Chapter 11: The Footsteps in the Dark
The passage yawned before them, a narrow tunnel swallowed by darkness. Dust choked the air, disturbed for the first time in what could have been centuries. The footprints—faint but unmistakable—disappeared into the shadows ahead.
Claire gripped the candle tighter, its fragile glow barely holding back the void. "She came this way."
Samuel exhaled, rubbing his arms as if trying to shake off the unnatural chill. "Or something did."
Claire met his gaze. They both knew this wasn't just an old tunnel. This was a path to the truth.
And the truth was never buried without reason.
She stepped inside first. The wooden floor creaked beneath her boots, the walls pressing in close. Samuel followed, his flashlight flickering slightly as if the airitself resisted the intrusion of light.
The whispers had faded, but the silence was worse.
Each step felt like an intrusion, like walking through a memory that wasn't theirs to witness. The footprints led deeper, winding past forgotten furniture draped in dust-stiffened sheets. Old paintings lined the walls, their subjects' eyes hollow, staring.
Then—
A whisper.
Not a distant, scattered sound, but a single voice. Soft. Close.
"Help me."
Claire froze. Samuel's hand gripped her arm, his fingers digging into her sleeve.
The voice had come from ahead.
From the darkness beyond.
Claire's pulse thundered. "Eleanor?"
Silence.
Then a shift—a scraping sound, like something moving just out of sight.
Samuel tightened his hold. "Maybe we should turn back."
Claire shook her head. "We're too close."
She pressed on, her candle flickering violently. The footprints led to a door. Unlike the others in the manor, this one was untouched by decay. Its wood was polished, the brass handle gleaming as if freshly polished.
Samuel exhaled sharply. "That doesn't belong here."
Claire reached out. The handle was ice-cold.
She turned it.
The door swung open without a sound, revealing—
A bedroom.
The air was different here, untouched by the dust and damp of the passage. Heavy drapes covered the windows, casting the room in dim light. An ornate vanity stood against the wall, its mirror clouded with age. A grand canopy bed sat at the center, its sheets untouched, as if waiting.
And then Claire saw her.
A figure stood at the window, facing away.
A woman.
Dark hair cascaded down her back, her long dress flowing like shadows around her feet.
Claire's breath caught. "Eleanor?"
The woman didn't turn.
Claire swallowed, stepping closer. "We found your diary. We know what happened."
The air crackled with energy, the candle's flame bending unnaturally.
Then the woman spoke.
Her voice was soft. Hollow. "You should not be here."
Claire's heart pounded. "We can help you."
Silence. Then—
The figure turned.
And Eleanor Blackwood's eyes locked onto hers.
But they weren't filled with relief.
They were filled with fear.
"Run."
The door behind them slammed shut.
And the whispers turned into screams.
To be continued…
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A/N:Next chapter tommaro. save this book pls.