Nemona: The Witch of Scaranton

Chapter 7: Midnight Revelations

The mansion was draped in the inky blackness of midnight, the only light coming from the sporadic flashes of lightning outside. Wrapped in a cloak, I tiptoed down the ancient hallways, my senses heightened to detect any anomaly. The smell of old wood and the faint ticking of a grandfather clock were the only companions to my silent footsteps.

As I moved from room to room, I felt a pull toward the library, a room filled with dusty tomes and creaky leather chairs. The dim glow of a candle revealed Gilbert, sitting with an open book, engrossed.

"Arria," he started, slightly startled, "you should be asleep."

I hesitated for a moment, then ventured, "Gilbert, have you ever heard of Nemona?"

He scoffed, "That's just an old wives' tale. There's no dark witch haunting this mansion. Such stories are merely for scaring children."

Feeling a twinge of frustration but trying to keep my composure, I pressed, "Gilbert, there are signs. I've sensed an energy here. And Lila, she's seen something."

He waved his hand dismissively, "Children have vivid imaginations, and old houses have creaks."

Before I could reply, a voice chimed in from the shadowy doorway. "Gilbert might not believe it, but I've always found the tales... intriguing."

Stepping into the dim light was a figure I had met earlier: a man with salt-and-pepper hair, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and an uncanny resemblance to Gilbert.

I seized the chance. "Lionel, do you know what happens once Nemona feeds for four days?"

Lionel leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Legend has it that every century, Nemona drains the life force of a new family to sustain her existence. She starts as a child and grows progressively over four days. On the final day, the mansion witnesses a grand calamity, taking the entire family with it, leaving Nemona to slumber till she needs to feed again. Today marks day three."

The weight of Lionel's words hung in the air. It explained the shadowy girl figure, her need to feed. "Why didn't she prey on your family before?"

Lionel smirked, "Ah, there's more to the Winston family than meets the eye. We've always been... resilient."

As Lionel revealed the countdown of Nemona's feeding ritual, I mentally retraced my observations since arriving at the mansion.

"Although it's day three," I began, choosing my words carefully, "there are signs that Nemona hasn't gathered enough energy for the final day." Lionel raised an eyebrow, inviting me to explain.

"Firstly, her form," I pressed on, "Nemona still holds the visage of a young girl. Had she been close to completion, her appearance would've matured considerably."

Lionel nodded, recalling the shadowy images Tommy had captured, "That's true. She should appear as a teenager by now, progressing towards her full form."

I continued, "Secondly, the house itself. My ancestors spoke of houses 'singing' with energy. Old houses especially hold onto their memories, their emotions. If Nemona was nearing her culmination, the house would resonate with her dark energy, making the walls weep, the floorboards groan more consistently, and the windows shatter spontaneously. But apart from a few areas, the house remains largely... undisturbed."

"Lastly," I took a deep breath, "the family. If Nemona were truly close to finishing her cycle, the family would exhibit more pronounced signs of energy drain—prolonged fatigue, disorientation, even physical frailty. Yet, apart from a few members looking slightly pale, the majority seem relatively unaffected."

Lionel pondered my words. "Perhaps our presence, our own strengths and energies, are causing her to falter, slowing her process."

"Or," I added, "she might be biding her time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, amassing her strength."

A silence settled between us, the weight of our speculations pressing down.