When You're Close, page 4
Somewhere deep within the mansion, a clock chimed six.
"Remember when I said I wanted to come to Scotland?" Finn murmured as they stared into the dark corridor that stretched before them, its shadows thick and tangible as if they could reach out and grab them. “I meant the cities. A town, even. Anywhere with people... Living people. Actual living people.”
“I've never known you to be frightened,” Amelia said.
Finn cleared his throat. “Me? Frightened? No, I just like to add to the atmosphere, that's all. Come on.”
They moved forward into an expansive lobby with a central staircase, lit only by the tumultuous gray skies through the windows behind. The wind clawed at the panes, shaking them. That felt like a threat.
Finn couldn't shake McGregor's parting words from his mind. The island was cursed, a gateway to a realm of hidden, malevolent beings. For the first time, he wondered if some gates are meant to remain closed. But it was too late for second thoughts; they were already in Huldra House, and whatever mysteries it held were now theirs to discover—or to be consumed by.
Finn took another step forward, he had the distinct feeling that he and Amelia were not alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
As Finn and Amelia stepped further into the embrace of Huldra House, a chill wind whooshed through the ancient hallways, sweeping the scent of mildew and dust into Finn's nostrils. There was a faint hint of charcoal to it.
"Smells like grandma's attic," Finn quipped, looking around the cavernous entryway with a sense of foreboding.
"Don't be disrespectful," Amelia chastised, but her voice wavered slightly, revealing that she was just as unsettled as he was.
Before Finn could reply, a low, unearthly wail echoed through the house. It was so distant that he couldn't tell where it came from, but the resonance seemed to shake him to his core. Surely it was the wind. But there was a guttural, vocal quality to it, as though the noise came from something that was alive.
"What on Earth was that?" Amelia's eyes widened, her professional demeanor slipping for a moment.
"Probably just the wind having a laugh," Finn offered, chuckling nervously. "Or maybe it's the infamous banshee stopping by for a coffee."
Amelia gave him a sidelong glance. "I'm pretty sure banshees don't drink lattes."
Finn grinned. "Ah, but have you ever offered one some? Maybe that's all they've ever wanted."
Before Amelia could shoot back a retort, another strange noise filled the air. It was muffled, indistinct, but Finn sensed a pattern to it, almost like someone—or something—was moving inside the house. And that movement was drawing closer. Without exchanging a word, they started following the sound, their leather-soled shoes sinking into the heavy, opulent carpets that covered the hardwood floors.
The house was a maze of hallways and closed doors, and the dim gray light from outside cast eerie shadows on the walls. Family portraits lined the corridors, each face appearing more sinister than any artist could have intended. Stopping by one beneath a flickering chandelier, he leaned in to read the name at the bottom of the frame.
“Nathaniel Ferguson,” Finn read out loud. The gentleman in the painting, dressed in military clothes from the Napoleonic wars, glared at him as if seething at modernity. “He's a happy one.”
“Lady Ferguson is supposed to meet us here," Amelia said. "Why would she go to the trouble of calling the Home Office and requesting us if she wasn't going to be home when we got here."
“Unless she's ended up being the third victim,” Finn answered. “We should stay sharp. I hate that we're not allowed to carry guns.”
“I'd be worried you'd shoot yourself in the foot,” Amelia said. “Or me in the foot, for that matter.”
"Do you get the feeling that we're being watched?" Finn muttered, eyeing a particularly unsettling portrait of a woman with no name. He presumed she was another ancestor of Lady Ferguson.
Amelia sighed. "Your a consulting detective, Finn. Not a 12-year-old on his first haunted house tour. Focus. We're here for a reason. You are right about the possibility, at least. What if the killer decided to pay Lady Ferguson a visit? What if—"
She was cut off by a sudden crash. Both agents flinched as a black cat, its fur puffed up in fear or aggression, sprang from behind an ornate cabinet and darted down a side corridor.
