Chapter 13: The Key and the Door
Claire hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. For a moment, everything was spinning—shadows twisting, the world unstable. Then she felt Samuel's hands pulling her up, his voice urgent.
"Claire! Come on!"
The room—the one that had been Eleanor's—was gone. In its place was a long, narrow hallway, lined with rotting wallpaper and flickering sconces. The very walls seemed to breathe, shifting as though alive.
Claire's heart pounded. Eleanor's final words echoed in her mind.
"'Find the key.'"
Samuel steadied her. "Where the hell are we now?"
Claire swallowed hard. "I don't know. But I think we're running out of time."
The deep, guttural sound from before—the resonance—was still there, humming through the walls, growing louder. Whatever was "waking" was getting closer.
They had to move.
Claire turned, gripping Samuel's arm. "We need to find the key. Eleanor said the manor wasn't meant to be opened—what if we're the ones who have to lock it back up?"
Samuel exhaled sharply. "That's great, but where do we even start?"
As if in response, the candle sconces along the hall flared to life, their flames burning an eerie, unnatural blue. The light cast shifting shadows along the corridor, illuminating something up ahead.
A door.
But not just any door.
It was massive, carved from dark oak, its surface covered in strange symbols. Iron chains wrapped around it, rusted and ancient, as though they had been untouched for centuries. At its center was a keyhole—ornate, intricate.
And empty.
Claire's stomach twisted. "That has to be it."
Samuel frowned. "Okay. We found the lock. Now where's the key?"
A sudden, sharp creak echoed through the corridor.
Both of them froze.
Claire turned her head slowly.
Further down the hall—past the dim candlelight—stood a figure.
Tall. Unmoving. Watching.
A cold wave of dread crawled up Claire's spine. It wasn't Eleanor. It wasn't human.
The shadows around the figure writhed, as if alive.
Then—
It stepped forward.
Samuel grabbed Claire's hand. "Run."
They sprinted toward the chained door, the air thick with the sound of whispering voices. The walls trembled, the resonance growing unbearable. The thing behind them was getting closer.
Claire's eyes darted around frantically. Where was the key? Where would Eleanor have hidden it?
And then she saw it.
A painting hung on the wall beside the locked door—a familiar portrait. Eleanor Blackwood, staring out with piercing green eyes.
But this time—
She was holding something.
In the painting, Eleanor's hands were cupped together, cradling a small, ornate key. The edges of the canvas were torn, as if something had tried to claw through it.
Claire didn't think. She lunged at the painting, ripping it from the wall. The moment her fingers touched the canvas, she felt it—something cold, metallic, hidden in the folds.
A real key.
She yanked it free, her hands shaking.
"Samuel! The lock!"
Samuel turned, frantically working to pull at the iron chains. The thing behind them let out a low, guttural sound—closer now. Claire refused to look back.
She shoved the key into the lock and turned.
For a second—nothing.
Then—
A deafening boom rang through the manor. The chains snapped loose, the door lurched, and a force unlike anything Claire had ever felt rushed outward, knocking both of them to the ground.
The shadows in the hall screamed.
The figure behind them let out a sound that was almost a voice—deep, furious, ancient.
And then—
Silence.
Claire gasped for breath, her ears ringing. The air was still. The resonance—the deep, vibrating hum—was gone.
Samuel groaned beside her. "Did we… stop it?"
Claire forced herself up. The chained door was now tightly shut, the key fused into the lock. The painting of Eleanor had fallen to the floor, its image faded, her hands now empty.
Claire exhaled. "I think… I think we locked it away."
Samuel let out a nervous laugh. "Good. Because I was not ready for whatever that thing was."
Claire turned, staring at the door one last time. The manor had hidden many secrets—but whatever had been waking inside it, they had stopped it.
For now.
A single whisper drifted through the air, soft and distant.
"Thank you."
Claire smiled faintly.
Eleanor Blackwood was finally free.
To be continued…?