Under her father’s watchful gaze, Saige swallowed three large pills and opened her mouth to prove she’d consumed them. She’d told Derrick she’d had a nightmare, but Saige hadn’t revealed what it had been about. Her father didn’t need to know. It would only worry him.
She decided the dream had been a result of stress.
The open window?
Well, she’d sleepwalked many times before. She must have opened the window herself. Still, the whole event had given her the heebie-jeebies, and Saige no longer wanted to be alone. The woman hanging in the tree. The lady in the attic. Her mother plunging off a cliff. These were all thoughts she didn’t want to revisit. Dinner with the family and Wolvercraft guests started to feel appealing.
Saige showered quickly while her father waited in her room. She knew he was too afraid to leave her alone. He’d demand she sleep in Aunt Violet’s room tonight. Saige no longer had a problem with that.
In the mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair before tossing it up into a loose bun, then shimmied into her purple dress. Guilt racked her chest at the thought of how terrified her father must have been at the sight of her in a collapsed heap on the floor. She had to make it up to him and decided she really would put some effort in tonight. She’d brought minimal make-up with her on this trip, but she had a trained hand from happier days and was able to create something that, while not stunning, was acceptable and pretty.
“I’m sorry,” she apologised again when she stepped out of the bathroom. “I must be making you late for your guests.”
Derrick patted her on the arm. “Just make sure you stay on that medication, Saige. I don’t want to lose you like I lost your mother.”
She looked down at her feet.
The memory danced in her mind. Her mother’s wild, possessed eyes. Elaine’s hands, thin and skeletal and cold.
It’s just stress. The house. My condition.
What I dreamt was just a memory. A very warped version.
But she had trouble believing it.
* * *
Saige drummed her fingernails on the dining table. She’d sworn to Derrick that she’d make an effort, and she intended to keep that promise. But it was hard. She hardly knew any of the elderly couples who’d been seated at her table, which she guessed had been Zoe’s doing. Eating a three-course meal while trying to engage with strangers who were hard of hearing had been tiring and tested her patience.
She couldn’t drink, not after taking her medication, and sipped on water instead. She swallowed it with a grimace. The waiter had given her sparkling. She hated sparkling.
Damn you, Zoe.
She watched her future sister-in-law bop and frolic on the dance floor with Xav. Her dress was long, white, and backless, and she had no shame as she showed off her tanned leg through the slit. Saige blew out a huff of frustration and focused on the other couples. Wolvercraft’s ballroom had been elaborately dressed like a scene from a picture two centuries ago. The round dining tables were covered in soft white tablecloths, embellished with peonies as the centrepiece, and finished with vanilla-scented tealights. Wineglasses. Champagne flutes. Silver utensils. It was all a little overboard for Saige’s taste.
Have I missed the wedding? Because this feels an awful lot like a reception.
She realised Zoe had never just wanted a wedding. She’d wanted a week’s worth of celebrations where she could shine and be the centre of attention. Saige knew it just from the amount of media personnel and photographers in the room. Their flashing cameras would give her a serious headache.
But it’s better than going back to my room and being alone.
Saige still didn’t know what to make of the dream, or the image of the woman hanging in the tree, or the cries of the lady in the attic. Were they just hallucinations her mind created like her doctors had said? Or were they something else? Something more… sinister?
She scanned the room. On a small stage in the corner sat the band, classical musicians in tuxes playing violin, cello, drums, and flute. In the centre on the piano was Jasper. Saige wanted to look away but couldn’t. His fingers glided effortlessly over the keys. It made her heart ache, bringing back too many painful memories of when they’d been together, nights of him practising his music in his studio, Saige listening to the beautiful harmony. She looked down at her empty glass, wishing she could fill it with wine, or something stronger.
Someone dropped into the seat beside her. An older woman with greying hair tied back in a tight bun. She wore a floor-length painted floral dress. Her lipstick was blood red, which Saige didn’t think suited her green eyes, her eyelids decorated in dark purple eyeshadow.
The woman extended her hand. “You must be Saige Wolvercraft. I saw you sitting here alone and looking sorry for yourself and thought I’d make an introduction.”
Gee, thanks.
Saige shook the woman’s hand. She caught a whiff of her perfume and struggled to hold in a sneeze.
The woman drew closer and took out a business card. “My name is Dr Harriette Reynolds. I’m a historian and curator and have worked closely with your aunt Prue.”
Saige recognised the name. “You’re staying with my aunt at the cottage?”
“Yes. It was very nice of her to invite me to her nephew’s wedding. It was a huge surprise. You see, I have a very special interest in Wolvercraft Manor and its incredible history.”
