Following the chilling success of their first collection, Lady Eckland, Glenn Riley, and new collaborator, Bella Darkwood return to guide you through the shadowy corridors of fear with their second compendium, *Whispers In The Dark 2*. These master...
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France 1620
Étienne sighed as he stirred his tea, gazing out the frost-lined window of his study. The estate was still, the halls empty save for the occasional servant passing by with quick, quiet steps. Since Annette's death two winters past, the mansion had fallen into a state of perpetual silence, its grand rooms and gilded walls no longer filled with the warmth of her laughter.
A knock interrupted his reverie, and he bid the visitor enter. His manservant, Marcel, came bearing an ivory envelope on a silver tray. "A letter has arrived for you, monsieur."
Étienne took it with muttered thanks, breaking the wax seal with his thumb. It was an invitation to a private art auction hosted by an old friend, one Étienne had not seen in years. Perhaps it would provide some welcome distraction from his grief. He penned a quick reply and sent Marcel to fetch his coat and gloves.
The auction proved diverting enough, filled with members of the old aristocracy milling about, champagne glasses in hand as they examined antique furnishings and paintings. Étienne studied the artwork half-heartedly, unable to muster much interest as his mind continually wandered. He found himself missing Annette's company, her passion and insight that had so often energized these events.
It was just as he prepared to take his leave that a painting caught his eye from across the room. Unlike the lavish portraits and still lifes that surrounded it, the artwork was modestly sized-no larger than two hand spans-and its muted earth tones stood in stark contrast to the vibrant works beside it. But as Étienne approached, he found his gaze lingering on the haunting scene.
It depicted an isolated house, small and run-down, surrounded by barren fields and gnarled trees. The windows were dark hollows despite the sunlight pouring across the desolate landscape. On the porch stood a lone figure in a tattered dress, face obscured by shadows. The longer Étienne looked upon the strange painting, the deeper he felt himself drawn into its mystery-and the more unsettled he became by the shapeless figure whose spindly arms reached out towards him.
"Ah, I see you have found our hidden little jewel," remarked the host, Monsieur Durand, as he joined Étienne's side. "Strange, is it not? The artist is apparently quite obscure. My agent acquired it at discount due to some slander regarding its subject being of ill fortune. But I find such mysticism adds to its allure."
Indeed, Étienne could not deny the odd magnetism of the painting. Before he knew it, he had paid Durand triple its worth, deaf to the murmured cautions from fellow buyers. Tucking his peculiar prize safely beneath one arm, Étienne set out at once for his carriage. If the painting did bring misfortune as the rumors claimed, it was no matter. His alone had been miserable enough since Annette's absence. What worse fate could possibly befall him now?
Arriving home, he brought the painting straight to his private study. Marcel met him at the door wearing a look of surprise. "Back so soon, monsieur? I had not expected you until nightfall."
