Death's Carriage

CHAPTER 1 - THE CARRIAGE It was late at night, the rain pattered against the tiled roof. Lenore cannot sleep. Again. “The rain just won’t stop in this town, can it?” she asked herself, sitting up on her bed, and turning on the bedside lamp. Lenore decided to wander the city alone. It was easier than being left alone with her thoughts. The rain-soaked streets were nearly empty, except for the flickering lamps, fog, distant church bells, and… horse hooves. Not far away from where she’s standing. “Horse hooves? But it’s past midnight.” Lenore whispered through the thick fog. At first, she thought she imagined it. Lenore saw the lamps, not flickering, but standing out, clearing the fog away. And it was moving towards her direction, only it was on the other side of the street. Then she sees the carriage. Not modern. Not ordinary. The carriage was pulled by black horses, with black silk curtains covering the windows. Silver lamps glowing softly in the dark. The wheels screeched against the wet stone. And nobody else seems to notice it. Nobody else reacts. Not the drunk man, Mr. Duke, stumbling past. Not the woman, Mrs. Aldrich, who’s watching the young woman through her window. No one. The air grows colder, and Lenore feels strangely calm rather than afraid. - The carriage stops in front of a house, the very house Mr. Crawford lived in. He’s like a grandfather to Lenore, so sweet, and accomodating. He is also friendly. Somewhere inside that house cames screames, then crying, then silence. The sudden silence that followed felt unnatural. Final. Lenore was interested, there she saw something impossible; a pale woman stepping out from the carriage. Silver-blonde hair. Icy grey eyes. Black lace gloves. And silver jewelry. The woman is not familiar, not from the town. “Maybe it’s a visitor of Mr. Crawford, but why do I feel like something is wrong.” Lenore said to herself, crossing the other side of the street and walked towards the house. When she got near the house, the horses began to vanish like smoke, but then appeared again. The sight made Lenore pause. It was unsettling. “How brilliant!” Lenore said, staring at the horses, the carriage, and finally landing on the woman who is now guiding the old man, still looking healthy to be dying, and into the carriage. The mysterious woman stopped on her tracks, she noticed Lenore staring. And for the first time in centuries… someone can see her. That unsettles her. Because it’s not Lenore’s time yet. And to think that she’s a human, a living. Instead of running, Lenore stepped closer. Lenore circled the tall woman slowly, studying her with the fascination of a child discovering something impossible. “Who are you? What are you?” Lenore flooded the woman with questions. Confusion flickered between them, along with something else… curiosity. “You should not be able to see me.” the woman said, her voice was soft, but cold enough to make Lenore shiver. Yet somehow… she wanted to hear it again. “Humans usually look away.” the woman added, her eyes bored into Lenore like daggers, but she seems not scared or even afraid. “I don’t want to.” Lenore answered. Stepping closer to observe the woman. Fear should have driven her away. Instead, curiosity rooted Lenore to the spot. Before Lenore got any closer to touch her, the tall woman disappeared and the carriage started moving, making its way far away from Lenore. The fog swallowed the carriage slowly, silver lanterns fading into darkness. Lenore stared long after it disappeared. Her wrist burned with cold. She did not understand why her heart was racing. Or why a part of her already missed the woman she had only met moments ago. Nothing about the night felt real anymore. The young woman stumbled and fell to her knees, eventually laying on the ground, there she hear a whisper; “You were never meant to see me.” And everything just went black. - The cold reached her before consciousness did. It crawled beneath her skin like winter itself had wrapped its hands around her throat. Rainwater soaked through her clothes as Lenore slowly opened her eyes to a blur of grey skies and unfamiliar faces. For a moment, she could not remember where she was. Then the church bells rang. Slow. Heavy. Mournful. Lenore pushed herself upright with trembling hands, wincing as pain surged through her head. Her wrist still ached strangely beaneath the sleeve of her coat, cold enough to burn. A crowd had gathered around her. Some stared with concern, some looked afraid, and others with suspicion. The townspeople stood beneath umbrellas and dark coats, their faces pale in the morning mist. The morning mist still lingered along the narrow streets of Blackthorn Hollow, curling around iron fences and damp cobblestones. Just across from her stood Mr. Crawford’s home. The front door was open. Wilted flowers can be seen along the steps. Lenore’s stomach tightened. “Good morning…” she greeted weakly, brushing wet strands of dark hair away from her face. Nobody answered