Chapter 1
Fog
The fog had been clinging to Briarholt Manor for three days straight, as if it knew what lay hidden in the cellar. Evelyn stood at the edge of the drive, suitcase in hand, wondering if her brother had been right to warn her not to come. A single light flickered in an upstairs window, though she could have sworn the house had been empty for years. As she squinted through the mist, the light shifted — and for the briefest moment, a shadow moved across it. She realized with a start that the shadow had paused, as if it knew she was watching.
Evelyn tightened her grip on the suitcase handle and took a cautious step forward, the gravel crunching far too loudly beneath her feet. The flickering upstairs light steadied for a moment, as if the house itself had noticed her approach. She forced herself to take another step, her suitcase scraping over the gravel, each footfall bringing her nearer to the looming doorway. She felt eyes on her from the shadows of the porch, though no one was visible.
Despite the chill crawling up her spine, something inside her pushed her forward, toward the darkened doorway. She lifted her suitcase and stepped onto the threshold, the floorboards groaning beneath her weight. She raised her hand and knocked once on the heavy door, the sound echoing through the empty manor, but no answer came. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a small, brass key, turning it nervously in her hand before sliding it into the lock. The lock seemed stiff, refusing to turn at first, forcing her to jiggle the key until it finally yielded.
Evelyn stepped fully into the foyer, pausing to take in the worn floorboards and faded wallpaper. The silence of the house pressed around her, broken only by the soft creak of the floor under her shoes. A sudden draft stirred the curtains at the far end of the hallway, carrying a faint, musty smell that made her wrinkle her nose. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then, all at once, every lamp, sconce, and chandelier in the manor blazed to life, casting sharp, twisting shadows that made the walls seem alive. Evelyn gasped, spinning around, but before she could react, a heavy blow struck the back of her head, and darkness swallowed her.
Chapter 2
Shadows
The first thing Evelyn noticed when she woke was the taste of rust in her mouth, followed by the steady drip of water somewhere in the dark. She tried to sit up, but a bolt of pain shot through her skull, forcing her back against the cold stone beneath her. A faint light flickered somewhere to her left, too dim to reveal more than the outline of rough walls. She turned her head toward it, the movement sending another spike of pain through her temples. Her fingers instinctively reached up, finding a tender lump at the base of her skull. The pain sharpened under her touch, sending a wave of dizziness that made the room sway. The world tilted in slow motion, the edges of the room blurring into shadow.
She drew in a shaky breath, the damp air chilling her lungs and carrying a faint metallic tang. It reminded her of the smell of old coins, or blood left too long in the open air. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to focus on the sound of the dripping water instead. Each drop struck stone with a hollow plink, the rhythm steady but unnervingly loud in the otherwise silent room.
She opened her eyes again, straining to make out more of the chamber, but the flickering light revealed only jagged stone and deep shadow. Beyond the edge of the dim glow, something shifted, breaking the silence with the faint scrape of stone against stone. Evelyn held her breath, straining to separate the sound from the echoes of the dripping water. The scrape came again, slower this time, as though something—or someone—was deliberately moving just out of sight. Her breath caught in her throat, and she wished desperately for the courage to call out, though her instincts screamed to stay silent. The flickering light dimmed for a heartbeat, and when it flared again, she could have sworn the shadows had shifted.
Then she saw it. Something tall and narrow now stood where there had only been bare wall a moment before. It swayed almost imperceptibly, as though it breathed, its outline refusing to resolve into anything familiar. Evelyn blinked hard, convinced it was a trick of her battered senses, but when her eyes opened, the shape was still there—closer now. Her breath came faster, fogging in the cold air, and she realized the thing was closing the distance without making a sound. Each flicker of the weak light seemed to bring it a step nearer, though she never saw it move. She pressed her back harder against the wall, the rough stone biting into her skin, but there was nowhere left to retreat. The weak glow sputtered once more, and in that instant she thought she saw a hand—long, bony, and reaching for her. When the light steadied, the hand was gone, and the tall shape had melted back into the shadows at the far side of the chamber.
She leaned forward slightly, straining her eyes into the gloom, half-praying the light would flicker again to prove she hadn’t imagined it.
The silence pressed in heavier than before, as if the scrape of stone had never happened, as if the chamber were mocking her fear.
Evelyn forced herself to breathe evenly, trying to make sense of what she’d seen and whether it had been real—or just a trick of pain and fear. Regret seeped into her thoughts, sharp and unrelenting, making her wonder if stepping foot in Briarholt had been a mistake she could never undo.
Her mind drifted to the key, the one that had brought her here, and a new dread coiled in her gut: she couldn’t remember what she’d done with it after turning the lock.
Chapter 3
Nathan
The decision to go to Briarholt hadn’t come in a single moment—it had built slowly, like a tide, until she realized resisting it was no longer possible. It had started with something small— a chance encounter at her friend Marianne’s condo in Charlestown.
Marianne had been Evelyn's best friend for the past ten years, since they roomed together their freshmen year at Boston University. That was also where Evelyn knew Chris from. Evelyn was not a huge fan of Chris when Marianne first started dating him during their senior year - but he'd grown on her over the years. The condo was actually Chris and Marianne's. They'd bought it together last year shortly after the wedding - with a generous gift from Chris's parents as the down-payment. It was a gorgeous two-story penthouse with breathtaking views of the Zakim Bride from their fifth floor roof deck.
