by Lindsey Duga
Emily smiled at Mrs. Thornton’s good mood. Was it because of the party tonight?
They ate breakfast in a comfortable silence, and once they were done, Mrs. Thornton gestured to the vanity. “Take a seat, Emily, and let me do your hair.”
Emily practically ran to the cushioned stool in front of the mirror. She didn’t bother suppressing her grin as Mrs. Thornton picked up the brush and began to comb through Emily’s crazy bedhead hair. She’d always imagined her real mother brushing her hair and fixing it up into some lovely, fancy curls. It had seemed like such a distant dream to Emily, but now here she was.
As Mrs. Thornton worked on her hair, twisting it and tucking it with pins, Emily watched her concentrated face in the mirror.
With Emily’s thick hair, it took all of the morning and into the afternoon, and Emily was tired of sitting, but it was worth it. Her curls looked heavenly, and Mrs. Thornton seemed just as pleased with the end result. After picking out a new dark blue dress for Emily to wear to the party, Mrs. Thornton left to get ready herself.
As soon as the door closed behind her, a large thump came from above.
Emily and Archie froze at the sound. Slowly, Emily raised her head to look at the ceiling and gasped, her blood running as cold as freshly melted snow.
Darkness streaked all across the ceiling, like black paint spilled against white. It reached the moldings and dripped down the walls.
Right near her ear, the voice whispered, “Don’t act so conceited.”
Emily lifted cold, shaking hands to her lips, and the darkness reached the carpet and inched toward her. Getting closer and closer.
Archie whined, then let a deep growl rip through his throat, followed by a sharp bark.
All week, Emily hadn’t seen anything reminding her of the ghost, but now, after Mrs. Thornton had spent all morning with her, it was like the ghost was back—and it was even angrier than before.
Emily didn’t wait a second longer. She ran out of her room, Archie at her side, and slammed the door behind her. Pulling out her key ring, she locked her door with trembling fingers.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and her breath was like a wind tunnel. Her whole body was shaking. She knew she wouldn’t be going back to her room today—or maybe ever again.
Until the party, Emily stayed in the scullery with Miss Greer. She enjoyed watching the old housekeeper cook, but more than anything she was there for the warmth of the fires and the chatter of company to chase away the chill and silence of the fear that still had hold of her.
Even Archie was subdued. The English pointer mix lay under her chair, shaking every so often. Miss Greer was nice enough to feed him scraps, but she wouldn’t let Emily try a bite.
“You’ll ruin your supper,” she said.
Emily was fine with that. She didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.
When the guests started to arrive, one of the last things she wanted to do was go and meet them and smile like everything was all right, but as Miss Greer reminded her, it was her party, after all.
There were many fine ladies and gentlemen in sharp suits and beautiful gowns, but no children. Emily thought it silly that although Mr. Thornton had claimed the party was for her, very few of the guests seemed to pay her any mind, and none of the guests were her age.
But Mrs. Thornton was lovely. She wore a dark red satin dress with jewels glittering at her neck and her hair wound up in curls. Like that morning, Mrs. Thornton seemed different than she had in the first couple weeks of Emily’s time at Blackthorn. Her smile was bright and relaxed, and she looked … happy.
It was then she realized that this party wasn’t for Emily at all. It was for Mrs. Thornton. Emily didn’t know the reason as to why Mrs. Thornton had been so melancholy, but it was clear from her significant change in mood that this party was meant to cheer up Mrs. Thornton more than to introduce Emily to society.
Knowing that, it made Emily want to try harder to make this dinner a success. She wanted her new mother to be in brighter spirits, and if there was anything she could do to make it better, she would try—even if that meant trying to forget, at least for an evening, that she lived in the same house as a ghost.
As Emily watched the Thorntons move from guest to guest, talking and laughing, she noticed Mrs. Thornton’s hand would lightly graze the jewels at her neck, and that was when Emily realized: This was the first time she’d seen Mrs. Thornton without the skeleton key necklace.
