The pale light of dawn filtered through the lace curtains of the Hall’s kitchen. Anita cranked open one of the tall windows and was greeted with cool, fresh air, filled with the promise of a respite from the oppressive Hall spirits and gloom. She dressed quickly, laced up the boots Logan had given her, and slipped out the front door. The estate grounds, shrouded in mist, called to her with a whispering allure.

She wandered aimlessly at first, letting her feet guide her along the winding paths. The dew-laden grass kissed her boots as she walked, the autumn earth beneath her soft and yielding. The trees, ancient sentinels, stood tall and proud, their branches intertwining overhead to form a natural canopy. Birds began their morning chorus, their melodies weaving through the leaves in a symphony of nature.

As Anita meandered, she came upon a path she had not noticed before, partially hidden by overgrown vines and wildflowers. Intrigued, she pushed aside the foliage and stepped onto the narrow trail. It twisted and turned, leading her deeper into the heart of the estate. The further she went, the more the air seemed to thicken with an almost tangible sense of history.

Suddenly she realized she stood on the path from her dream where Melusine had pulled her aside toward the orchard. She could barely make out the sharp angles of an iron fence ahead. The path eventually opened up to a clearing, and Anita found herself standing before a gate, its once ornate design now rusted and tangled with ivy. She pushed it open, its hinges groaning in protest, and she stepped inside. Before her lay the Harrow family cemetery, a place both beautiful and haunting.

The space was bathed in the soft light of dawn, casting long shadows that danced among the headstones. Each monument was unique, crafted with a level of artistry that spoke of a bygone era. Marble angels stood watch over the graves, wings drooping, their expressions haunting and sorrowful. Moss and lichens clung to the stones, adding a touch of wildness to the otherwise orderly rows.

Anita walked among the graves, her fingers brushing against cool stone as she read the epitaphs. Each one told a story, a glimpse into the lives of those who had once walked the same paths she now explored. There were headstones adorned with intricate carvings of flowers and vines and weeping willows.

One headstone caught her eye, its surface covered in a delicate pattern of roses. She knelt to read the inscription:

**Charles Harrow

*Beloved husband and father. Rest in eternal peace.*

**1897-1952**

Beside Charles' grave was another, smaller and more modest. The name on the stone was almost obscured by time, but Anita could just make out the inscription:

**Rose Harrow**

*Beloved wife and mother.*

**1903**

There was no death date.

Anita frowned and moved to the next grave. It was the same: a man’s name, complete with birth and death dates, and beside it, a woman’s name with only a birth date. She continued down the row, and each pair of stones told the same story. The men’s graves were complete, but the women’s were eerily unfinished.

She wandered deeper into the cemetery, drawn by a sense of curiosity and unease. The older graves were even more elaborate, with grand obelisks and statues of mourning figures. One particularly striking monument featured a woman, her face veiled and hands cupped and outstretched. Lichens covered large spots of the statue including obscuring what the woman held in her hands. Anita gently picked away enough to realize the woman was holding a likeness of the dice from her nightmares.

The stone was inscribed with the name:

**Victoria Harrow**

*Beloved daughter, sister, and mother.*

**1767**

Again, no death date.

Anita touched the stone, tracing the delicate lines of the statue. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the artist capturing the folds of the veil and the gentle curve of the woman’s face with remarkable skill. But the absence of a death date cast a shadow over the beauty of the monument.

She stood and looked around, her eyes scanning the rows of graves. The realization struck her with a cold clarity: none of the women’s stones had death dates. It was as if their stories had been left unfinished, their lives forever suspended in a state of limbo.

The mist began to lift, and the first rays of the sun broke through the trees, casting a golden glow over the cemetery. The light danced on the headstones, illuminating the names and dates etched into the stone.

She continued to explore, her footsteps rustling through vegetation on the soft ground. The cemetery was larger than she had initially thought, with rows upon rows of graves stretching out before her.

As she walked, she came across a small, secluded corner of the cemetery. Here, the graves were newer, the stones not so weathered and worn by time. A small beveled marker stood for Victor Harrow. She remembered Logan told her that he and Hyacinth had buried the urn they’d received from Florida. The newest grave, though, was that for Hyacinth. It was covered with vegetation, but a slight mounding could still be seen. Her stone, like those of the other Harrow women, lacked a death date.

Anita felt a profound dredge in the pit of her stomach as pieces began to fall into place. The dice the woman’s statue held, the men rolling them during her nightmares, and the argument between Melusine and the priest.

The missing people through the years connected to the Harrows were sacrifices. The roll of the dice stole the years of their life which were either given to a Harrow woman or to the Harrow itself, that supernatural force behind the menacing blue mist. Though the current Mrs. Harrow would command the game, she didn’t roll the dice. That was up to a male Harrow. And it appeared through the years, just as Vance had been, the men had become more resistant to their part.

