Whispers of the Past

Amelia stood at the break of Ashgrove Manor into the northern woods, the night taut with tension. Above her loomed towering oaks, gnarled branches twisted in the pale moonlight. In one hand, she clutched Eliza's journal; in the other, the locket, her heart racing in a mix of terror and resolve. Yonder, the old oak, of which she hath spoken in her last letter, overshaded with its spreading arms the cottage; the gentle wind sporting with the leaves whistled a melancholy murmur, a soft natural knell, in the ear of the suckling, for the tale of forgotten wo.

She needed to know what had happened that fateful night in 1874. The answers were close, closer than any, and they came weighted with something which she was not sure she could handle. The flickering whispers, the hauntings of the disembodied voice calling Eliza's name, drove her here. Ashgrove Manor had allowed her to dig up its secrets, but now it demanded she face them.

Amelia whirled at the soft rustling of leaves behind her; her breath caught in her throat. There was nothing but wind in the woods, but again there was that weighted presence, that watchful gaze from out of the darkness.

"Eliza…

It came again this time more than just a voice upon the wind. It was a pleading; a cry for help. And it came from the direction of the old oak.

Amelia swallowed her fear and took a step forward; the thin beam of the flashlight seemed to cut its way through the dark. The more she drew closer to the tree, the heavier the air was, like the very earth was holding its breath in some unspoken expectation. Even the locket Amelia clutched in her hand hummed with energy she could not see, its metal warming up with each step closer.

Finally, she fell to the base of the tree. Its roots snaked from the ground, as if from some sort of ancient veins, and nestled between them lay something which sent a shiver running along her veins-a grave marker half-buried and forgotten, a single weathered name etched upon the stone:

"Eliza Montgomery"

The heart sank in Amelia's chest as realization dawned on her that it was more but a place where Eliza and her lover met-her grave.

Now she was on her knees tracing with her fingers the worn inscription. All at once flashed through her mind, "Eliza never ran away. Never had she the opportunity to fly with "A." Something had stayed her-right here, under this very tree.

It was louder now-the whisper again, the presence, Eliza's presence-stronger. The wind whipped around her, and in those briefest of moments, Amelia could feel it-the overwhelming sorrows that consumed Eliza's last moments, the desperation of love never allowed to bloom, snuffed out before it had begun.

But that wasn't the whole story.

Amelia snatched up the journal, turning again to those last pages. She'd read them a hundred times, but here, at Eliza's grave, something fell anew into place: Eliza's father had known what she'd planned. He'd spoken of "dark plans" with some person called Mr. Talbot, and Amelia had discarded it as an idle threat. Now she knew.

He murdered his daughter.

She shivered as a cool breeze fanned across her skin. Eliza had been murdered—right here, underneath the oak tree. And "A" had failed to stop it.

But where was he now?

Amelia got to her feet then, her legs shaking. Energy swirled around her, a palpable tension threatening to push in against her from all sides. She stepped backward from the grave, her mind racing. The house. The manor had more secrets, and she'd barely scratched the surface.

"Eliza!" someone yelled without warning-clear, urgent, and real.

Amelia whirled about, the beam of the flashlight crazing beams of light through the trees. And then she saw him-a man standing at the edge of the clearing, his figure tall and shadowed in the moonlight.

For a moment she took him for a ghost, but as he stepped closer, she realized it was Ethan.

"Ethan," she breathed, her voice shaking. "What are you doing here?

"I might say the same of you," he returned with a gravity in his tone she hadn't quite heard from him before. "I warned you, Amelia. You can't just walk away from this. The manor doesn't have secrets, it keeps them. It has been waiting for someone like you."

Amelia felt set back by his words; her heartbeat was quickening already. "What do you mean, 'someone like me'?

Ethan let out a heavy sigh and closed the space between them. His eyes scanned over the gravestone at her feet. "You didn't think that was a coincidence did you? You being picked to restore this place, finding the letters and the journal that easily?"

Amelia's stomach churned. "What are you saying?

Ethan's face softened, but his eyes held something dark. "I didn't just come here to check on you, I've been watching this house for years-waiting for someone to unlock the last piece of the puzzle. The Montgomery family wasn't just cursed by scandal and tragedy; they were in league with something much more sinister. And it all started with Eliza."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Her death wasn't just a murder, Amelia. Her father was desperate to protect his legacy. He made a deal-something darker than you could imagine. When Eliza fell in love with 'A, ' she threatened everything he'd built. So he didn't just kill her. He trapped her spirit here, tied to the land, bound by the same dark forces that had protected his family for centuries."

Amelia's head spun. "Trapped? What do you mean? Eliza… she's…"

"Still here," Ethan said, his voice grave. "Her soul never left. That's why the manor feels the way it does. It's why the whispers never stop. She's waiting for someone to set her free."

Amelia's heart quickened with the understanding. It all added up-the dreams, the whispers, the watched feeling. All along, Eliza had been calling to her, guiding her to the truth.

"But how?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do I free her?"

Ethan inclined his head; his face was unreadable. "You have to break the cycle. The manor's curse is one of blood and betrayal. Eliza needs closure-her love, her life, it was stolen from her. The only way to end it is to reunite her with 'A'."

Amelia's breath caught in her throat. "But… who was he? Who was 'A'?

Ethan stammered over his words as his eyes locked with hers. With the reach inside his coat, he pulled out a small, worn letter, saying, "I was hoping you'd figure it out before now." His low voice carried as he extended the letter to her.

Amelia took the letter, hands so shaking as she unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakable-Eliza's-but this was addressed differently:

"My dearest Ethan,

Could not bear the thought of being parted from you, but to be together, now is the time we must make our move. Come under the oak tree, for we are gone from this place forever. You are my heart, my soul, and I can not exist without you."

Amelia was struck speechless. "You. you were 'A'?"

Ethan's eyes clouded, and he nodded imperceptibly. "I have been waiting for her since that night. I never had the chance to save her, and I have spent my whole life atoning for it."

The implications swirled in Amelia's brain like a maelstrom: Ethan wasn't just a historian but part of the story interwoven into manor history through times and tragedy-the lover of Eliza.

The earth started to shudder beneath them, and the winds whipped through the trees. Something was coming from the woods, some twisted evil born from that very curse that had enslaved Eliza's soul for centuries.

"Ethan!" Amelia shouted, terror racing in her veins.

But he did not flinch. He stepped forward, his eyes fixed upon the shadow. "I'm here, Eliza," he said. "I'm here to finish what we started."

The shadow suddenly still quivered as if it had recognized him.

Amelia felt the air shift, the energy that surrounded them changed. The curse was breaking. She clutched the locket tighter in her hand as she could feel the heat from Eliza's spirit inside it.

Then, in a blink of an eye, the shadow vanished into the cloak of night. The gust of wind perished, and for the very first time Amelia had sojourned in Ashgrove Manor, the feeling of something ominous weighing her down was lifted off her. The spell was broken.

Eliza was free.

Ethan looked down at Amelia, his smile sad. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice full of gratitude. "For setting her free. For giving us both peace."

Amelia nodded, her eyes threatening to spill with tears. She watched him fade into the night, his soul finally free to join the woman he had loved for so very long.

The Manor was silent and still, bereft of shadows that once filled it. Eliza's tale had reached its end, her spirit no longer clinging to this earth. But as Amelia walked back toward the house, she felt certain that she had unraveled a great deal more-a mystery, yes, but in part a love that had crossed every boundary of time.

And in that, there was peace.