by R. L. Stine
Contents
Blackrose Manor
Part One: Whispering Oaks Georgia, Spring 1861
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Blackrose Manor
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Blackrose Manor
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part Two: Blackrose Manor Massachusetts, Spring 1865
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Blackrose Manor
About the Author
Blackrose Manor
The black roses were in bloom.
Their scent hung heavy in the air. So sweet, so sickly sweet.
The withered old woman drew her black shawl over her narrow, stooped shoulders. The roses surrounded her as she sat in her garden.
Their presence chilled her to the bone.
I long for the sweet scent of magnolias, the woman thought. She clutched her shawl with her gnarled hands. I long for the home of my youth.
Whispering Oaks.
She closed her eyes.
I often dream of returning. But more than distance keeps me away.
It is also the passage of time.
And betrayal.
The old woman opened her eyes and gazed at the black roses. She imagined that she could see her reflection in the glistening dewdrops on the petals.
“I have grown old here at Blackrose Manor,” she murmured. “I have grown old dreaming of Whispering Oaks.”
Too many years have passed since I was last at the family plantation, she thought. And yet the memories do not fade. They remain strong. They haunt me.
Perhaps it is time I spoke of the past. Perhaps it is time I told the story . . . told the secrets. Perhaps if I do, I will again be able to sleep at night.
But whom could I tell? Who would care enough to listen to my tale of woe?
I should tell the story to my sister. I have not spoken to her in years. And she is so close. So close.
She sleeps next to me . . . deep inside her dark grave.
The black roses grow over her resting place. They serve as her blanket. But it must be cold in her bed—as cold as my heart.
My sister would not listen to me when she lived.
Perhaps she will listen to me now.
My story begins long ago . . . when I was young. Before my hands grew stiff and twisted. Before my skin became wrinkled and my hair white.
My story is the tale of two sisters, Victoria and Savannah . . . two doomed sisters.
We grew up together on our father’s plantation, Whispering Oaks.
Savannah was the beautiful sister. Everyone said so. Her hair was the blond of moonbeams. Her eyes were the green of spring.
From the moment she was born, she was the favorite. Our mother pampered her and our father spoiled her.
Victoria was the smart sister. Everyone called her that. Or, if people were unkind, the odd sister. She did not have Savannah’s beauty. Her hair and eyes were as brown as the soil in the cotton fields.
Life was peaceful for the sisters. Perhaps it would have remained so were it not for the events of the spring of 1861.
That was the spring our brother, Zachariah, returned home from West Point. He brought a friend with him—a young cadet.
Tyler Fier.
How different our lives would have been if Zachariah had not brought his friend to the plantation.
Tyler was the handsomest man I had ever seen. His hair was as black as the night sky when there is no moon. And his eyes were as blue as a lake in winter.
I fell in love with him the moment I saw him.
As did my sister.
Perhaps if she had not fallen in love with him, we would not be here now.
Perhaps if I had not fallen in love with him, my story would have a happier ending.
I can hear the voices from the past circling around me now. They surround me just as the roses do.
The old woman trailed her finger along the velvet edge of a black rose petal.
Then she pricked herself on a thorn.
Blood trickled down her finger.
Black blood.
Drop by drop it dripped from her finger and soaked into the ground.
PART ONE
Whispering Oaks
Georgia, Spring 1861
Chapter
1
Savannah Gentry stood on the wide balcony of Whispering Oaks, her family’s magnificent plantation house.
She gazed out over her father’s land. On any other day, she would have seen slaves toiling in the distant fields. The cotton they planted and picked made her father a wealthy man.
But the slaves were not working in the fields today. This was a special day, a day of celebration.
The older slaves set the tables for Savannah’s party. The younger slaves turned spitted calves and pigs over blazing open fires.
Neighbors from miles around had been invited to share this momentous day—as her father called it. The day of Savannah’s birth.
Even her brother, Zachariah, had returned from West Point in time to attend her birthday party. And he brought a friend along.
Tyler Fier.
Savannah smiled when she thought of Tyler. I have known him less than two weeks, she realized. But already I feel that he is a part of me.
I should never have let him out of my sight this morning. Savannah stomped her foot.
I shall give Zachariah a proper tongue-lashing when he returns from his ride with Tyler, she decided. My brother knows Tyler will soon leave for his home in the North. It was selfish of him to take Tyler riding without me.
She stood on tiptoe. Straining to see any sign of the two young men.
“Fiddle!” She dropped her heels back on the floor and smoothed the skirt of her green silk gown. “They promised to be back in time for the picnic.”
Savannah heard the rumble of wagon wheels. She walked to the corner of the balcony and peered around the corner at the front of the estate.