immediately. Instead, whispers moved through the crowd like restless ghosts and smoke. “That’s the Ashford girl…” “Why was she here?” “She was lying outside his house all night…” Lenore swallowed hard. Then someone finally spoke. “Mr. Crawford passed away before dawn.” The words struck harder than the cold and reached Lenore in fragments, quiet but sharp enough to make her chest tighten. Lenore stared toward the house, her thoughts turning frantic. The memory returned all at once. Silver lanterns. Black horses. Icy grey eyes staring through the fog. That could not be right. She had seen him only hours ago, past midnight when she was wandering the city alone. But also… Seen him standing beside the carriage. Seen the pale woman guiding him through the fog, and into the carriage. The carriage was real. Which meant the woman was real too. Lenore should have been terrified. Instead, all she could think about were icy grey eyes disappearing into the fog. “A black carriage,” Lenore whispered before she could stop herself. The murmuring stopped. Silence spread through the street almost instantly. Several people exchanged uneasy glances. The moment Lenore mentioned the black carriage, an old woman near the crowd made the sign of the cross. Another shut her window without a word. Lenore’s heartbeat quickened. “You saw it?” a rough voice suddenly asked. The crowd parted. Mr. Vale stepped forward slowly, his dark coat damp from the rain. Dirt still clung beneath his fingernails from the cemetery grounds, and the sharp look in his eyes unsettled Lenore far more than the whispers had. “You saw the carriage?” he repeated, almost breathless. Before Lenore could answer, his hands seized both her arms tightly. “A black carriage?” he repeated again. Lenore nodded cautiously. His grip tightened. Too tight. “You should not speak of such things,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling strangely. “Not here. Not after dawn.” Lenore barely heard him. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Silver-blonde hair. Icy grey eyes. Black lace gloves. And that voice… You should not be able to see me “Mr. Vale!” Evelyn shoved herself between them, forcing his hands away from Lenore. “Have you lost your mind?” she snapped. Then she turned to Lenore. “You’re freezing.” “I noticed.” Lenore replied, still looking at Mr. Vale. “And somehow, you still look calmer than I do. That’s concerning.” Evelyn said. Mr. Vale immediately stepped back, though the unease remained carved deeply across his face. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then quietly… Almost fearfully… He spoke. “If the horses stop outside your home…” His eyes lifted toward Lenore. “Pray they do not linger.” Something was deeply wrong with her. Any sane person would have run. Yet even now, with death lingering in her mind like a shadow, Lenore wanted to see the woman again. - Evelyn shoved a steaming cup of tea into Lenore’s hands. “You look terrible,” she muttered. Lenore weakly wrapped her fingers around the cup. “Good morning to you too.” “Len, you fainted outside a dead man’s house.” “I noticed.” Evelyn stared at her in disbelief. “That is your response?” Lenore only shrugged tiredly before taking a small sip of tea. The warmth barely reached her. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was?” Evelyn continued, lowering her voice. “People were already whispering before I even got there.” “They always whisper.” “Not like this.” Silence settled briefly between them, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the attic windows. Then Evelyn sighed dramatically. “If you die before me,” she muttered, “I’ll be furious.” A faint smile tugged at Lenore’s lips despite herself. “That’s strangely sweet.” “It’s not supposed to be sweet.” Evelyn grabbed a dry towel from nearby and began drying Lenore’s rain-soaked hair while continuing her lecture under her breath. “You disappear in the middle of the night, wander around alone during a storm, faint beside a corpse, and somehow I’m the one suffering.” “You exaggerate.” “I absolutely do not.” Lenore fell quiet again. Her thoughts drifted elsewhere. silver lanterns glowing through the fog, black horses standing unnaturally still, icy grey eyes watching her as though she had done something impossible simply by looking back. “You’re doing it again,” Evelyn suddenly said. Lenore blinked. “Doing what?” “That look.” Evelyn narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “The one where you disappear into your own head.” Lenore lowered her gaze to the tea in her hands. “I saw something last night, Eve.” The room grew quieter. Even the rain seemed distant now. “The carriage is real,” Lenore whispered. “And the woman from the rumors…” She hesitated. Then finally… “I saw her.” --- Evelyn stopped drying Lenore’s hair. