His seat was empty.
Vacant.
The food was spread across the table, enough to feed a family of ten. The overwhelming smell of brown sugar wafted from the ham sitting under mountains of roasted potatoes and carrots. The fine china glittered under the faint candle, casting beautiful shadows among the darkness. The shuddering castle gave out a few breaths, the wind howling against the walls as the minutes ticked by. A grandfather clocksounded the hour. I scraped the plate, harsh squeaks under my fork.
Silas was not coming.
I leaned back in my chair. I did not know what I expected after what happened earlier. For him to come and act as if nothing was amiss. The secrets he continued to hide provided the citizens of the village more ammo of the mythic beast he claims he is not.
Frustrated, I took to the evening air.
The clouds from the storm had cleared, and I strolled through the rose gardens with the same storm raging on inside me. A part of me hoped that, among the roses, I would iron my resolve. To be the selfless person everyone holds, to be a daughter full of duty, the friend who is willing to risk their life to kill the beast.
To do what is right.
The right thing to do was to kill Silas.
I can end the hold over the village and to protect innocent lives, then return home where I can salvage a life for Mama and Miriam. The plates alone on that table could pay to sustain us for well over a month, maybe more. With him dead, there would be no use for the items of value and could easily be sold. I was no longer sick, which freed up much of our financial situation to get us back on the road to pay off Father’s debt and even get a sizable dowry for Miriam. There were enough trinkets for us to never have to worry about money for the rest of our natural lives. All I had to do was drive a stake throughhis—
The grandfather clock struck ten inside the cavernous walls of stone.
I stood and walked into the grand hallway, then stopped dead in my tracks.
A ghost hovered clear as day in the middle of the room, head skewed as she mumbled inaudible words to me. Her figure flickered, there and then not, and whispers gathered across the space, booming surrounding me similar to the room.
I shivered.
My heart quickened at the very thought of the room, the yearning to remember those visions. I shook my head. This was not the room. This was a resident who was nothing like those dark tendrils trapped behind a thick oak door in the west wing. A guest that never can leave these haunted hollow halls.
“Cruel thorns took root. The time has come. The time has come. Tick tock, the clock is gone, and soon, the roses will wilt,” she sang, low and toneless, fluttering about the room mindlessly and swaying faintly behind curtains of red.
The woman wore a billowy dress of red, matching the roses she fondly glanced to while repeating her eerie tune. Fiery orange curls crowned her head encircled with a ringlet of gold upon it. The woman’s sockets were vacant as the empty space in her chest.
I approached slowly. “Are you alright?”
I circled around her, the pale translucent becoming more tangible. She went on to mumble more lines, lines in which I did not hear, hiding behind the dark curtains from the budding moon. Black eyes cast tothe ground, twisted and furrowed, displeased in the riddles she spouted. The whispering in the room repeated the same strange lines.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I slowly backed away, turning away from the strange scene. With smooth wood under my hand, a chilling cold hand gripped my shoulder. The frigidity seared into my flesh with the kiss of death pressed against my temple.
“You will die. Here.”
The woman’s slackened face offered no kindness I have come to know nor the curious gaze of the dead. Behind her, an army of spirits stood ready, waiting for the end.
Her mouth stretched into a crude smile, hands snapped to my throat, choking the hot summer warmth with icy cold slicing into me. My back slammed against the rail of the staircase, the wood cracking underneath my body. With eyes bulging out of my skull, the whispering became louder, the crowd shuffling closer to us. The edges of my vision faded into black, and the room jostled from view.
I groped the air, clawing at nonexistent hands to no avail. Nothing I did worked as her grip around my throat tightened, the cold freezing my lungs and vocal chords. I screamed, and only choking sounds came out.
“Help,” I choked out, nearing the end, my body going limp.
I felt her rage, all of it within the grip around my neck. Every struggle I provided strain againstthe muscle in her arms as she fought to stay within this realm. The boundary between life and death was shadowy as I peered into the abyss beyond the veil. Between space and time, death was of comfort as reality faded to black.
I’m yanked back, dropping down onto a solid chest. Warm arms wrapped around my waist, keeping me upright and standing, despite legs wobbling underneath me. The world came back into focus as the ghosts hovered nearby. Face twisted, she clutched her hands, the translucent flesh marred in black.
“Are you alright, Little Dove?”
Fingers trailed to my iced throat, but the burn still marred my skin. I did not know if the fingers were mine. Within a split second, I discovered it was Silas’s hand keeping me upright.
I blinked. “She attacked, and I couldn’t—couldn’t—” I trembled at the faint contact of ghostly hands.