Wagons filled with laughing couples traveled up the dirt path. Savannah barely glanced at the young men driving the wagons. Once she had taken an interest in those young men. Once she had sat beneath the shade of an oak tree and sipped lemonade with each of them. And once she had promised to marry each and every one of them.
Now she cared only about Tyler.
“Fiddle!” she repeated. “I wanted him here to meet my friends.”
Then she heard the sound of pounding hooves. She whirled back to face the fields. Tyler galloped toward the plantation house on his black horse, Zachariah close behind.
Lifting her green hoopskirt, Savannah rushed into her bedroom. She snatched up her matching green parasol. Then she raced out of her room and down the sweeping stairs into the grand entryway.
“Savannah!”
She skidded to a stop at the sound of her mother’s voice.
Her mother walked gracefully across the foyer. “Ladies do not run,” she scolded. “Especially young ladies who have just turned seventeen.”
Savannah b
lushed. “I know, Mother, but Tyler is waiting for me.”
Her mother smiled gently. “Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. Every sentence you utter these days has his name in it.”
“I enjoy his company,” Savannah said breathlessly.
“Have you seen your sister?” her mother asked. “Have you seen Victoria this afternoon?”
“No,” Savannah answered. “But I am sure she will be at the picnic.”
Her mother’s eyes grew troubled. “I hope so. I hope she is not in the slave quarters again.” She shook her head. “I do not approve of the strange habits she is acquiring.”
Savannah shuddered. She didn’t like the changes in Victoria either. And she knew something her mother didn’t. Victoria was fascinated by the dark arts some of the slave women practiced.
Victoria wanted their strange powers for herself. That was the true reason she spent so much time in the slave quarters.
I won’t worry about Victoria now, Savannah decided. I won’t let my sister spoil my birthday.
Chapter
2
“See you at the picnic, Mama,” Savannah called as she rushed out the wide front doors.
Zachariah and Tyler walked over as soon as she set foot on the porch.
“I would like to show your sister one of the flowers in the garden. I have never seen it growing in the North—and I thought she could tell me its name,” Tyler said.
Please, Zach, Savannah begged silently. Please, oh, please. She could count on one hand the number of times she and Tyler had managed to be alone.
Zachariah winked at her, his green eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t want to stop you from studying our beautiful southern flowers,” he told his friend. “But don’t take too long—or I’ll have to come looking for you.”
Savannah felt herself blushing as Tyler led her down the porch steps, across the formal gardens, and deep into the woods.
“I stumbled across this spot on a walk,” Tyler said when the trees gave way to a clearing. Now Savannah could see the small white gazebo sitting next to the lake.
“Zach used to take girls here,” Savannah admitted.
Tyler broke a magnolia blossom off a tree. He handed it to her as they stepped inside the wooden gazebo.
“I love the fragrance of magnolias,” she said.
Tyler wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close. Our first kiss, Savannah thought as he lowered his lips to hers.
I can’t breathe Savannah thought wildly. I can’t breathe and I do not care. She loved the feel of his arms around her, the warmth of his mouth over hers.
Finally, Savannah broke away from the kiss. Gasping for air, she pressed her cheek against his chest. She heard his heart pounding as rapidly as hers. “I will never survive when you leave!”
He tightened his arms around her. “Come with me.”
She jerked her head back and looked into his eyes.
“Marry me, Savannah.” He did not wait for her answer. Eagerly, he kissed her again.
And with her kiss, Savannah gave him her answer. Yes! Yes! Yes!
A sudden cold breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. Savannah felt the hair on the nape of her neck rise.
A strange feeling swept through her. We’re being watched, she realized with alarm. I can feel someone watching us.
She pulled away from Tyler and quickly glanced around. But she didn’t see anyone. “I’m sorry. I thought someone was watching us,” Savannah explained.
Tyler’s blue eyes darkened. “And what would they see?”
She smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him. “Two people who plan to spend the rest of their lives together.”
He brushed his lips over her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her cheek. “I want to announce our engagement today! At the picnic!”
A twig snapped. Savannah jumped away from Tyler and spun around.
“Someone is watching us!” she cried.
Tyler slipped his arms around her and kissed her shoulder. “It’s just a squirrel,” he said.
“No,” Savannah insisted. Savannah scanned the edge of the clearing. Her green eyes narrowed.
“There!” she cried. She pointed her finger at someone half hidden by the trees.
Her sister! Victoria with her brown eyes and her brown hair. Victoria, whose coloring blended in with the bark of the trees.
Her sister darted away.
“Victoria!” Savannah called. “Victoria!”
“Let her go,” Tyler said.
Savannah turned and faced him. “I can’t. Our engagement will be hard on her. Victoria hoped you would take an interest in her—”
“What?” Tyler exclaimed.
“You did meet her first. And you were very flattering,” Savannah reminded him.
“Polite. I was polite,” Tyler protested. He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again.
