Haunted

Chapter 1: There are stranger ways to learn about death

A bone-deep chill greets me as I wake next to my grandmother's grave; Its icy fingers trace the contours of my skin, a haunting reminder of the cold grip that has ensared me for far too long.

The thin layer of dirt I had covered myself with has long turned to mud in the drizzle of rain. The soil stains the white stripes of my dress and bleeds into the black. It's of no consequence to me. I never cared for the gown anyway. Grandma Jane always said pinstripes are for clowns, not young ladies. I can't agree more.

My muscles ache as I climb to my feet and I lean on my grandmother's grave for support. My purple-stained fingers dig into the slick stone, anchoring me in place. My lips twist at the bitter and impossibly sweet taste that coats my mouth. It's as if someone slathered my tongue in rotting fruit. I know exactly what turns my mouth tart; It's not fruit, it's poison. Absently, I trace my lips with a dirt-encrusted fingernail, wondering if the belladonna stained my mouth too.

Cold, numbing raindrops run down my skin and cling to my eyelashes. The thick scent of wet earth and damp trees fills in the air. I can hear the soft lap of water against the island's small perimeter. I envy the Earth, it still gets to wrap her in a tight embrace. In my haste to meet my Grandmother again, I didn't collect enough of the poisonous berries. "It seems I'll have to try again," I mumble, my voice hoarse, as my eyes take in my grandmother's headstone. I chip off a piece of lichen growing on the top with a dirtied fingernail. "There you are. As good as new." The smile that tugs at my stained lips is fleeting, soon replaced by sour disappointment. The belladonna didn't work; I failed. My trembling hands wrap around the very last thing I have of my dearly departed grandmother: a gold heart locket strung around my neck that offers little comfort in this moment.

At the sight of the setting sun and the manor with its steep roofs and turrets in the distance, my pulse races. If I'm late for dinner, Mother will stew my spleen. "I've got to get going," I tell the gravestone, pressing a kiss to its cool surface. "I'll see you soon Grandma, I promise. We'll be together before long, don't you worry."

I sprint to the dock, weaving through the damp forest. The trees around me seem to buckle under the weight of the rain. The wind whistles through their branches, carrying unintelligible whispers I don't bother trying to make out. It's as if the sky weeps for my departed grandmother, knowing I no longer can.

My boot catches in a slick part of the soil, and with a sickening thud, I'm sent sprawling on the ground with the air knocked from my lungs. Pain explodes in the back of my head as it connects with a grave marker, sending stars dancing before my eyes as I try to catch my breath. The world around me turns fuzzy and dark as I claw at the soil, reaching for anything to steady myself. Panic rears its ugly nails into my chest, twisting until it hurts to breathe as I struggle to orient myself in the darkness. I lie there for a fearful moment, gasping as I try to stop my head from spinning. The world tilts around me, distorting into something terrifying and chaotic.

I manage to pull myself up and stumble to the worn rowboat, the metallic taste of blood lingering on my lips. The journey back home looms before me, the distance seemingly insurmountable as I struggle to push through the pain and exhaustion weighing me down. The chill of the water seeps into my bones as I navigate the dark waters of the Great Lake; each row of the oars is painstaking.

As the sun shines lower on the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape, I steel myself for the climb ahead. The cliffside stairs tower before me, stretching upwards, daunting and treacherous, but I have no choice other than to press on. I can't help but frown at its grandeur. Must everything be so pompous, so fraught with danger and uncertainty?

The splendor of the manor envelops me as I race inside, its pointed towers, sharp parapet railings, and stone gargoyles hulking overhead like silent guardians. With a forceful push, I slam the heavy oak door behind me, the sound echoing through the foyer and rattling the chandelier. The light dances across the ornately paneled wood walls and fills the room with an inviting glow, the luminescence inflaming a dull throb in my head.