One thing Anita noticed lacking in the cemetery was the usual iconography of the cross. Even if the Harrows hadn’t been devout church goers, they had supported the church throughout the history of Harrowsburg, according to the priest. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, Anita thought.

And what of Logan, then? If he truly was a Harrow, why wouldn’t Hyacinth have needed to clue him in on his heritage so they could continue the game? She kept him close enough as grounds keeper. Why didn’t she reveal Logan as a blood heir after Vance’s supposed death?

Anita left the newer corner of the cemetery and wended her way to the far back, returning to Victoria Harrow’s grave and statue. Next to Victoria, Oswald Harrow’s stone held no death date either. She went on a frantic search of the other graves again. As far as she could tell, Oswald’s was the only male grave without a death date.

“And the men are the ones forced to roll the dice in the game,” Anita mused out loud. “Why?” She knelt at Oswald’s stone, tracing the strange symbols carved around the border, so very reminiscent of those on the mahogany table in her nightmares.

Suddenly the symbols shone with a thick blue shimmer. The first birds of the morning took flight, their wings beating hard against the soft sky. Long shadows danced among the trees. The soft light of dawn had cast an ethereal glow over the Harrow family cemetery, but now the sky darkened abruptly. The clouds gathered with unnatural speed, turning the early morning into a foreboding twilight. A sudden chill swept through the air, raising goosebumps on Anita's arms. She glanced up, her curiosity turning to apprehension as the first rumble of thunder echoed across the sky.

Anita stood from Oswald’s grave, her eyes scanning the cemetery for any option for shelter. The ground below her began to tremble, and a loud, crackling noise bounced off the stones.

Before her, the grave of Oswald Harrow was now shaking violently. The earth around the headstone began to fracture, and a skeletal hand burst through the soil. Anita gasped, stumbling backward as she watched in horrified fascination.

The hand clawed its way upward, followed by another, and then a skeletal figure began to emerge from the grave. Its bones were covered in remnants of decayed clothing and dirt, and its empty eye sockets seemed to stare directly at her. Anita's breath came in short, panicked bursts as she took another step back, only to trip over a low footstone. She landed hard on the ground, pain shooting through her ankle, but her eyes remained fixed on the grotesque sight before her.

As Oswald Harrow’s skeletal form fully emerged from the grave, the ground around other headstones began to tremble. One by one, the graves of the Harrow family erupted, and more figures began to claw their way out of the earth. The cemetery was soon filled with the sounds of rattling bones and mournful wails of the undead.

Anita’s mind raced. At first, she thought they were coming for her, and she scrambled to get up, her eyes darting around for an escape route. But then she noticed something. The undead were not moving toward her. Instead, they seemed to be fixated on one another.

The men, their hollow eyes filled with an inexplicable sorrow, called out mournfully to the women. “Murderers! You’ve made us murderers!” one of the men cried, his voice a hollow mush-mouth echo that sent shivers down Anita’s spine.

The women, their skeletal forms no less terrifying, responded with venomous anger. Cowards! Yellow bellies!” one of them spat, her voice filled with a centuries-old rage. “You left us to suffer the Harrow’s wrath while you rotted in peace!”

Anita watched in horror as the men and women, now fully risen from their graves, began to clash. They scratched and clawed at one another with a ferocity that belied their atrophied frames. Gaunt limbs snapped and splintered, but neither side seemed willing to relent. Bony fingers scrabbled against one another, and the air around them began to shimmer the blue mist of the Harrow.

The mist grew thicker, swirling around the combatants as they fought. As Anita watched, horrified, the mist seemed to sap their strength. With each passing moment, the combatants grew weaker, their bones becoming more brittle. Finally, with a weak touch of the blue mist, the haggard bodies began to disintegrate, turning to dust and leaving nothing behind but shimmering blue haze.

Anita pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ankle. She had to get out of there. The undead Harrows were too engrossed in their macabre battle to notice her, but she had no intention of sticking around to see how it ended. She turned and ran, her heart pounding in her chest.

The path she had taken earlier seemed to twist and turn more than she remembered, but she forced herself to keep moving. The sounds of the undead battling behind her grew fainter, but the image of their skeletal forms tearing each other apart was seared into her mind.

As she ran, the storm above intensified. Lightning flashed, illuminating the cemetery in brief, blinding bursts of light. Thunder roared, shaking the ground beneath her feet. The wind whipped through the trees, tearing at her clothes and hair.

She stumbled again, this time catching herself before she fell. The iron gate of the cemetery loomed ahead, and with a final burst of speed, she sprinted toward it. She reached the gate, her fingers fumbling with the latch. For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed stuck, but then it gave way, and she pushed the gate open, floundering through, landing at Vance’s feet.