Did that mean anything?
Sure, the ruby and diamond jewels matched her scarlet dress much better than the key, but the way Mrs. Thornton was always fiddling with the blasted thing, Emily had assumed it was very dear to her.
She put the thought out of her mind. It didn’t matter tonight. Besides, she wanted to focus on all of her manners, on being a proper lady. All of her schooling at Miss Evanshire’s was finally going to pay off.
Standing by Mr. Thornton, Emily took a deep breath and prepared herself. When she appeared at his elbow, he paused, smiled down at her, and then introduced her to a lord and lady from a manor in Brighton.
“Emily—a lovely name and an even lovelier dress,” the woman said kindly. The man simply nodded at her.
“Thank you, my lady,” Emily responded politely.
But that was all that was addressed to her, and soon the rest of the conversation carried into politics. Apparently Mr. Thornton’s uncle was in parliament and a new law had been passed, and so it went on and on.
Emily tried to pay attention but her focus was quickly fading. Seeing an opening when the gentleman remarked on his appetite, Emily interjected, “I’ll go check on supper,” and then excused herself.
As she was moving past the guests, she couldn’t help but overhear a snippet of conversation.
“She’s so … different. Complete opposite of … you know.”
“Indeed. But she’s tall for a twelve-year-old, and her hair is so dark.”
“Practically black!”
“I can’t blame them, of course. Not after what happened.”
“Hush! Here she comes.”
The women moved away from Emily. Their voices were too low to hear anything else, and it would be too obvious if Emily followed them, but she was so curious! It was obvious to Emily that they were comparing her to someone, but whom?
Emily was still thinking about this when she exited the room and emerged into the hall, almost running into Miss Greer and a young maid they’d hired to help serve the guests.
“Miss Emily!” The housekeeper lifted her silver tray, scowling down at her. “Do watch where you’re going!”
“Sorry, Miss Greer. When will supper be ready?”
“We’re putting out the dishes now. You should go find a seat, if you like.” The housekeeper nodded toward the dining room, but Emily didn’t yet move.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“Yes, go make sure Archie is out of the dining room. I thought I saw him go in there.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emily hurried through the large double doors and scanned the dining room for signs of her friend.
It was beautifully decorated. Clearly all their hard work had paid off. Candelabras lined the walls, standing guard over the windows like fiery knights. Silverware glimmered in the light, and fine china sets were laid out in perfect symmetry across a pure white tablecloth.
“Archie,” Emily hissed, crouching down and lifting up the tablecloth.
Sure enough, Archie lay underneath one chair, his tail curled around its leg. He opened one eye lazily at his name, then closed it again as if he couldn’t be bothered to move.
“Archie, c’mon, boy!”
“Miss Emily! Get up now, the guests are coming!” Miss Greer snapped as she entered the dining room.
“But—” Emily didn’t have time to explain because the first few guests trickled into the dining room.
From the look on Miss Greer’s face, she knew that Archie would be in trouble if he showed himself in a dining roo
m with all these guests, so all Emily could do was hope that Archie napped throughout the whole dinner. Which, of course, he wouldn’t. Not with all the food they were about to have.
Quickly, Emily went to take the seat that Archie lay under and waited nervously for the rest of the guests and the Thorntons to arrive.
To her great relief, Archie stayed quiet throughout the first course, and by the time the third course came out, Emily had almost entirely forgotten he was there.
This was partly thanks to the fact that the lord and lady whom she’d been talking to earlier with Mr. Thornton sat next to her and began asking Mrs. Thornton questions about Emily.
“Emily’s dress is just divine, Charlotte. Where did you get it?”
Mrs. Thornton smiled from across the table at Emily and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Oh, Miss Pinkerton is a dear friend of the family, and she had some delightful new fabrics to try out. Emily, tell Lady Brining about your other dresses and which one you like best.”
Emily was about to respond when a whine came from under her chair.
Archie! Thinking that she would pretend to drop her napkin and shush Archie, Emily paused and glanced away from the lord and lady to see—
Kat?!
