a long strand of hair from my face, I moaned exasperatedly and tried to devise a packing strategy because I would be leaving this flat forever, therefore, leaving anything behind was out of the question. To be honest, I wasn’t sad to be leaving this apartment. It was incredibly cramped, and I had to stack most of my belongings, especially the books, on the floor in huge towers of creation.

The flat I was leaving was on the final level, or should I say attic, of a building in Manhattan, New York. It was like living in a little cage like a bird. The apartment included one decent-sized living room, a tiny kitchen, a bathroom, and a shoebox-sized bedroom. You’d assume that as a best-selling author, I’d make a lot of money, but that wasn’t the case. After paying for book production, advertising, and PR, not to mention the percentage the literary publishing business takes, I was left with enough to live on an average scale. Nothing extravagant or luxury, but it sufficed for me because I wasn’t a snob when it came to clothes or food.

To better express who I am, my name is Dahlia Willow. It is a name that evokes nature, namely the flower Dahlia and the enigmatic tree Willow. Dahlia was the name given to me by my mother in honor of my father. On their first date, he gave my mother a bouquet of rich, vivid dahlias, and it has since been a significant flower for them, the blossom of their love, and subsequently flowered in their kid, who is me.

I am 27 years old and recently graduated from university, where I studied literature, foreign languages, and history, as well as focusing heavily on a love that has never left my soul since I was a small child: writing. It was a difficult path that required years of studying, experimenting with new writing methods, and harsh reviews, yet despite all of these storms, I became a best-selling author. This was undoubtedly the best day of my life, and it also happened to be the day I graduated from university with the top students.

The desire of having all of my writings read by the public became a reality, not just a daydream that I used to yearn for, yet I still felt a hole inside me, right in the center of my chest. Perhaps it was because I had recently broken up with the guy I gave three years of my life in love that I opened myself too much, allowing myself to be spiritually naked for him; a great error on my side, but I wanted everything to be authentic, without veils to cover what we actually sought. He seemed to have different ideas, but I wasn’t the kind to grovel for someone’s devotion. Unrequited love or one-sided love was never a good aspect, and I should know that the best, seeing how some of my novels held that little aspect.

Since that breakup, it appeared as though the urge to write had evaporated, along with my confidence in love. Three months without writing was a red flag for me, and the need for a change was urgent; anything to put me on a straight line in life. I was emotionally exhausted.

I believe that the world can do amazing things and that everything occurs for a purpose since I recently got a letter from my mother that my grandma left for me after she died. It was my father’s grandma, with whom he seldom spoke or even visited because she resided deep in the center of Louisiana. To clarify, my father was raised by his mother’s sister from the time he was quite small. According to what my parents informed me, my grandmother’s spouse died in his early twenties after getting badly wounded on a mission while serving in the army. That was all I knew about my father’s side of the family. It was an enigma about which I was always fascinated, but no one knew much about it, or they did but chose to keep it a secret.

A knock at the front door jolted me out of my reverie. As I walked out of my bedroom and towards the front door, I noticed Heather through the eyehole. When I opened the door, she gave me a bright grin before pulling me into a close hug.

“It’s so good to finally see you, girl! I thought you vanished, seeing that you haven’t answered back my texts.” She told me, pulling away from the hug.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I haven’t checked my phone. I think is somewhere lost in this mess.” I apologized with a nervous chuckle.

Heather was a very bright and outspoken girl, and my best friend since I started going to the university, and ever since then we stayed closer, even after we graduated from university, we kept in touch. She had deep brown hair in long waves of curls with sparkling blue eyes, and ivory skin, quite tall, standing at 5′8 feet with a curvy body that was very much appreciated by the male population.

“Then it’s good that I decided to come by and help you out with packing, seeing that it’s your last day. Figured you could use some help, plus I brought some big boxes from the newspaper facility I work out. You have no clue how many boxes we tossed out each day because of the amount of paper they brought to us.” She told me as I helped her out bring the empty boxes inside the apartment.

“Thank you for helping me pack. You have no idea how much this means to me.” I genuinely said, a slight tint of sadness in my voice, which Heather didn’t miss, for she gave me a consoling look, setting one hand over my shoulder and rubbing me in an assuring way.