Evelyn wasn't sure how they managed the monthly payments on Chris's salary as a product manager for DraftKings and Marianne's as a marketing associate at HubSpot. And yet somehow they also managed to host parties there almost every weekend. They'd been hosting parties like these together since they moved into their apartment in Sommerville a year after graduation. Evelyn was a fixture at the parties back in those days, but her attendance had waned over time as the guest list had morphed from single BU alumni like Evelyn into couples that Marianne and Chris knew from work. But Marianne had pressured Evelyn to come on this night last August, promising there would be plenty of single men there eager to sweep her off her feet.
The condo was already buzzing when Evelyn arrived, the hum of voices and laughter spilling out into the hallway before she even knocked. Evelyn had gone expecting little more than a night of half-hearted smiles and strained conversation, already rehearsing her excuses to leave early, the kind of social obligation she endured more for Marianne’s sake than her own. Marianne swept up to her almost at once, glowing and flushed with hostess energy, pressing a drink into her hand before Evelyn had a chance to get her bearings. Evelyn raised the glass in a polite gesture, masking the fact that she was already calculating how long she’d need to stay before her absence would be forgiven.
“I’ve got to run back to the kitchen for a minute,” Marianne said, squeezing Evelyn’s arm. “But promise me you won’t slip out before I introduce you to Chris’s friend Kyle—you’ll like him.”
“Kyle, right—can’t wait,” she said, batting her lashes in mock drama to coax a laugh from her oldest friend. Marianne laughed, shaking her head before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Evelyn adrift in a sea of relative strangers with nothing but her drink to anchor her.
She swirled her drink absently, her eyes drifting across the room as she scanned for a cluster of Marianne and Chris’s friends she knew well enough to latch onto. Her gaze landed on Marianne’s friend Jenna, who was half-distracted by her phone and might not mind the company. Evelyn had just started toward her when a man brushed past her from behind, so close that his shoulder grazed hers, and she turned instinctively to find eyes she didn’t recognize fixed on her.
His expression was unreadable—somewhere between apology and amusement—as though he’d meant to catch her attention all along.
“I’m guessing you didn’t come here tonight hoping to meet Kyle,” he said, a wry edge in his tone.
Evelyn let out a short laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, lifting a hand as if in defense. “I wasn’t trying to listen in—it’s just you were kind of blocking the doorway. I’m Nathan, by the way.”
“Blocking doorways is sort of my specialty,” she quipped, then added, “I’m Evelyn.”
“Evelyn,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. “Not exactly a name you forget in a crowd like this.”
Evelyn took him in—tall, with a lean frame and dark hair that fell just enough out of place to suggest he didn’t care to tame it. There was an undeniable pull to him—older, she thought, but in the kind of way that made the others in the room look unfinished by comparison. She gave a soft laugh. “Well, I’ll try to live up to it. Are you a friend of Chris's, or…?”
“Friend might be a generous word,” he said with a grin. Only kidding—Chris is great. So, how do you know Marianne?”
The conversation slipped into an easy rhythm after that, surprising her with how natural it felt. They moved from one topic to the next without effort, and though the music and chatter of the party swelled around them, Evelyn found herself barely noticing. Minutes might have passed, or hours—she couldn’t be sure. That may have been, in part, because they had found their way over to the punch. How many times had she refilled her glass? They might have gone on talking all night, but the sudden appearance of Marianne with a man in tow cut the moment clean in half.
“Evelyn!” Marianne beamed, tugging forward a broad-shouldered man with a too-bright smile. “Finally, I want you to meet Kyle.” It was only then that Evelyn noticed the warmth of Nathan’s hand, warm against her side, but in the next moment it was gone. She glanced back at Nathan just in time to see him stepping away, tipping his glass toward her in a small salute before disappearing into the crowd. The casual gesture felt strangely final, as if he’d closed a door she hadn’t realized they’d opened.
“So, Evelyn,” Kyle said brightly, his grip already closing around hers before she’d fully turned back.
The rest of the night would prove to be as forgettable as Kyle himself, despite his best efforts to charm her with frat-boy bravado. Evelyn had learned long ago that Marianne’s matchmaking almost always came packaged in the form of men like him. Kyle’s chatter seemed endless—weekend trips, office gossip, gym routines—all of it blurring into a single tedious hum. At last she excused herself under the pretense of needing another drink, relieved when he didn’t insist on following.
She threaded her way back through the crowded rooms, scanning faces with the hope of spotting Nathan. It didn’t take long for disappointment to set in—Nathan had slipped out without a word. She checked her phone, startled to see how late it had gotten, and decided it was her turn to slip away too. She offered a vague wave toward Marianne across the room, though she doubted her friend even saw it before she let herself out.
Chapter 4
TBD
By Monday, the party should have faded into nothing more than a blur of voices and music, but Evelyn found herself replaying fragments between emails and coffee breaks. Her phone lit up with Marianne’s name mid-afternoon: Kyle thought you were cute 😉. Evelyn rolled her eyes, tapping back: Not really my type. After a beat she added, almost carelessly: Anyway, who was Nathan? The reply came back fast, sharper than she expected: Who?