Emily’s mouth popped open—thankfully with no food—and watched as Kat emerged from behind the drapes, as if she’d been there the whole time. But that couldn’t be right. Surely someone would’ve noticed … right?
Kat caught Emily’s eye and smiled that same cruel little smirk, pressing a single finger to her lips.
“Emily?” Mrs. Thornton prompted, frowning at the shocked look on Emily’s face and her stunned silence.
Kat turned, whipping the drapes back around her, and vanished into their folds.
Then many terrible things happened at once.
From the moldings and crevices of the ceiling, the black shadows dripped down the walls like sludge. The curtains blew from a gust of cold wind, or rippled as if someone had just run behind them. Emily watched with horror as a candelabra floated up, hovering in the air between two sets of the dark green drapes. It tilted purposefully, stabbing its candle flames into the fabric.
As the flames caught hold of the curtains, Archie gave a sharp bark from underneath her chair, and the guests all looked up from their food, many dropping their utensils and napkins in surprise.
The bark shook Emily out of her trance, and she leaned across the table, pointing at the growing inferno.
“Fire!” she cried.
Twisting in their seats to look behind them, the adults all gave shouts and cries of surprise. The fire roared against the curtains, growing stronger and spreading faster than was natural. It was as if something was fueling the fire, each spark and ember a manifestation of the rage and hate that Emily had felt at the end of that third-floor hallway.
GET OUT. It was almost as if Emily could hear those words through the crackle of the flames. Whispering to her. Screaming at her.
Despite the obvious danger and terror, Mr. Thornton and the rest of the men immediately jumped to action, pulling off their jackets and using them to smother the fire.
Smoke filled the air. All the women rushed out of the room, coughing and pressing handkerchiefs to their mouths. Mrs. Thornton grabbed Emily and dragged her out of the room, clutching her shoulders with trembling hands.
In that moment, Emily could see a looped chain around Mrs. Thornton’s wrist: Dangling from the silver chain was the skeleton key. She hadn’t taken it off after all; she’d merely made it into a bracelet instead. Briefly, Emily wondered if the day would ever come when her mother would take it off, and what it would mean when she finally did.
Archie stood guard next to her, panting from the sudden heat and the thick smoke that clouded the air.
With the men beating out the flames using the other curtains they’d ripped down and their ruined, burnt jackets, the fire was reduced to nothing more than ash. But through all the chaos, the women crying, the men yelling, and Mrs. Thornton squeezing her, Emily could hear a giggle, clear as day, right next to her ear …
Once all the guests had left, Mr. Thornton came into the scullery, where Mrs. Thornton, Miss Greer, and Emily all sat sipping tea. Or rather, they weren’t so much sipping their tea as clutching at their cups and staring at nothing. Miss Greer had her arm around Mrs. Thornton, rubbing small circles on her back, while Mrs. Thornton tugged and tugged at the jewel necklace around her neck, her eyes wide and unseeing.
Archie’s head lay in Emily’s lap and Emily was stroking his ears absentmindedly, trying to suppress the fresh waves of fear that washed over her every few minutes.
She did look up, however, when Mr. Thornton walked in, his face and nice white shirt covered in soot. Even the fringes of his fine mustache looked a little burnt. His appearance might’ve been a little funny if not for the look on his face.
He was staring at Emily and Archie with wild eyes and a deep-set frown.
“Emily,” he said, his voice heavy and loud in the silence of the room, “what the devil happened at dinner?” His hands were clenched at his side.
Emily blinked, terrified not only at the ghost’s malevolence but also at her adoptive father’s barely restrained anger. She swallowed and tried to put forth words. After seeing the floating candelabra, there was not a doubt in her mind now that the manor was haunted. But how could she tell them that she believed there was a ghost at Blackthorn?
