Whispers of the Past

Amelia couldn't shake off the dream of the night before. The features of Eliza's face, the mansion teeming with its old glory, and that unknown figure who vanished just as quickly as he appeared haunted her every waking thought. She had spent the day in the library, hoping to find some concrete answers, but all she found were rumors, erratic whispers in the dusty books. The mystery associated with Ashgrove Manor had seemed as deep as ever, and now the cryptic warning from Ethan also settled there, in her mind, like a dark cloud.

The days following their small meeting, a constant echo seemed to reverberate in Amelia's mind: "Some secrets are better left buried." But why? What does he know that he isn't telling me? Amelia was a practical woman; she had always relied on concrete facts, tangible research. But for the first time in her life, she found herself being pulled along by something much greater, much more…mystical.

Back at the manor, the air was heavier, as if it had absorbed the weight of the secrets it held. The evening sun cast long, golden shadows across the floor as Amelia once more stood in the drawing room, staring at that place where she had found the letters belonging to Eliza. The hidden compartment in the wall seemed less a discovery and more an invitation-a gateway to the stubbornly unburied past.

Her gaze wandered around the room, falling upon a portrait hanging on one of the far walls, which had hardly struck her attention before. The portrait of a late 19th-century-dressed lady was so serious, but in her eyes was a deep sadness. The brass plate beneath the portrait read: Lady Eliza Montgomery, 1874. Amelia took a step closer, peering into the eyes of this woman she had come to know through her letters. There was something about this painting that unsettled her; it was as if Eliza herself stared back, begging her to look closer.

Amelia sighed, running a hand through her hair as her exhaustion started to make itself known. She was overthinking, perhaps. But just as she turned to leave the room, something quite odd caught her eye.

The frame of the portrait had shifted ever so slightly.

Amelia froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked, positive that she was imagining things. But no—there it was again. A soft creak as the heavy frame moved, just enough to reveal a small gap between the painting and the wall.

Curiosity gnawed at her. She stepped closer to the portrait and carefully stroked the edges with her fingers. With some effort, she pressed the frame aside, exposing an alcove behind it. She felt her heart pounding as she looked inside.

There, nestled in the alcove, was a single thing—a small, leather-bound journal.

Amelia drew it out carefully, her fingers shaking in anticipation. The leather was scratched and cracked, and seemed not to have been opened in years. She opened it to the first page; her heart almost stopped as she saw the writing.

It was Eliza's.

"June 2, 1874.

The days grow longer, but with each passing moment my heart weighs heavier.". Father's grip has tightened stronger upon me, refusing to let me off these manor grounds. He knows of A, though he refuses to say the name aloud. How can love be a crime? How can he refuse to see how happy A makes me? I am scared for what is in store now. Father has spoken of plans—dark, awful plans to send me away, to tear us asunder. I have to figure out some way to escape, before it's too late."

As Amelia turned the pages, her heart racing with the innermost thoughts of Eliza, she knew the letters she had found were only the beginning. Confessions of fear, of love, and a growing desperation filled this journal. It was clear that Eliza's father knew of her secret love affair and had gone to great lengths to keep them apart. But as Amelia read further, one entry leaped from the others.

"July 15, 1874.

I am forced once more to meet A in secret. Father's plans are underfoot—I overheard him speaking with Mr. Talbot. In two days they will send me away to a place where no one knows my name, where A will never find me. But I have a plan. I shall leave tonight, and A has promised to meet me by the old oak tree in the northern woods. There we disappear into freedom forever. But I feel something is obscenely wrong. I can explain only that with each passing hour, the shadows grow darker here in this house. Something is watching me. something that wants to keep me here."

Amelia's fingers started to quiver as she read the last lines of the entry. July 15th had been the last date written in Eliza's journal. It was to be the night of her escape, the night when everything went so wrong. But from that day on, there were no entries anymore.

What happened that night with Eliza and "A"?

Amelia snapped the journal shut on a house that was quiet, almost to the breaking point. Her mind was a maelstrom of questions, and she just couldn't stop-not when she was this close. The last things Eliza had said to her still swam in her head: "Something is watching me…"

Suddenly, a noise startled her. A soft, almost imperceptible creak came from behind her, followed by a cool, gentle gust of air. Amelia spun around, her eyes darting to the open door. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Someone-something-had been there.

Amelia's heart was racing as she hurried towards the door, spilled out into the long corridor. The beautiful wood paneling now seemed darker in the thick air of tension. She peered down the hall, but it was empty, and there was no sound except her own ragged breathing.

It must have been the wind, she told herself, though the nagging feeling of being watched lingered.

Just as she was going to turn back into the drawing-room, she saw something lying on the floor a few feet in front of her. Something small lay on the bright wood—a locket, tiny and old, with a fine silver chain. She had not seen it lying there before.

Amelia dropped to her knees, snatching up the locket. It felt warm in her hands, as if someone had just clutched it a second ago. Her hands were trembling as she opened it carefully. Inside was a small, faded portrait of a man-dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that looked both sad and determined.

Could this be "A"?

Before she could fully grasp the discovery, the lights fluttered. The dim light emanating from the wall candelabras expanded in and out, casting the hallway into moments of near darkness. Panic surged through Amelia. For the first time since her arrival at Ashgrove Manor, she felt deep, primeval fear.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

As if on cue, just when the lights dimmed again, Amelia heard it-a faint whisper, so soft that it was barely audible, yet unmistakable.

"Eliza…"

The name was uttered on the breeze, carried through the hall like a distant echo. Amelia stood stock-still, her blood run cold, clutching the locket tightly in her hand.

"Eliza…" The whisper came again, louder this time, closer.

Amelia took a step backward, her heart shaky in her chest. She came here to uncover the past, but now the past seemed to reach out to her.

And it wasn't going to let her go so easily.