by Lindsey Duga
But it was also clearly the source of the ghost. That room held the answers to everything, and she could no longer keep her promise. The time for secrets was over.
If this evening’s events were any indication, the ghost was still here, it was angry, and it was only going to get worse and worse. The spirit that resided beyond that pristine white door amidst the rest of the decayed and ruined hallway wanted Emily out of the manor. For good.
Until tonight, she hadn’t given much thought as to whose spirit it could be. Had it been someone who’d died at Blackthorn Manor? A ghost that hated Emily for some reason? But why? What had Emily done, aside from just coming to live here?
For the first time, Emily wished she would’ve paid attention to all those ghost stories the girls at Evanshire’s told. She’d give anything to know how to get rid of a ghost—if it was even possible.
Maybe she just needed to find out the history of Blackthorn Manor. But who would tell her? She couldn’t very well ask Mr. or Mrs. Thornton, and she doubted Miss Greer would give her any information. Maybe Kat would know, since she seemed to know everything else about the estate.
Kat.
Emily gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. With all the chaos of the fire and Mr. Thornton’s anger, she had completely forgotten that Kat had been in the room mere seconds before the candles shoved themselves into the curtains. The little girl had disappeared into the folds of the fabric, but Emily knew that Kat must’ve escaped. Mr. Thornton would’ve said otherwise. There would have been a lot of fuss if they’d found an extra girl hiding in the drapes and the flames.
It was so strange how Kat seemed to be around when all of these bad things had happened. Or rather, she was around just before the bad things happened.
Emily didn’t know if that was a coincidence or not, but if it wasn’t, she had a lot of things she wanted to ask Kat. Maybe she should’ve bugged Kat about the history of Blackthorn Manor much sooner. Maybe she should’ve gone out to find her as soon as she discovered the ghost in the room down the third-floor west wing.
Unconsciously, she glanced up at the ceiling. It was still bare, but that didn’t mean the shadows weren’t on their way. And it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t show up later in the middle of the night while she was sleeping and slide down the walls, inching toward her bed …
Emily shivered, hugging her arms tighter and clenching her jaw. She had to find out what was inside.
But first things first: She had a best friend to rescue.
Emily wrenched open the door to her room and found her path blocked by none other than the very person who had disappeared during the fire. It was almost as if she’d been summoned by Emily’s thoughts.
“Kat?” Emily gasped.
The girl slipped into Emily’s room, jumping onto the bed and swinging her legs gleefully.
“That fire was just awful, wasn’t it?” she said with a giggle.
“Yes,” Emily replied coolly. “It was.”
“It was a good thing everyone got out in time.”
But Kat looked far too happy in the wake of something so scary. An awful feeling began to grab hold of Emily’s insides and make its way up her spine.
“Kat,” Emily repeated, taking a couple steps toward the girl. “What were you doing at dinner? People could’ve seen you.”
Kat shrugged. “I was hiding in the curtains. No one but you saw.”
“Did you see how the fire got started?”
Kat’s smile faltered, her lips turning slowly downward into a scowl. “No, how could I? I was hiding in the curtains.”
“But how did you get out?”
“Why are you asking me all these pointless questions, Emily?” Kat snapped.
“Because,” Emily began slowly, thinking back to all the times something bad had happened in the house and Kat had been right nearby, “I think you had something to do with the fire.”
Kat’s hands squeezed the bedsheets, her frame as still as a statue. She regarded Emily with cold eyes. “That’s a serious accusation, Emily.”
“There’s a ghost in Blackthorn, Kat,” Emily said, returning Kat’s own stubbornness with her own. “And since you know everything about this manor, I think you know there’s a ghost. And I think you’re helping it somehow.”
Emily didn’t know how it was possible, but she was sure of it now. Kat had something to do with the ghost and all its evildoings. Maybe that was the reason Archie didn’t like her, the reason he growled whenever Kat drew too close. Emily knew animals were more intuitive than humans about those kinds of things.