“Dahlia, you shouldn’t be sad. I always told you that changes are good, and you need this more than anyone else, especially after... you know...” I huffed and nodded muttering a faint approval, setting some boxes in the kitchen area.

“He isn’t worth any sorrow, especially coming from you. It’s honestly his loss.” Heather mentioned my ex-boyfriend, and the disgust was obvious in her blue eyes, and she knew the best that the break-up between me and him wasn’t easy. She was there for me during the aftermath, encouraging me to let it go, that I should move on to the next chapter of my life.

I met Thomas at a party during my freshman year in college. He was in his final year of college, medicine to be specific, and a few years older than me at the time, and he appeared so mature, much different from other people I had spoken to up to that point. He wasn’t pressing me in any way, preferring to let things unfold organically. After the first year, during which we were very good friends, he eventually asked me if I would want for us to be something more, to which I responded yes, listening to my heart.

There was nothing I could complain about; the relationship was lovely, and he was the image of a gentleman, opening doors for me and bringing symbolic presents to our dates that meant more to me than their monetary value. When we couldn’t meet throughout the day, he would text me sweet messages. I could tell the relationship was serious since we got along so well. I was on cloud nine, and during my last year of college, I fantasized that he was the chosen one, with whom I would spend the rest of my life. I was dreaming with my eyes open, pretending like I was reading a romance novel, until I realized what was going on.

Thomas had never given me any red signs that I should be concerned about until one day when I wanted to surprise him at work. He had already finished his studies and was working as a doctor at the hospital at the time. I cooked him his favorite dish and tried to make it seem charming and romantic, like in corny movies. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to his office and saw him sandwiched between the legs of one of the young nurses he worked with. Half of their garments were scattered on the flooring. I quickly raced out of there, unable to understand what I had just witnessed.

Later that day, I discovered that the nurse I had seen him with wasn’t the only one he was getting close with. Simply stated, I was backstabbed, humiliated, and betrayed, but in a macabre way, I was pleased that I discovered it because God knows how long he would have manipulated me like that.

After that, I attempted to concentrate more on my writing profession, advertising my books, working on new ideas, and taking a few trips to clear my head, but that black cloud of a storm stayed in my spirit. Then one day, I got a letter from my mother. She informed me it was from my father’s grandmother, who had recently died and wanted me to inherit her riches and estate in Louisianna. The letter appeared to be from the Victorian era, with cursive writing and a wax seal with a weird symbol, the head of a wolf.

I recall reading that letter several times, attempting to absorb every bit of information that was stated. There was an odd sense about this circumstance; my parents didn’t tell me whether I should attend or not, despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken to my grandma in years. They merely stated that I should go investigate what this inheritance is all about in order to clear up any confusion.

“Hey! Are you listening to me?” Heather’s voice filling my ears and her snapping her fingers in my face pulled me out of the trance, blinking a few times with a dreamy and confused look crossing my features. “Uhh... Y-Yeah?” Not really, I wasn’t listening and she knew, giving me that look.

“You sure are always lost in your own little world, girl. I was telling you about how exciting this trip will be for you. It will be like an adventure!”

When I informed Heather about the letter and the entire heritage, she was ecstatic, and she strongly advised me not to pass up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It was great to have her in my life as a personal cheerleader, encouraging me in all of my endeavors.

“It sure is.” I replied, not as thrilled as she was, as I started to put the kitchen utensils in one of the boxes, starting to pack.

“Seriously? You’re going to be all rich and have like a huge house, all yours... and that’s all you can say?” Heather questioned, putting her hands on her hips as a mother would do.

“No, no. I am thrilled, alright? But I am more so curious how come she wants me to take up all this legacy. My father rarely mentioned her, and if he does, it’s only because I ask him. I wonder what secrets did she hide, or if my parents know something about her, or they simply don’t care.” I spoke in a quiet voice, continuing to pack with my mind constantly wandering around.

“Alright, Sherlock Holms. Didn’t your father say that your grandmother let her sister raise him after your grandmother’s husband died when your father was only a toddler? Maybe she couldn’t trust herself to raise a child alone, considering that she probably suffered a lot from the loss of love. I swear you could write a novel on this.” Heather recalled as she began to help me with the porcelain plates, setting them in boxes.