Savannah loved the feel of Tyler’s lips on hers. But finally she forced herself to pull away. “I know you meant only to be polite, but please understand. I must talk with her before we make our announcement.”
He kissed her lightly. “Very well. Go on. I will wait for you out by the tables.”
What will Victoria do? Savannah wondered as she rushed to the slave quarters. She knew that was where Victoria would go.
She must be furious. I know she wanted Tyler for herself. I have to make her understand we didn’t mean to hurt her.
But what if I can’t? Savannah thought. What if she refuses to listen?
A cold chill ran through Savannah’s body. What will she do? What will Victoria try to do to us?
As she neared the slave quarters, she heard a terrified squeal coming from one of the old shacks.
She quickened her pace. Oh, Victoria, Savannah thought. What have you done?
The squealing grew louder.
With her heart pounding, Savannah opened the door and peered inside the shack.
She pressed her hands against her lips, trying to muffle a gasp.
Victoria stood in the center of the shadowy room.
Streaks of bright red blood ran down her face.
Chapter
3
Savannah stared at her sister. She couldn’t speak.
Victoria was holding a pink piglet in the center of a large wooden table. Flickering candles formed a half circle around the piglet. The flames danced wildly as it squealed.
The odor of scorched flesh and singed hair filled Savannah’s nostrils. She could see the orange flames in the hearth licking greedily at the remains of another piglet.
Tremors shook Savannah’s body as she watched her sister.
Victoria dipped her hand into a silver bowl. When she lifted her hand from the bowl, bright red blood—fresh blood—flowed from her cupped palm. She sprinkled the blood over one of the candles. The flame hissed, sputtered, and died.
Victoria repeated the ritual with each candle until all the flames were extinguished. Thin trails of black smoke spiraled toward the ceiling. The piglet kicked its legs and squealed frantically.
How can she do this evil thing? Savannah thought.
Victoria began to sway from side to side. “Dominatio per malum. Fire. Fear. Betrayal. Revenge,” she chanted.
Terror surged through Savannah. What do those words mean? she asked herself. Does Victoria think that I betrayed her? Is she planning revenge?
No, Victoria would never harm me, Savannah told herself. But why is she doing this?
Victoria picked up a large knife. She lifted it high into the air. She threw her head back. “I do this for you, Savannah!” she cried.
“Victoria, no!” Savannah yelled as she rushed toward her sister.
She shoved Victoria away from the table. The knife clattered to the floor. The piglet scrambled to its feet. Savannah lifted it off the table and it scurried out of the shack.
Victoria continued to sway, repeating the words in a hoarse voice. “Fear. Betrayal. Revenge.”
She doesn’t realize I stopped he
r, Savannah thought with alarm. She doesn’t even know I’m here!
“Victoria!” Savannah cried.
Victoria ignored her. Her brown eyes glazed over.
She is in a trance, Savannah realized, her heart pounding.
Savannah grabbed Victoria and gasped. My sister is as cold as ice, she thought. I can feel the cold seeping through her clothes.
Savannah dug her fingers into Victoria’s shoulders and shook her. “Victoria! Victoria, what is wrong with you?”
Victoria began to moan. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
“Forgive me, Victoria,” Savannah whispered. She slapped her sister’s bloodstained face.
Victoria’s head snapped to the side. Savannah’s hand stung. She gave her sister another shake. “Victoria!”
Victoria blinked. Once. Twice. Then she shuddered. The light of awareness returned to her eyes. “Savannah!”
Savannah sighed with relief. She sees me, Savannah thought. Victoria snapped out of the trance.
Then Savannah grew angry. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
Fear showed in Victoria’s eyes as she stared around the shack. “Where is Tyler?”
“At the party. I came here because I wanted to talk to you.”
Victoria narrowed her brown eyes. “I don’t trust Tyler.”
“Did you think you could hurt him by killing little pigs?” Savannah asked.
“I thought I could learn something about him through performing this ritual.” Victoria smiled triumphantly. “And I did.”
Savannah fumed. “You have no right—”
“I have every right,” Victoria insisted in a rush. “I’m older than you are. I have to protect you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me from Tyler.” Savannah spun on her heel and began to walk away.
“You’re wrong!” Victoria cried. “Tyler Fier comes from a cursed family.”
Savannah whipped around and glared at her sister. “That’s ridiculous. I love Tyler. I know him as well as I know myself. This”—she pointed toward the bloody table—“is nothing more than a cruel game. I don’t believe in the dark arts.”
Victoria took a step forward. “You should believe, Savannah. The dark arts revealed the truth to me. Evil stalks the Fier family.”
Savannah sighed wearily. “Victoria, I know you hoped to marry Tyler. I know you overheard Tyler asking me to marry him. I know you’re disappointed. But nothing you say will stop me from marrying Tyler.”