“I … I … The candles …”
At Emily’s stuttering, Mr. Thornton seemed to get even more frustrated and he darted forward, grabbing Archie by the scruff of his collar. Archie gave a whimper but didn’t protest or growl when Mr. Thornton dragged him away from Emily’s lap.
“Was it this mutt? Did he knock over the candles?”
“What? No!” Emily cried, leaping from her chair and planting her feet squarely apart to face her father. “Archie didn’t do it!”
“What else could have done it?” Mr. Thornton snapped.
“A ghost!” Emily yelled back.
The Thorntons and Miss Greer froze, staring at Emily with wide, horrified eyes.
A few seconds passed by in complete silence, Mr. Thornton opening and closing his mouth. Finally, he sputtered, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not! There’s a ghost haunting this manor, Mr. Thornton. Can’t you feel it? It’s been doing all sorts of things since I got here!” While the grown-ups continued to stare at Emily, she found her mouth moving faster and her words flowing out more panicked and higher than usual. “Tonight the candle stand lifted and floated all on its own! But other things happened even before that. It started with the bookshelf in the library that fell over. I saw all these moving shadows and then all of a sudden the bookshelf fell on its own. And then in the garden, the clovers and the flowers all wilted and died and the stones of the well crumbled and I almost fell in! There was another time when a vase almost fell on my head, and the fireplace suddenly turned on, and then when I went down the corridor, the door at the end yelled at me! It told me to get out!”
By the time Emily finished, she was panting as if she’d just finished running a mile.
It felt like hours before anyone said anything. The silence was interrupted only by a sob from Mrs. Thornton. Big crystal tears flowed down her cheeks as she threw herself into Miss Greer’s arms. The housekeeper patted her on the back, shushing her in soft, comforting tones.
When Mr. Thornton finally talked again, his voice was hoarse and shaky.
“Emily, this level of disrespect will not be tolerated. I did not expect you to be a disobedient child with such a wild imagination. Miss Evanshire warned us, but—”
Ignoring the sting of his words, Emily cried, “But it’s all true!”
“Rubbish!” he hollered back, now shaking with rage. “These incidents were nothing more than accidents caused by your mutt.” Without waiting for Emily’s reply, he turned and began pulling Archie toward the basement door. “Archie will sleep in the
basement until he can learn to behave. And you will go to bed immediately. No sweets and no roaming around the manor until you learn how to behave as well, and not tell such wicked lies.”
Stunned into speechlessness, Emily could only watch as Mr. Thornton guided Archie down into the basement and slammed the door behind him.
Over Mrs. Thornton’s crying form, Miss Greer said softly, “Off to bed with you now, Miss Emily. Best to let this whole mess die down. Things will be better in the morning, you’ll see.”
But Emily was quite sure that wouldn’t be true. As she made her way up the steps to her room, remembering the tangible shadows on the ceiling, she wondered how she’d ever make it through the night.
Something had to change, or else this ghost wouldn’t stop until Emily never saw the light of another morning.
Up in her room, Emily paced the floor. With each step, her heart seemed to beat faster. She feared that if she looked up at the ceiling, it would be covered in wriggling black shadows. Every second that passed was a second that brought this ghost closer to her.
More than that, though, she couldn’t stop thinking about her best friend locked in the basement all alone.
Of course, it wasn’t Archie’s fault—it was the ghost’s! But she could understand Mr. Thornton’s desperate need to pin all of these strange happenings on something. It made sense that he would use a dog as an excuse to explain the actions of a ghost, rather than admit that they were being haunted.
Even so, Emily couldn’t let her friend stay down in the basement. She would free him—tonight—and then confront this ghost.
But how could she do that? It’s not like the ghost had made any attempt to really contact her, other than to tell her to get out. Emily stopped pacing, hugging her arms to keep the chill out of her bones, and stared at the rug under her feet.
The ghost had told her to get out only when she’d touched the door upstairs. It was the mysterious room—the only room in the house that she’d never been allowed entrance. Mr. Thornton had told her not to go because it meant something to both him and Mrs. Thornton—that Emily should respect their privacy.