"Son of a—" Finn caught his breath. "Okay, I'll admit it. That got me. I might actually need a change of pants."
Amelia shot him a look, both amused and irritated. "We're supposed to be hunting a human monster, Finn. Not getting spooked by the local wildlife."
Finn chuckled. "You know, your ability to suck the fun out of everything is truly remarkable."
Amelia rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, another sound split the air. Unlike before, this one was clear—a gut-wrenching scream that seemed to come from directly above them.
Both agents froze for a split second, their eyes locking in a moment of shared dread. Then, thinking someone could be hurt or being attacked, Finn burst into motion, heading for the grand staircase that spiraled up from the entrance hall like an ancient tree trunk. Amelia was hot on his heels.
"That sounded like someone in trouble," she gasped as they ascended, taking the stairs two at a time.
"More like pain," Finn asserted, his voice tinged with urgency.
The stairs seemed to go on forever, each step echoing ominously as they reached the top. The second floor was as dark and foreboding as the first. Another staircase caught their attention, narrower this time, leading up to a closed door—the attic. The light outside was getting dimmer, and Finn was becoming concerned just how quickly nightfall was approaching that far North.
The muffled sound of anguished gasps and sobs reached their ears.
“It's up there,” Finn whispered.
Amelia nodded, her face pale in the gloom.
They walked up the narrow staircase together, one step at a time. With each step, the strange, sobbing and moaning sound grew in intensity until they both stopped just one step from the door.
Finn approached the door cautiously, signaling Amelia to keep her distance. He then tried the handle, but he noticed a small keyhole at its center. It was locked.
A scream suddenly erupted from beyond the door.
"I'm going to kick it in," he whispered. "Get ready for anything."
Amelia nodded, stepping back, her fists clenched by her side in seeming preparation for anything coming through the doorway.
Just as Finn was gathering his breath and strength to kick open the door, a voice echoed from behind them, startling both agents.
"What do you think you are doing?" It was an elderly voice with a dignified but icy tone that seemed to still the air.
Both agents turned around. A tall, imposing elderly woman stood at the foot of the narrow staircase. Her face was lined with age, her eyes sharp as tacks. For a moment, it was hard for Finn to read her, so much was her expression solemn and un-moving. She carried with her a small battery powered lantern, and the beam cast eerie shadows, which moved around the walls of the narrow staircase like spiders legs.
"Lady Ferguson, I presume?" Finn spoke, trying to hide his relief at the interruption.
The lady nodded. “What business do you have entering my house during a storm? Make it quick before I call the authorities.”
"We heard a distressing noise and wanted to make sure no one was hurt," Amelia said.
Lady Ferguson slowly ascended the remaining stairs. "Ah, that would be my son. He has severe emotional issues, you see, exacerbated by storms and other loud noises. He's best left alone until the weather clears."
"We're agents from the Home Office, Lady Ferguson. We're here to investigate the murders on the island," Amelia interjected, showing her identification. “I believe it was you who called us in?”
Lady Ferguson's eyes flickered, unreadable. "I was informed that the Home Office would send their best. I hope you're up to the task.” She looked past Amelia to Finn and glared at him. “You're the yank, aren't you? Good. Someone from the new world will be more resilient to the effects of Huldra.”
“Effects?” Finn asked.
“Forgive me,” Lady Ferguson said, breaking into a sad smile for a moment. “It is best if you keep your mind clear of the old stories. Sometimes I forget that the outside world has long since moved on from the superstitions of us island folk.”
A loud clatter of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. “I saw your bags at the door. I would have someone to bring them up for you, but I am afraid I am quite alone this evening.”
“That's okay,” Finn said, gently. “I can do that.”
The sobbing began again from the door behind them.
“We are disturbing my son by talking,” Lady Ferguson said. “Come, I'll show you to your rooms."
