The Land Rover crunched over the gravel drive, spitting up a spray of pebbles that pinged against the ancient oak doors of Blackwood Manor. Valentine Esperanza D’Martinez, all 5’2” of her, bounced in her seat, a knot of nervous excitement tightening in her stomach. Around her, the English countryside sprawled a patchwork quilt of emerald fields and slate-grey skies. It was a far cry from their cramped Brooklyn apartments and the ever-present thrum of the city.
“Dude, this place is straight out of a Jane Austen novel,” breathed Maya, her eyes wide with awe. She leaned across Valentine, her nose practically pressed against the window. “Except, you know, with Wi-Fi… hopefully.”
“And ghosts,” chimed in Javier, his voice a stage whisper. He threw a playful arm around Maya, who swatted him away with a laugh.
Valentine smiled, her gaze drawn back to the manor. It loomed over them, a gothic behemoth of gargoyles and crumbling stone. Ivy, thick as a man’s arm, snaked its way up the walls, clinging to the centuries-old brick like a jealous lover. Even bathed in the weak autumn sunlight, the place had an undeniable air of melancholy, a sense that its walls held stories best left untold.
As the Land Rover rolled to a stop, the rest of their friends piled out, a cacophony of excited chatter and nervous laughter. There was Liam, the resident cynic, already grumbling about the lack of cell service; Aisha and Chloe, inseparable since kindergarten, their hands intertwined as they whispered excitedly; and the twins, Marco and Mateo, their cameras already clicking away, documenting every cobweb and crooked floorboard.
Valentine took a deep breath, the crisp air tinged with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic, like old blood. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and the weight of her art supplies a familiar comfort. This trip was supposed to be about inspiration, about escaping the city and finding their muse in the heart of the English countryside. But as Valentine met the gaze of a particularly menacing gargoyle, its stone lips curled into a silent snarl, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d stumbled into something far more sinister than a weekend getaway.
YOU ARE READING
the Blackwood Manor
ParanormalI just wanted to get rid of this old story, so post here it's also on a03 account name Etherealmeadow , story same name .
