“You brought us to a fucking murder house?” I shrieked at her, but my voice echoed back at me, slurred.
Ella looked surprised but also drunk. They all started to laugh hysterically, no doubt at my expense. I looked past them to the dark Manor.
“I confess. Rumour has it that a man murdered his cheating wife before killing himself. The reviews on the property listing made me curious to know if people were making shit up or not,” Rachel said before drinking the vodka straight out of the bottle. “Strange things have happened to people in this house.”
The sound of another car speeding up the driveway made her shove the bottle in Sabby’s hand. I glanced back to see a black sports car sending gravel flying in all directions as it drew closer.
“Shit, hide the bottle. That's the guy with the keys,” Rachel said to Sabby as she unclipped her seatbelt.
Sabby took care of the bottle while we all stepped out of the stuffy car. The purr of his engine cut out while I inhaled the fresh air. When I glanced up, a sharp-suited man approached us. His clothes seemed overly formal and excessively old-fashioned. He reminded me of an aristocratic countryside landlord. Who wore a waistcoat and pocket watch?
“Ladies, welcome to Greywood Manor,” he said, his smile consisting of white, pearly teeth, but his sharp eyes were penetrating.
Goosebumps rose on my arms, but I rubbed them through my jacket. Ella and Rachel were charmed by him, but he gave me the creeps. His head snapped over to me as he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket.
“You will find several doors locked, but that is due to the size of the property and people leaving a mess in every room. The east wing is off-limits entirely,” he said, glancing down until he reached my pink canvas lace-ups.
“That’s not a problem. We don't intend to leave a mess,” Rachel assured him.
His smile brightened, and he held out the keys. “Would you like a tour?”
“No, thank you,” I blurted out before I frowned, wondering why he made me nervous. “I mean, that is part of our fun. Exploring the house.”
“Of course,” he said, dropping the keys in Rachel’s hand. “Have a pleasant stay, ladies. You have my number on the booking if there are any problems”
With that, the dark-haired man climbed back into his car and fired the engine up. I don't know what was wrong with me. He was just an odd man who liked to dress up. Sabby came out of the car holding the bottle up while the girls rushed to get their bags.
I stared at the manor and its multitude of windows, my eyes lingered on the round turret, east of the house. My gut screamed to leave, but I knew Sabby and Rachel would kill me. Ella was the sweetest and our peacekeeper. She would stop the violence.
“Was there an actual murder here?” I snapped at Rachel, moving to the open boot to help with the grocery bags.
“Well, technically, the bodies were never found. It is all speculation,” she said, handing me my backpack. “The baby vanished too.”
My jaw fell open while Rachel chortled. “This is going to be so much fun.”
I grabbed the last grocery bag while Rachel slammed the boot shut. The sound made me jump. I didn't have the courage to look up at the turret again, so I rushed after them, pushing the dread down. An entire wealthy family vanished in the Victorian era. That was a rarity.
The girls chattered about getting to a toilet and picking out rooms while I listened to the groaning floorboards as they tumbled into the house, hesitating for a second before I stepped inside the dark wooden hallway. I pushed the door shut with my elbow.
The girls scattered as they went to find a bathroom. Something flickered from the corner of my eye. I gasped at the dark patch on the landing. It wasn't a shadow, but a—I blinked, and it was gone.
Sabby and Ella were running up the stairs, distracting me from my hallucination, while Rachel vanished into one of the rooms. The creaking and groaning was coming from all directions as if the house was awakening from a deep slumber.
“I’m going to fucking haunt you if I die in this house,” I shouted at Rachel only to hear her tittering before her head poked out.
“Your reaction is even better than I thought,” she said with a cheeky grin.
The bitch.
My palm was slick against the grocery bag’s handles. In every horror movie, the anxious girl always dies first—the one who feels the danger and is overly cautious while everyone else laughs.
The floorboards sighed beneath me.
Not wood settling, but breathing.
Fuck.
I wasn't getting drunk in the middle of the day again.