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain continued softly outside the attic windows, tapping against the glass like restless fingers. Then Evelyn laughed nervously. “Len…” “I’m serious.” “That’s impossible.” Lenore tightened her hold around the teacup. Even now, her hands still felt cold. “She was standing beside the carriage,” she whispered. “I saw her clearly.” Evelyn searched her face for any sign of a joke, but found none. “What did she look like?” she asked quietly. Lenore hesitated. How was she supposed to explain someone who did not feel entirely human? “Cold,” she answered at last. Evelyn frowned. “Cold?” “Not just cold.” Lenore lowered her gaze. “Everything around her felt cold. The fog, the air… even the horses.” The memory returned too vividly. Silver-blonde hair glowing beneath the lantern light. Black lace gloves. Icy grey eyes staring directly into hers through the darkness. Lenore’s chest tightened strangely. “And she spoke to you?” Evelyn asked. Lenore nodded slowly. “What did she say?” “That I should not have been able to see her.” The room fell silent again. Evelyn stepped away from her and crossed her arms tightly. Unease flickered across her face now, replacing some of the earlier frustration. “My grandmother used to tell stories about that carriage,” she admitted quietly. “She said if you ever saw it…” Her voice trailed off. “What?” Evelyn looked toward the rain-streaked window. “It means death noticed you.” Lenore should have felt fear hearing those words. Instead… she remembered the woman’s voice. Soft. Sharp. Beautiful in a way that unsettled her deeply. “Len.” Evelyn’s tone softened again. “Whatever happened last night… promise me you won’t go looking for it again.” Lenore did not answer immediately. Because deep down, she already knew she would. Evelyn noticed the hesitation almost instantly and groaned dramatically. “Oh, you’re absolutely going to do something stupid.” That finally earned a small laugh from Lenore. “You know me too well.” “Unfortunately.” Evelyn moved toward the door, grabbing her coat from the chair nearby. “But seriously,” she added, pausing before leaving, “don’t wander around alone tonight.” Lenore nodded faintly. Evelyn stared at her for another second, unconvinced. Then with one last sigh, she opened the attic door. “And try not to fall in love with mysterious women lurking in the fog,” she muttered before disappearing downstairs. The door shut. Silence returned. Lenore sat motionless beside the rain-covered window, her tea slowly growing cold in her hands. Somewhere far beyond the fog-covered streets, she thought she heard distant horse hooves again. - After Evelyn leaves, the room is silent. Rain taps against the attic windows, and Lenore falls asleep. Then… Fog stretched endlessly around her. Silver lanterns glowed somewhere ahead. The sound of horse hooves echoed softly through the dark, and waiting beside the carriage stood the woman. Motionless. Watching her. Black feathers drifted through the fog like falling ash, frost spread across the ground beneath the woman’s feet. Yet wherever Lenore stepped, dying flowers bloomed again briefly before withering. “You should stay away from me.” the woman whispered, her voice soft and dreamy, but dangerous. But even in dreams, Lenore stepped closer. For a single moment, Lenore thought she saw enormous shadows unfurl behind the woman like ruined wings. - Lenore wakes up freezing cold, it was only 10:30 in the morning. Silver frost covers her window, her wrist burns again, and horse hoofprints appear outside her house. Lenore got out of bed and went downstairs, going outside to get fresh air. But then, she remembered Evelyn said, “Never speak of the carriage after midnight or after dawn,” then continued, “My grandmother used to say it listens.” Lenore went outside to stroll down the street, and the people began reacting strangely. Mrs. Aldrich staring at Lenore from her window far too long, church bells ringing repeatedly, whispers spreading through the town. Unfortunately, Father Gideon saw Lenore walking by, and approached her. “Is it true that they found you outside his house?” he said, but Lenore ignored his question and keep on walking, not until she arrived at the said street. Black funeral ribbons hung from iron fences during burials. - In Blackthorn Hollow, grief never truly left. Candles burned beneath the saint statues inside the cathedral, though many had melted into strange, distorted shapes over the years. Some believed the town had been abandoned by Heaven long ago. As children, they were warned never to look outside when the sound of horse hooves echoed after midnight. Lenore never listened. And when she passed by the cemetery, Mr. Vale stood outside the gates, watching her. Then he muttered softly, “The dead do not fear her. Only the living do.” Lenore said nothing. She simply returned home, where she scribbled restless thoughts onto paper—writing, sketching, trying to capture anything connected to the mysterious woman she had seen outside Mr. Crawford’s house. - That night, Lenore dreamed of icy grey eyes, and black horses again. And somewhere beyond the fog, she heard the c***k of a whip.