“Probably... but I have a certain tug that there is more.”

“And you want to investigate and unravel all the secrets of your family. Like I said... perfect plot for a novel.” She finished, closing the first box, and putting duct tape over it to keep it closed.

“I will make sure to note that. The moving truck will come in two hours to take everything, so we better hurry up.” I explained, already finished with two boxes.

“Your plane is tomorrow morning, right?” I nodded in response to her query, removing a hairband from around my wrist and tying my long honey-colored hair into a high ponytail, attempting to keep the waist-length hair out of my face.

“Yeah... Almost three hours will be the flight from New York to Louisiana. By the time I arrive at my grandmother’s estate, all my belongings will be there.”

“Got to love the moving companies. Make’s everything so much easier.”

“Hey. How about you go start on your stuff from the bedroom. I will take care of the kitchen stuff and living room. That way we will manage to finish quicker.” Fionna suggested to which I nodded, not having a problem with that.

“Sure, if that’s fine with you. If you need help, just call my name.” I remarked this as I exited the kitchen and returned to my bedroom, opening one of the large suitcases and beginning to pack all of my things, striving to arrange them as best as I could so that they would all fit inside.

I rose from my knees and headed towards the huge window sill to pick up the piles of books there, but I came to a halt as I looked out the window, noticing how many people strolled through the streets, seeming like small ants from up here. Despite my complete independence, I felt like a bird in a golden cage. There was a need for something different, a fresh start, which I expect to discover in Lousianna, as well as answers to questions that had tormented my thoughts my whole life.

Leaving the busy city life would be a breath of fresh air, and that was exactly what I needed right now. All of these years in New York were wonderful; I met incredible people and achieved certain goals, but my heart had to suffer. It was like a two-edged sword that could either rescue or destroy me. I had to get away. Sighing, I went back to packing.

After two hours, Heather and I had finished packing everything just as the moving truck appeared in front of the building. I stood there with Heather watching as the workers began to gather up the boxes and carry them down to the elevator and to the truck outside.

Heather wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me to her side and giving me a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry and be nervous. Think about it like this. You finished a novel of your life, and now you are on a great start to the beautiful sequel.” I smiled at her words, leaning closer to my best friend, happy to move on to greater paths.

Somewhere in Louisiana, on the Willow Island...

Deep within Louisiana on a certain island called Willow Island, because of the dense and rich population of Willow trees that are all around the beautiful and mysterious island. In the middle of this enigmatic island lays the Willow Plantation, and the first thing that would catch anyone’s eyes is the unique alley of oak trees that bind together at the top, making it look almost like a tunnel made by mother nature. This alley leads to the imposing Willow manor, which has Greek Revival architecture, pure white that gives off a welcoming air, the white paint trying to resemble the marble. The mansion has a rectangle floor plan, organized around a central hall that runs from the front to the rear on both floors. The rooms feature high ceilings and large windows that allow the light to dominate the inside, but long and thick curtains are drawn, casting the whole inside in pitch black. The exterior features a free-standing colonnade of 28 Doric columns on all four sides that correspond to the 28 oak trees in the alley.

It was a sight out of a victorian fairytale, calling anyone in closer, like a bewitching song of the sirens. Down the many hallways of the building, all cast in darkness, anyone could get lost. In one specific room, the Master bedroom that could belong to a king from the victorian-style furniture, and the king-sized bed that would call anyone in for a long slumber, a pair of blood-red eyes shined brightly in the corner of the imposing bedroom, and a wide grin stretched across pitch-black skin, displaying sharp teeth that could belong to a beast.

The sound of sharp claws being dragged across the hardwood floor echoed, and a rumbling chuckle followed that could give anyone terrifying chills down their spines. There was a certain sadistic excitement in these maleficent eyes, even the sclera was red, a reminder of the essence of life, the blood.

“I’m waiting for you, little bird~” The ominous voice purred lowly, a forked black tongue unfurling to lick the shark-like teeth in a display of gluttony before these features simply vanished in the blackness of the bedroom.