Chilling tales for the restless night

The green pine blanket

In the year 1897, in the misty countryside of England, there lived a young woman named Catherine, a lady of grace and refinement, though quiet in her manner. She came from a family of considerable wealth, known for their sprawling estates and influence in the upper echelons of society. Despite the comforts of her life, Catherine's world was one of duty and obedience, particularly when it came to her parents. And so, when her family arranged her marriage to Sir Edward Jones, a man of equal fortune and status, Catherine, as ever, obliged without complaint.

Sir Edward was a striking figure, his appearance commanding attention wherever he went. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a charisma that drew people to him, his words always measured and his intellect sharp. He was a man who had achieved much in his life, but there was an air of mystery that clung to him like the fog that often rolled in from the moors. It was this very combination of charm and enigma that intrigued Catherine, and in her obedience, she found herself growing fond of him. Perhaps, she thought, love could bloom within the walls of duty.

Their wedding was a grand affair, celebrated by the wealthiest families in the region. Catherine, dressed in a gown of ivory silk, looked every part the perfect bride. Yet, as she exchanged vows with Sir Edward, a subtle unease whispered at the edges of her heart. She pushed it aside, attributing it to nerves, and after the ceremony, the couple departed for their honeymoon to Sir Edward's grand mansion, a stately home nestled on the edge of a dark, ancient forest.

The mansion was vast, with towering ceilings and rooms adorned with the finest tapestries and art from across the world. It was a place of beauty and history, but it carried a chill that seemed to seep into Catherine's bones as she wandered its many halls. Despite the grandeur, there was something unsettling about the house, as though it had seen too many secrets, too much time.

Their first night together as husband and wife was spent in Sir Edward's personal chamber. It was a lavish room, decorated in rich mahogany and velvet, but one object in particular caught Catherine's eye—a large pine chest, beautifully carved, sitting at the foot of their bed. Its dark green surface seemed out of place in the otherwise pristine room, yet it exuded an air of significance.

As Catherine admired the chest, she thought about how it would be perfect for storing her sewing essentials, a pastime she loved. But before she could even ask, Edward spoke, his voice firm and authoritative.

"Catherine, I must tell you something about that chest," he said, gesturing toward the object. "You are never to open it. I will have another made for you to keep your things, but this one," he paused, his eyes darkening as his gaze lingered on the chest, "this one belonged to my late wife. It is not to be touched."

The revelation that Sir Edward had been married before struck Catherine like a gust of wind. He had never mentioned this before, not in all their conversations, not in the days leading up to their marriage. A sense of foreboding crept into her heart, though she dared not question him. She simply nodded, her mind spinning with questions she did not dare voice. What had happened to his first wife? And why, if she was gone, could the chest not be opened?

As the days of their honeymoon passed, Catherine tried to ignore the nagging curiosity that tugged at her whenever she saw the chest. Sir Edward, always pleasant and charming, would leave the house for long walks each morning, often alone, and she was left to explore the mansion. She grew fond of many rooms and found solace in the library, yet every night, her gaze returned to the chest.

Edward always carried the key to the chest with him, securing it on a small silver chain he kept tucked into his waistcoat pocket. But one evening, Catherine noticed something—a second key on a ring of spare house keys hanging in the kitchen. It was almost identical to the one her husband carried. Could it be? Her heart raced at the thought.

The temptation grew too strong. One morning, after Edward left for one of his usual walks, Catherine made her decision. She took the spare key from the kitchen and replaced it with the one on Edward's chain. Her fingers trembled as she slipped the real key into her pocket, her breath quickening with the weight of what she was about to do.

The house was eerily quiet as she approached the chest. The ticking of the clock on the mantel seemed unnaturally loud, marking each second that brought her closer to the truth. With shaking hands, she knelt before the chest and inserted the key into the lock. It turned smoothly, and the lid creaked as she lifted it, the sound echoing through the room like a warning.

What she saw inside made her blood run cold.

Lying within the chest was the body of a woman, perfectly preserved as though she had only just passed. Her skin was pale and waxen, her eyes closed in eternal rest. Catherine gasped, stumbling backward in horror, her mind reeling. This was Sir Edward's late wife. But why—why was she here, locked away in the chest?

Before Catherine could gather her thoughts, the front door of the mansion slammed open, and she heard Edward's voice calling her name, his tone filled with an unusual urgency. "Catherine? I've forgotten something," he called, his footsteps growing louder as he approached the room. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest. He couldn't know she had opened it—not now, not after seeing what lay within.

But it was too late.

Sir Edward appeared in the doorway, his face contorting with rage as his eyes fell upon the open chest. "No," he growled, storming toward her, his eyes wild with fury. "I told you never to open it!"
Catherine scrambled to her feet, her fear overwhelming her as she backed away from him, her mind racing for an escape. "You killed your late wife?" she cried, pointing toward the ghastly contents of the chest. "And you kept her body?"

Edward's face clouded with a grim shadow, a malevolent gleam flickering in his eyes. "You should have heeded my warning," he murmured in a voice as cold as the grave. "Some truths are best left undisturbed, some secrets never unearthed."

As he advanced toward her, the terror Catherine had uncovered threatened to consume her. The weight of her discovery pressed heavily on her chest, suffocating her with dread. The man she had believed to be her devoted husband, a figure of charm and intelligence, was now revealed to be a monster cloaked in deceit. Days ago, she had been his bride, radiant and hopeful. Now, she stood on the brink of becoming his next victim.

Yet, in the face of the gathering darkness, Catherine's spirit did not falter. In her desperation, she lunged toward the door, her pulse quickening with each step. As Edward reached out, his grip nearly catching her, Catherine burst into the night air, her heart pounding as she ran through the sprawling estate.

The distant bells of a nearby church tolled, echoing in the still night, as she found refuge in the safety of the village. There, her tale spread like wildfire, the authorities swiftly summoned to the mansion where Edward's horrors were finally brought to light.

Though the ordeal had left Catherine shaken, she had escaped the clutches of the villain who sought to destroy her. And in time, she found peace once more, her heart no longer bound by fear but free to seek the love and happiness she truly deserved.