They had no choice but to follow her. As they walked, the air seemed to grow colder, and Finn felt compelled to look around every corner as though he were about to be confronted by some hideous specter. They moved through corridors filled with antique furniture covered in sheets, as if the house itself was in mourning. It seemed to Finn that large sections of Huldra House had been left untouched for some time. A place that was once grand had now withered from the inside out.
Lady Ferguson stopped in front of two rooms across from each other. "These will be your accommodations," she said, handing them each a set of old-fashioned iron keys. "I'll have one of my servants take you to the crime scenes in the morning when they are here."
“Excuse me, Lady Ferguson,” Finn a said. “But isn't it normal for servants to live in the servant quarters? I mean, surely a place as huge as Huldra House requires a full staff to keep going?”
The lady looked lost in thought for a moment. “Yes, that is normal. But Huldra House is unlike anywhere you will have stayed before. It is made from the rock of this island. And the earth has a habit of tricking you. Not many have the stomach for it, but my son and I do quite well enough. The servants live elsewhere on the island or come from the mainland, and that suits my purposes.”
“About the two deaths, are you certain they are connected?” inquired Finn.
“I am tired. There will be time for questions tomorrow.”
“We had hoped to get out there before night and look things over,” Finn explained.
“It is too dangerous,” Lady Ferguson said. “Wait until tomorrow when the storm has gone. Besides, it will be pitch dark in the blink of an eye, and you don't want to be wandering around the island after dark, unless you know the place. And even then...”
"Thank you, Lady Ferguson," Amelia said. "We appreciate your hospitality, and after our journey, it would be good to get an early sleep."
“The kitchen is on the ground floor to the rear of the house, if you would like some food and refreshments,” she said. “Please do help yourselves.” The old woman's eyes narrowed, her faint smile somehow becoming fainter. "Just one other thing. Don't open any windows. You wouldn't want anything crawling in. It's not safe."
Finn couldn't let that go. "What do you mean by 'not safe'?"
But Lady Ferguson turned, ignoring his question. "Goodnight," she said, her voice carrying with it a mounting sadness as she walked away.
Finn and Amelia exchanged a concerned look as the older woman retreated down the shadowy hallway, her steps quiet against the worn carpet.
"Charming place, isn't it?" Finn quipped, trying to dispel the discomfort that Lady Ferguson had left in her wake.
"Utterly delightful," Amelia responded, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Maybe you should share a room with her; you both seem to have a unique sense of humor."
Finn shrugged his shoulders. "Tempting, but I think I'd be safer facing the hidden folk or whatever they call them here. Speaking of which, want to bunk together? Safety in numbers, you know."
Amelia laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'll take my chances with the local ghosts and legends, thank you. I think I will lie down for a bit, I have a little bit of a migraine coming on. I might just sleep. Scream if you need anything."
"Will do," Finn grinned. "Pleasant dreams."
With that, they unlocked their respective doors and stepped into their rooms. Finn's space was larger than he'd expected, dominated by a massive four-poster bed that looked like it belonged in a different century. Dusty portraits hung on the walls, their eyes seeming to follow him as he moved. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, and it wasn't just by the people in the paintings.
He threw his bag on a rickety chair and began to unpack, setting down his identification and notepad on the bedside table. The room was cold, the kind of cold that seemed to seep into your bones, and he wished not for the first time that he was back in the cozy embrace of the cottage at Great Amwell.
Settling into the bed, he pulled the heavy drapes closed, but they did little to keep out the persistent draft. The wind outside howled and rattled against the windows, as if angry for being denied entry. He decided that an early bed wasn't too bad an idea. He read for a couple of hours and then tried to phone Rob, but couldn't get a signal. That didn't seem so bad a thing.
At least Demi can't put any more doubt into my mind, he thought.
After another while of letting his thoughts swirl around like the storm outside, he lay there for what felt like hours, listening to the creaks and groans of the ancient house, each noise magnified by the clawing wind and rain and his own heightened nerves.