Saige faked a polite smile. “Most people do. It’s why tourists come to Ashvall.”
She gazed jealously over at the young couples on the dance floor.
Why do I get stuck with the oldies for the night? Why can’t I just be normal and be like other women my age, dancing with young men and drinking until I’m giddy with joy?
Harriette patted Saige’s arm in a grandmotherly gesture. “You’re very brave to return here.”
Saige froze. She started breathing a little too hard. “Excuse me?”
Harriette waggled her eyebrows, as though the pair were in on a juicy secret. “I must confess that I came to Wolvercraft Manor with an ulterior motive. Your affliction… what your mother suffered all those years in this house, it’s fascinated me since—now, please don’t leave, Miss Saige.”
Saige had stood up, repulsed by the woman’s boldness. She’d dealt with these acts of vulgarity from the press when she was a teenager—their prying questions, their prowling behaviour—and she didn’t fancy a replay.
Harriette gripped her arm. “Please, just listen to me. I have information that may benefit you. Your mother wasn’t crazy. And neither are you.” Her eyes briefly roamed the ballroom before continuing. “The things you have seen in this house… on the island… they’re real.”
Saige sat down. Doubt, even disgust, still tugged at her insides, but Harriette had caught her attention.
The doctor smiled, but her lips were stretched too thin for it to be genuine. She drank from her water glass, her fingers leaving sweat marks on the crystal. “When your aunt told me about your mother’s suicide, it got me thinking about all the other deaths that have occurred at Wolvercraft Manor.”
“Other deaths?” Saige ignored the no elbows on the table rule. She leaned forward and watched the historian closely.
“Yes. Since Wolvercraft’s existence, there have been five noted suicides, and I suspect a great many more. All the deaths were of young women who had married into the Wolvercraft family.” Harriette went silent for a moment as a couple drifted past them and headed for the dance floor. “I have done my research on the house. Five women. Five deaths. Your mother’s included.”
Saige’s heart did an unexpected flip. “Did one of the women hang herself?”
The doctor scooted her chair closer. “Yes. Josette Wolvercraft. She hanged herself in the Hauteville Woods not far from the house. And then there was poor Bridgitt Wolvercraft. She died on her wedding night. Flung herself off the highest tower of this house.”
A chill tiptoed along Saige’s skin. Was it possible that Harriette Reynolds was making this all up? “Why have I never heard any stories like this before?”
“Well, my dear, the last known suicide was your mother’s. It’s unlikely your father or aunts would tell you the story, isn’t it? But there are accounts of the events in the history books. The Ashvall library has journals and newspaper articles that date the suicides.”
“I’d like to see these articles.” Saige forced a hint of challenge in her voice.
Was Harriette just another loony seeking attention? Did she think Saige was so far gone with her condition that she’d believe whatever came out of the doctor’s mouth? Saige had to test her. She didn’t trust strangers, even little old ladies who were acquainted with her aunt.
Saige sat up straighter. “So you believe the things my mother saw were, in fact, ghosts?”
“Yes, dear. And I believe you have seen one or two of these ghosts yourself.”
Saige didn’t deny it. “I want to meet you tomorrow. Will you take me to the library so I can see proof?”
A muscle twitched in Harriette’s neck. Saige imagined the lady’s pulse had edged up a degree.
Harriette reached for her water again. “If your aunt permits it, of course.”
“My aunt will know nothing about it. This is a sealed deal between you and me.” Saige’s knees wobbled, but she kept her gaze steady on the doctor. “I’ll meet you tomorrow at ten o’clock in the library. I want to understand more about these suicides.” She dug her fingers into the table and stole an anxious glance around the room. “What would make five women suicide?”
Harriette shook with dismayed laughter. “Saige, my sweet thing. You don’t honestly believe the deaths were suicides, do you?”
“But you just said—” Saige felt herself go pale in the face.
“Wolvercraft Manor is not kind to strangers. The house doesn’t like outsiders.” Harriette gazed around the room, as though the very walls, floor, and ceiling could hear her. “There is something inside Wolvercraft Manor. Something that brings death. Something that doesn’t rest.”
Saige jumped when the grandfather clock in the ballroom chimed, announcing 10:30 p.m.
Harriette gave Saige’s hand another friendly tap. “I best find your aunt. It’s getting late.”
She hobbled out of her chair and disappeared in the crowd.
Saige remained sitting, too cold to move.
