The Bloody Path

"There was only one rule: don’t open the door.” Then, she handed me the key. Why would I need a key to a door I couldn't open?

"Enjoy the historic ambiance of this mansion. The kitchen is fully stocked and freshly cut wood is in the hoppers near each fireplace. I'm sure you will have a lovely weekend."

"Thank you, Mrs. Horace," I said, inspecting the twin, rough-cut stone fireplaces that domineered the living room walls. "I can hardly wait to begin writing. I've been looking forward to this retreat for months."

"Mrs. Horace?" I called out, listening to my voice echo in the cavernous room. She was gone.

I filled both fireplaces with wood and set kindling alight until a bright warmth spread through the room, easing the gloom that had descended on the afternoon. Setting my Remington portable typewriter on the coffee table in front of the overstuffed sofa, I prepared to finish my latest story.

Unable to write without tea, I tiptoed to the kitchen and rummaged around, heating a kettle and finding an herbal blend in a canister. With tea in hand, I returned to the living room and began the last chapter of The Bloody Path.

"Chapter 13

"Stop!" Delaney screamed, blood streaming down her face and chest. "I don't have the key!"

"You took it out of my apron," the maid accused, raising the shovel again.

"I don't even want the cursed thing." Delaney insisted.

"You want to find out what I'm hiding behind that door. You can't fool me. They all wanted to know. They all found out."

It was pitch dark outside and the fires were out when I shook myself awake. Unable to resist, I inched toward the forbidden door, reaching into my jeans pocket for the skeleton key.

"Mrs. Horace?"