Ghosts of yesterday

Chapter Two: Ghosts of Yesterday

The morning light seeped weakly through the heavy curtains of Nathaniel's study, casting faint, golden patterns across the cluttered desk. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and the memory of the night before lingered like a haunting specter. He pushed himself upright, still sitting on the floor, the faint echo of those whispers rattling in his skull.

The library had been dark when he awoke hours ago, the eerie glow of the book long gone. The room had returned to its usual, suffocating stillness, but the unease hadn't left him. If anything, it had grown, gnawing at the edges of his mind. Now, as he stared at the pendant dangling from his neck, he felt certain it had shifted somehow, as though reacting to the events in the library.

Nathaniel rose unsteadily to his feet, gripping the back of his chair for support. His eyes wandered to the journal on his desk, the one he'd been trying to fill with thoughts and clues about Samuel's disappearance. He flipped it open with trembling hands, his gaze landing on the last entry.

"The past isn't a place you can escape. It clings to you, a shadow you can never outrun."

He slammed the journal shut, a frustrated growl escaping his lips. His thoughts were fragmented, jumbled. He needed clarity, answers. But where could he begin when the very house he lived in seemed determined to drive him mad?

The sound of the grandfather clock chiming in the hallway startled him, breaking the oppressive silence. Its heavy, rhythmic toll sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced at the clock on the wall—8:00 a.m. He hadn't slept, not properly.

Leaving the study, Nathaniel wandered down the hallway, his feet dragging slightly. The house felt colder than usual, though the sun was now fully risen. He descended the creaking staircase to the main floor, the scent of damp wood and faintly lingering ash filling his nostrils.

The dining room, once a grand and welcoming space, now felt as lifeless as the rest of the manor. Dust coated the long oak table, and the chairs sat pushed back as though abandoned mid-conversation. His stomach growled, but the thought of eating turned his stomach.

Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, his fingers brushing against the cool stone walls as he walked. The kitchen was the only part of the house that didn't feel like it belonged to another era. Modern appliances gleamed against the backdrop of aged wood and iron fixtures, though their presence felt almost intrusive in the manor's eerie atmosphere.

Nathaniel filled the kettle and set it on the stove, his mind drifting. He thought of the figure he'd seen in the library doorway. Was it real, or had his exhausted mind conjured it? The whispers had felt so tangible, so immediate. And that book—he hadn't seen it before. He knew every inch of that library, every spine on those shelves.

The kettle screamed, pulling him from his thoughts. He poured the boiling water into a mug, watching the steam rise lazily. He took a sip, wincing as the hot liquid scalded his tongue.

A sharp knock at the front door made him freeze. His first instinct was to ignore it—he rarely had visitors, and most people in town avoided the manor altogether. But the knocking persisted, insistent and deliberate.

Setting the mug down, Nathaniel walked cautiously to the front door. He peered through the small window beside it, his breath fogging the glass. A man stood on the porch, his features obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat.

Nathaniel hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Something about the man felt off, though he couldn't pinpoint what. Finally, he opened the door a crack.

"Can I help you?" Nathaniel asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

The man tilted his head slightly, the shadow of his hat obscuring his eyes. "Mr. Nathaniel Grayson?"

"Yes," Nathaniel said cautiously.

The man reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a weathered envelope. "I was asked to deliver this to you."

"By who?" Nathaniel asked, but the man didn't answer. He simply held the envelope out, waiting.

Reluctantly, Nathaniel took it. The moment the envelope left the man's hand, he turned and walked away without another word, his footsteps echoing faintly on the gravel path.

Nathaniel watched him until he disappeared down the road, then closed the door. The envelope was unmarked, save for his name scrawled in an unfamiliar hand. He carried it back to the kitchen, his heart pounding as he tore it open.

Inside was a single sheet of parchment, the edges frayed and yellowed. The handwriting was neat but archaic, the ink slightly smudged:

"The answers you seek lie buried in the past. Return to the place you fear most."

Nathaniel's hands trembled as he read the note again. The place he feared most—he knew exactly what it meant.

The woods.

They stretched for miles behind the manor, a labyrinth of gnarled trees and overgrown paths. As children, he and Samuel had spent countless hours exploring them, weaving stories of monsters and hidden treasures. But the woods had taken on a darker tone in the years leading up to Samuel's disappearance. Strange sounds, shadows that didn't belong, a feeling of being watched—it had all started there.

Nathaniel shoved the note into his pocket, his jaw tightening. He didn't know who had sent it or how they knew about his search, but he couldn't ignore it. He had avoided the woods since Samuel vanished, the memories too painful to confront. But now, he had no choice.

The pendant around his neck felt heavier as he stepped out onto the back porch, the chill in the air biting against his skin. The woods loomed ahead, the sunlight barely penetrating their dense canopy.

As he crossed the threshold from the yard into the trees, a wave of unease washed over him. The air felt thicker here, charged with an almost electric energy. The whispers from the library echoed faintly in his mind, as though the forest itself was calling to him.

He followed a familiar path, the one he and Samuel had taken countless times as boys. The memories came rushing back: Samuel laughing as he led the way, daring Nathaniel to keep up; the two of them sitting by the creek, trading ghost stories; the time they'd sworn they saw something move in the shadows.

Nathaniel's chest tightened as he reached the clearing where they used to play. It looked the same, yet different, as though the years had warped it into something unfamiliar. The grass was overgrown, the trees seemed taller, and the air was deathly still.

He stepped into the clearing, his gaze sweeping the area. Nothing seemed out of place, but the pendant around his neck burned cold against his chest.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him shifted, a deep rumble breaking the silence. He stumbled back as a section of earth collapsed, revealing a hidden tunnel.

Nathaniel stared at the opening, his heart pounding. The whispers returned, louder now, beckoning him forward.

He hesitated only a moment before stepping closer, peering into the darkness below. The tunnel was lined with stone, its walls damp and glistening. A faint light pulsed somewhere in the depths, casting eerie shadows.

Summoning his courage, Nathaniel climbed down. The air grew colder with each step, and the whispers became more distinct, though he couldn't understand the words.

The tunnel opened into a chamber, its walls covered in symbols identical to those on Samuel's pendant. In the center of the room was a pedestal, and on it lay a book—the same book from the library.

Nathaniel approached it cautiously, the pendant growing colder with each step. As he reached out to touch the book, a sudden gust of wind extinguished the faint light, plunging the chamber into darkness.

A voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the chamber.

"You were warned, Nathaniel. The past is not meant to be unearthed."

The ground shook, and a figure emerged from the shadows, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Nathaniel's breath caught as the figure stepped closer, its form shifting and flickering like a living shadow.

Before he could react, the figure lunged, and everything went black.