But then another sound caught his ear, something different—scratching, like fingernails against glass. It was coming from his window.
Finn sat up, heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the window, half-expecting to see a face staring back at him, but there was nothing there. Still, the scratching continued, slow and deliberate, as if taunting him.
"Okay, that's enough," he muttered to himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Taking a deep breath, he moved cautiously toward the window. Every step felt like an eternity, every creak of the floorboards loud as thunder in the silence of the room.
With a swift motion, he yanked back the curtains. But there was nothing there—just the dark, impenetrable night and the relentless rain pelting against the glass. He could see that small pieces of grit and grass were occasionally being blown against it in the dark. He hoped that was what had been causing the noise.
Just as he was about to turn away, convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, he caught sight of something. A shadow, just for a moment, darting away from the window and disappearing into the blackness of the storm. His heart sank as he realized that Lady Ferguson's warning may have been more than just the ramblings of an old woman.
Peering out into the darkness, he wondered if it had simply been his imagination. He certainly wasn't going out into that storm to find out.
Finn stepped back and took a deep, shaky breath. "This is going to be a long night," he murmured, eyes never leaving the window as he climbed back into bed. He kept staring at it, even as his eyelids began to feel heavy, wondering if among the shadows out there on the island, a killer lurked.
In the morning, he would know one way or the other.
CHAPTER FIVE
After a night of fitful sleep and unsettling dreams, Finn woke up to the faint aroma of coffee wafting through the air. Outside, the wind still blew, but it and the rain had calmed to an almost bearable dull howl.
He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs, following the smell to a large, grand dining room adorned with an elaborately set table. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, its many crystals throwing soft light across the room.
Amelia was already there, sipping on a cup of coffee and flipping through a file. "Morning," she greeted, not looking up from her reading.
"Did you sleep well?" Finn asked, taking a seat across from her.
"As well as one can in a haunted mansion," she replied, finally setting down her file to give him her full attention.
“How is the migraine, or was that an excuse not to stay up all night and stare out at a window with me?”
Amelia looked puzzled. “I'm feeling better... What window?”
“I saw something last night,” he replied. “A shadow near my window. I thought it might have been a person, but I can't be sure.”
“Finn Wright,” Amelia said. “Has the wise-cracking Floridian finally fallen foul of paranoia?”
“No,” Finn scoffed. “But a very real killer might be here, and I didn't like the idea of him looking in on me while I slept. In any case, I...”
Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a man carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods—eggs, toast, fresh fruit, and a steaming pot of coffee. He looked to be in his late fifties, with graying hair and a humble demeanor.
"Good morning," the man said with a polite nod. "I'm Frederick. I assist Lady Ferguson with the house. She has instructed me to help in any way possible."
"Finn Wright. And this is Amelia Winters. Pleased to meet you," Finn responded, shaking Frederick's hand.
Frederick began serving them breakfast, his movements efficient but not rushed. "I trust you both slept well?"
"As well as one can expect, considering," Amelia said with a wry smile.
Frederick returned the smile with a knowing look. "Yes, the house has that effect on people, especially during storms."
Finn glanced around the large room, noting its faded grandeur. "It's a big place for just Lady Ferguson and you. Are there other staff?"
"Most of the staff come in the morning by boat, do their duties, and leave before sundown," Frederick explained as he poured coffee into Finn's cup. "No one stays overnight. Lady Ferguson doesn't mind, but it does worry me sometimes. I myself have offered to stay more permanently, but the Lady knows my wife would hate the idea of staying here, and she does not wish to split us apart. It is a worry, though, the Lady being here on her own."
"Worry you? Why?" Finn asked, intrigued.
"Well," Frederick hesitated, looking uncomfortable for the first time, "the island has a history, and some of the locals are quite superstitious. They'd rather not be here at the house after dark. You know Lord Ferguson died here several years ago. He fell down the master staircase. But some think he was pushed. The locals think it was the house that did it."
_preview.jpg)