Kat’s scowl broke into a wide grin and she threw her head back, laughing. “Oh, Emily,” she said between giggles, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Emily couldn’t stand Kat’s smugness or her mischievousness a second longer. “I’m going to tell the Thorntons about you.”
At Emily’s declaration, Kat stiffened. She jumped off the bed, stalked toward Emily, and snarled, “You’ll regret this.”
Then she left the room, slamming the door behind her.
It took Emily a few minutes to calm down after the argument with Kat. With Kat’s threat still lingering in the air, Emily decided not to bring a candle or a lantern with her, just in case. She also didn’t know if Kat really did have any control over this terrible ghost, but she felt as if they had to be connected somehow. Like it all linked back to that forbidden room. And while the idea of moving through the hallway without at least a little bit of light was terrifying, the thought of starting yet another fire was unthinkable. She didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.
The corridors seemed to stretch on forever. She padded quietly across the carpet, as fast as she dared. She didn’t know what triggered the ghost’s anger, so she just had to do as little as possible to not set off any ghostly alarms.
Keeping one hand on the walls, she dragged her fingers across the wallpaper, sure every second that she would brush against the shadows creeping down the inky blackness of the walls. But there was nothing. When she reached the banister to the stairs, she was happy to see at least a little better. Moonlight came in from the windows, streaming down in silver beams, illuminating the grand staircase and entrance hall with a soft gray light. It wasn’t as warm and comforting as the sun would have been, but at least there was some light to see.
The stairs seemed to creak much louder than they had any other time she used them, and the squeaking noise echoed from the large, empty room. Emily froze on the middle landing, waiting for something to happen. For the shadows to come at her like black pythons. For the temperature to drop and freeze her hands and feet. For the chandelier to drop and shatter into a million pieces of crystal glass. Something.
But nothing came. All was still.
So Emily breathed a small sigh of relief and quickened her pace down the steps. Get to the basement. Get to Archie. Confront this ghost. Prove to the Thorntons that she wasn’t crazy and that she appreciated their kindness. She wanted to keep staying here, after all. She didn’t want a ghost to chase her away from the only family she’d ever come to know.
When she finally reached the scullery, Emily already felt like her nerves were shot and her heartbeat couldn’t take it anymore. How would she ever survive the rest of the night?
But the sound of scratching and whining from beyond the basement door fueled her with renewed energy and determination. Tiptoeing across the stones of the scullery floor, Emily tried the basement door. It was locked.
Luckily, Mr. Thornton hadn’t yet taken away her brass ring of keys. It took a little longer to find the right key because her hands were shaking so bad, but eventually one slid into the lock, and it made a loud click. Emily flinched at the sound and held her breath, waiting, once again, for something else to happen. For knives to hover above the table. For Miss Greer’s pots to float over and fall on her head. But there was nothing.
Releasing another breath, Emily opened the door and carefully stepped onto the basement’s ste
ps. The basement wasn’t very deep, so luckily there weren’t many stairs. And to Emily’s immense relief, there were quite a few windows that looked out to the garden at the top, so plenty of moonlight streamed in.
A few feet away from the bottom of the stairs sat a big metal cage with Archie inside. As soon as he saw her, he put his large paws up on the metal wires and whined, his nails scratching at the wiring uselessly.
“Shush, boy,” Emily whispered. “I’m coming!” Trying not to trip, Emily went down the stairs as fast as she could and fell to her knees in front of Archie’s crate.
As Emily wrapped her hands around the wiring, Archie licking her cheeks and fingers, she couldn’t help but be reminded of her last night at Evanshire’s Home for Neglected Girls, before the Thorntons had come the following morning. She and Archie had been separated by bars then, too. Were they better off at the orphanage? At least Evanshire’s didn’t have a murderous ghost.
