Nightfall descended upon Blackwood Manor like a shroud, draping its ancient stones in an inky blackness that even the moon, a sliver of silver in the star-dusted sky, couldn't penetrate. Inside, the manor crackled with a nervous energy. Liam, after much fiddling and a few choice curses, had managed to coax a scratchy waltz from the antique gramophone. The music, a ghostly echo of a bygone era, drifted through the halls, a counterpoint to the susurrus of whispers that seemed to emanate from the very walls.
Maya, never one to let an opportunity for revelry pass, had commandeered the grand ballroom, its once-gleaming floor now covered in a thick layer of dust and time. She attempted to teach the others a waltz, her laughter echoing through the cavernous space as she stumbled over Javier’s feet for the tenth time. Even Liam, usually the most quiescent of their group, had allowed himself to be pulled into the impromptu dance lesson, his usual cynicism replaced by a reluctant smile.
Valentine, however, found herself drawn away from the merriment, her steps leading her, as if guided by an unseen hand, towards the manor’s library. The room, even larger than the ballroom, was a testament to forgotten knowledge. Towering bookshelves, their shelves groaning under the weight of leather-bound volumes, lined the walls, their titles a litany of forgotten languages and arcane subjects. Moonlight, filtering through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains, illuminated a single reading chair, its leather worn smooth by countless hours of use.
As Valentine sank into the chair, the scent of old paper and decaying leather filling her nostrils, she felt a strange sense of peace settle over her. This room, with its silent sentinels of knowledge and the weight of centuries pressing down on its vaulted ceiling, felt strangely comforting, a sanctuary from the chimerical fears that had plagued her since their arrival.
She reached for a book at random, its spine cracked and brittle beneath her touch. The pages, yellowed with age, whispered as she turned them, revealing a collection of ghost stories, their tales of restless spirits and vengeful phantoms penned in elegant script. As Valentine read, the boundary between reality and imagination blurred. The susurrus of the wind in the eaves became the whisper of ghostly voices, the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight transformed into spectral figures lurking at the edge of her vision.
For a moment, she allowed herself to be swept away by the stories, her imagination painting vivid pictures of the manor’s former inhabitants, their lives and loves, their triumphs and tragedies, all echoing through the sempiternal silence of the library. But as the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight, a stark reminder of the ephemeral nature of time, a chill ran down Valentine’s spine. The stories, she realized, were just that: stories. But the feeling of being watched, of being surrounded by unseen eyes, that was all too real.
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 .