* * *
A dull ache had taken up residence behind Saige’s eyes. She was desperate for painkillers, but she wouldn’t leave the ballroom. Not alone. Harriette’s story had frightened her, and she was too afraid to venture through the house in case she saw… ghosts.
For so many years, she questioned whether she was crazy, and now that she had met someone who believed in Wolvercraft’s ghosts, well… that just made the possibility more terrifying.
It was late, nearly eleven thirty, when guests started to meander upstairs.
Right. Get back to your room. Grab your things and get inside Aunt Violet’s room. Take a sleeping pill. Listen to music. You’ll be out cold. No dreams. No ghosts. You’ll be safe for the night.
Saige slipped away from the table and dashed as quickly as humanly possible through the throng in her high heels. She hoped to avoid her father’s stern eye. He’d be disappointed that she hadn’t made the effort to talk to people her own age.
Blame Zoe. She’s the one who organised the ridiculous seating plan.
Saige was nearly out of the ballroom when she saw something that made her pause.
Oh hell no!
She couldn’t breathe. On the dance floor, Jasper was engaged in a slow dance with a blonde in a tiny black dress and stiletto high heels. Luisa. Saige hated her before, but now she wanted to snap the bridesmaid’s legs in half.
Saige knew she should look away. It wasn’t any of her business, but heartache and jealousy got the better of her. Jasper’s and Luisa’s bodies were linked just a little too snugly together, like two jigsaw pieces that fitted perfectly. If they hadn’t already passed the friendship zone, Saige knew it wouldn’t take much longer.
Probably tonight.
She balled her hands into fists and stormed away. Painful tremors racked her throat, as if someone had stuffed nails down her windpipe.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Her emotions didn’t calm down when she finally reached her bedroom. She collected what she needed, returned to the hall, and knocked loudly on Aunt Violet’s door.
Oh, come on. What’s taking so long?
She knocked again, this time with more force.
Nothing.
“Aunt Violet? Are you there?”
Saige pressed her ear to the wood. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the thick mahogany. Her sweaty fingers made it difficult to clutch the handle. The door didn’t budge.
She’s locked it.
Saige waited twenty minutes in the hall, leaning against her aunt’s door. She fixed her eyes on the various guests who wandered back to their rooms, wishing them a pleasant evening. She tried not to let frustration bleed into her voice.
Where the hell is Aunt Violet?
She typed a quick text to her aunt, but the signal was patchy, and the message failed. Saige blinked furiously. She dialled her father, but the call didn’t go through.
An ominous prickle rushed over her skin. She could no longer hear the music from downstairs. The party was over, and all the guests had returned to their rooms. Both ends of the hall were lost in darkness, like an abyss. The silence pulled onward, surrounding her. A sense of foreboding ran through her body. She itched to run. Fear spiralled through her legs, making her tremble. Something was present. She could hear it breathe. Wicked. Harsh. Fierce. Right in her ear.
A macabre scream tore through the house, magnified through the empty hall. The sound rang through her skull.
That came from the attic!
Saige couldn’t take it anymore. She ran on unsteady legs back to her room and locked the door behind her.
* * *
Her pulse still raced. The pain in her head had climbed to a migraine. Saige listened to music, determined not to hear anything but Kate Bush. She brushed her teeth in the bathroom, downed two painkillers and a sleeping pill, and changed into pyjamas. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and without her lipstick or moisturiser, her lips now appeared ashen and chapped. She looked like she’d been deprived years of sleep. But the truth was Saige spent more hours asleep than she did awake, and that took a toll on her physical appearance too.
Careful not to wet her earbuds, she washed off her ruined make-up in the basin, flicked off the bathroom light, and scrambled into bed. She must have been lying there for half an hour in the dark, letting the music soothe her, waiting for the pills to kick in, when she saw a reflection of movement in the window. For a moment, Saige had been convinced it was a face. A grey, puckered face surrounded by wild dark hair hanging in wet tangles.
It’s the trees outside. The moon must be casting palls of shadow against the branches. It made me think there was a woman outside.
Saige slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. She pulled the curtains closed.
Funny, I could have sworn I shut these before I left for dinner.
Saige dived back into bed and tried hard not to think about ghosts, about Harriette’s theory, about Jasper’s arms circled around Luisa.
Jesus, why aren’t the pills working? I should be unconscious by now.
She pulled the quilt cover tight, not because she was cold but because it was her only source of comfort. Sleep tugged at her eyes, pulling her into smooth black waters.
There it is. Sweet emptiness.
Even over the music, Saige had the vague impression that she heard the slow sweep of curtains drawn back and a tapping on the window, but then darkness fully submerged her, and she heard nothing.