No. Emily thought about Mr. Thornton giving her Alice in Wonderland and playing fetch with Archie, and Mrs. Thornton laying out dresses and curling her hair. These were wonderful, sweet people who did care for her.
She belonged here.
“We belong here, Archie,” Emily said aloud, petting the top of his head and then scratching underneath his chin. Archie’s big brown eyes looked up at her longingly, and he licked her palm affectionately.
“Now let’s get you out,” Emily said, turning around to inspect the rest of the basement. It wasn’t like she had a key that went to this cage. She had a feeling that Mr. Thornton kept it with him. But there had to be something in this basement that could help her get Archie out.
As her gaze traveled across the room a second time, a bit more desperately, she finally noticed a work counter covered with old, rusty tools. Like the rest of the house and the grounds, she expected that these tools had lain for a long time gathering cobwebs. But something there might work despite the obvious age and disuse.
She crossed to the counter and blew off a thick layer of dust. Grabbing a pair of garden shears, she went to the cage and knelt down, positioning the shears against the metal wires.
“Get back, boy,” she said through clenched teeth as she squeezed the shears and clipped through the first wire.
The metal broke and Emily exhaled in relief. Her breath came out in a cloud of mist.
Emily’s stomach dropped. Consumed with rescuing Archie and making as little noise as possible, she hadn’t noticed the significant drop in temperature.
It was practically freezing. She could even see that Archie was trembling within the crate. He whined and scratched at the corners of his confines, as if he knew something bad was coming. If Emily’s theory was correct about Kat being connected to the ghost in some way, then this whole time Archie had been sensitive to, and much more aware of, the ghostly activity within the manor. She knew that it was thanks to him that she was even alive.
She had to get him out.
Determined and trying her best to ignore the frigid air, Emily began clipping the wires of the cage as fast as she could. With every snip, her hands shook harder, but she managed to get almost all the way around before the shears jerked in her grasp.
Her heart jumped with the tool, almost losing the shears entirely, but she managed to hold on tight. It felt like someone was trying to tear them from her grasp, as if there was actually another person—an invisible person—holding the blades and tugging them.
And then, with one great yank, the shears flew out of Emily’s hands and smashed through the window, showering her with broken glass. Tucking her head under her arms, Emily couldn’t stop a soft cry escaping from her lips. Archie growled next to her and then started to bark. At what, Emily couldn’t see, but that wasn’t her priority. If the ghost was here, she had to get Archie out before the ghost could do anything else.
Emily hoped that what she’d been able to clip would be enough. She threaded her fingers through the wires and pulled as hard as she could. Miraculously, the wires started to bend backward, straining and trembling as she pulled harder.
Suddenly all the basement windows exploded. Glass shards rained down on Emily, and she screamed, tucking her head and her arms inward while still pulling at the metal wires.
She wasn’t leaving Archie. The ghost would have to do better than that to scare her away.
With one final, powerful tug, she grunted, “C’mon, boy!”
Archie hunched his shoulders and wiggled through the opening, escaping from captivity and shaking himself like he’d just gotten a bath.
But Emily didn’t have time to celebrate her friend’s freedom. A cold breeze blew in from the windows, scattering the glass shards on the floor as a soft giggling echoed through the basement.
“Leave us alone!” Emily cried, stumbling toward the stairs and beginning to climb them. With Archie hot on her heels, they emerged into the scullery, and Emily whirled around, slamming the basement door behind them and locking it.
She knew a locked door wouldn’t stop the ghost, but it made her feel a bit better somehow. But this was not the locked door that mattered. The only one Emily cared about in that moment was the door at the end of the third-floor west wing.
It was time to get the skeleton key and see what was hiding behind that lovely white door.
Before leaving the scullery, Emily took a moment to snag a scrap of meat left over from the fancy dinner and feed it to Archie. He gobbled it up and licked her fingers gratefully, which earned him a brief smile from Emily. After all, he deserved a treat for his time in the cage. Of course, he deserved an entire turkey for all that he’d done for her.
“Are you ready, boy?” Emily asked, bending down to scratch his ears and nuzzle his cheek against hers. She didn’t want to ask him to come, but she knew he’d follow her. Either that, or he’d whine at being left behind.
Besides, if she was being completely honest, it was much too scary to go alone.
Together, they started through the quiet house. Apparently the glass shattering in the basement hadn’t been loud enough to wake either the Thorntons or Miss Greer. Emily was quite sure that the ghost would come back for them, but it seemed to be biding its time, waiting for Emily to make another move. Or maybe the ghost simply enjoyed seeing Emily scared and anxious, watching her squirm.
It seemed like the kind of thing a spiteful, vindictive sort of ghost would like.
Clenching her jaw and steeling her nerves, Emily balled her hands into fists, and her footsteps became heavier—almost stomping down the hallways. She didn’t like being toyed with or made fun of. She’d suffered enough of that at the orphanage from a live girl.
When she and Archie finally neared the Thorntons’ bedroom on the second floor at the end of the east wing, Emily turned to Archie and pointed down. “Sit.”
Archie sat obediently.
“Now stay,” she instructed, holding out her palm as she slipped through their bedroom door.
Archie tilted his head and made a soft whine.
Mimicking Kat’s actions, she pressed a finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh, boy.”
When she was sure that Archie wouldn’t come in or make any more noise, Emily turned back to the room. It was very large, that was for sure. At the front of the room near the door stood a tall armoire with a dresser, a vanity, and a full-length mirror. All were made from a deep red wood that looked shiny even in the low light of the moon coming through the large windows. The Thorntons slept in the biggest bed Emily had ever seen, with a canopy over them, the curtains pulled back and tied to the posts with gold cords.
Holding her breath, Emily quietly tiptoed past the furniture to the side of the bed where Mrs. Thornton slept.
Her adoptive mother slept on, but Emily could tell that she was restless. Her expression wasn’t content—not in the least—and under her eyes she looked puffy and pink, swollen from crying. Her cheeks looked sunken. Maybe she hadn’t been eating very well, or maybe Mrs. Thornton was haunted by something else. A s
ecret from Blackthorn’s past that no one would speak of.
The key to Blackthorn’s past lay—literally—around Mrs. Thornton’s neck. Emily was disappointed to find that, since the party, Mrs. Thornton had moved the skeleton key from her wrist back to its designated resting place at the base of her neck. This was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated.
Tongue between her teeth, heart racing, Emily reached over the edge of the bed and ever so carefully began to rotate the necklace to reveal the clasp. Mrs. Thornton made a small moan in her sleep and turned her head, which made Emily freeze in her movements, but she still slept on. Moving faster, Emily finally had access to the clasp and began to unhook it. Her fingers were shaking so hard it was nearly impossible to unclasp the chain, but as soon as the necklace fell limp and Emily grasped the key in her hand, the air in the room seemed to be sucked in, as if the entire house was taking a deep breath, then released it in one loud moan.
The moan came from all around them—the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the windows, the furniture. The entire house and everything in it seemed to be howling at Emily.
Suddenly the Thorntons sat upright in bed, their eyes wide and terrified.
Mrs. Thornton stared down in utter horror at Emily holding the skeleton key necklace in her hand. “Emily!” she gasped, extending her arm, reaching for the key.
Mr. Thornton gave a shout and jerked away from his side of the bed.
A figure appeared beside him—an angry figure Emily had seen before.
It was Kat.
Emily stumbled backward, away from the bed, still clutching the skeleton key tightly in her fist.
The image of Kat standing next to the Thorntons’ bed was haunting. Kat’s skin was deathly pale, her cheeks were sunken in, and there were large dark circles under her eyes. Her usual gold curly hair hung flat and tangled around her thin shoulders.
But her eyes were the worst of all. They were black as coal; even the whites around her eyes were gone. She stood there, not as a ghost, but as a walking corpse.