***

Anita's breath came in ragged gasps as she stared up at him from her knees. His features shifted mercilessly from the man she remembered through their marriage to the body she had found that horrible day to the young man and child she had seen in photographs. The storm raged above, its fury undiminished, but the immediate threat of the undead was behind her. Even if it hadn’t been, she would have braved hell itself to speak to him again. The air was thick with humidity, and the distant roll of thunder added an ominous soundtrack to her racing heart.

"Vance!" she cried out, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and sorrow. She lurched to her feet and reached out to him instinctively, but her hand passed through his form as if he were made of smoke. He was just mist and memory, a ghostly apparition that couldn't be touched.

“’Nita," Vance's voice was soft, almost ethereal, carrying hints of the warmth she remembered so well. He reached out to cup her face in his hand, but it only left a spike of a chill on her skin.

She took a step closer, her eyes filling with tears.

“There's so much you don't know, so much I wish I could have told you. But I was weak... and I thought I could escape it all by starting a new life. I was wrong."

“I know. This legacy of the Harrows. It’s awful. I don’t blame you for trying to start over. But why didn’t you—” She gasped as his form wavered, and he seemed to struggle to maintain his presence. “No! Don’t go!” She grabbed at his flickering form even though she knew it was useless.

"I'm weaker near the Hall and Victoria. She... she draws strength from those around her, keeps us tied to this place. But farther away, I have more strength. I can't stay long, but you have to listen."

Anita nodded, her heart aching with every word he spoke. "Tell me what I need to do, Vance.”

"You have to destroy the Harrow legacy once and for all," Vance said, his voice urgent. "Find the dice. Hyacinth must have hidden them somewhere. They hold the key to ending this curse. Without them, Victoria's power will remain unchecked."

His ghostly form flickered, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "I thought I could protect you by staying away. I thought I could keep you safe. But I was wrong. I should have told you everything. I should have fought harder. I'm so sorry, Anita. I love you."

Vance's form began to fade, the edges blurring into the surrounding mist. “You have to end this for all of us.” He gestured toward the cemetery. “The Harrow holds them all here in rage to fuel Victoria.”

He was barely visible now. “I'm sorry, ’Nita. I'm so sorry for everything."

"Vance, please!" she cried, desperation lacing her voice. "Don't go! I would have understood. I would have helped you! Why, Vance? Why did you leave me? Why did you kill yourself?"

He shook his head slowly, his form flickering like a candle in the wind. "I didn't kill myself.”

His form dissipated into the mist, and Anita was left standing alone, the storm raging around her. His final words echoed in the air long after he was gone. I didn't kill myself.

Anita sank back to her knees in the mud, the weight of the revelation crashing down on her. She sobbed uncontrollably, the pain of losing Vance all over again almost too much to bear. But deep inside, a spark of determination began to ignite. She wiped her tears, her mind racing with the new information. Vance didn’t take his own life. That meant someone was at fault, and she was certain their motive had something to do with the Harrows.

The dice.

Anita knew she had to find them and put an end to the curse that had plagued the Harrow family for generations. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand. The storm showed no signs of abating, but she felt a newfound strength within her. She had to find the dice, and she had to do it soon. She knew in her heart that by stopping the Harrow she would find out the truth of Vance’s death.

As she made her way back to the Hall, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The path seemed longer and more treacherous than she remembered, the shadows deeper and more menacing. But Anita pushed on, her resolve unshakable. Her meeting with Samuel Prendergast that day would open up Melusine’s story, and from what she’d learned so far, Anita was sure Melusine had wanted to destroy the Harrow almost as much as Anita wanted to.

***

Logan's footsteps echoed in the quiet corridors of Our Lady of the Light Church as he made his way to Father Shane's office. The old stone building, with its high arches and stained-glass windows, had always filled him with a sense of awe and peace. Today, his heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and dread. He needed answers—about the Harrow family and about himself.

Father Shane's door was slightly ajar, and Logan knocked softly before entering. The priest, looked up with kind, tired eyes from his desk. He smiled, but it was tinged with weariness.

"Logan, my boy," Father Shane greeted, gesturing for him to sit. "What brings you here today?"

Logan took a seat, trying to gather his thoughts. "Father Shane, I need to know about the Harrows. And...I need to know about my birth."

The priest's face paled, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The Harrows," he repeated softly, as if the very name weighed heavily on his tongue. "Why now, Logan? Why are you asking about this now?"

"Because I need to understand," Logan said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "There's so much I don't know, so much that's been kept from me. Please, Father. I need to know the truth."

Father Shane sighed deeply, his fingers tapping nervously on the wooden desk. "Very well, Logan. But understand, what I'm about to tell you is not easy for me to speak of. It's... it's a dark part of our town's history."

Logan nodded, leaning forward. "I'm ready."

Father Shane took a deep breath, his eyes clouding with memories. "I was very young when Melusine Harrow came to me for help. She was desperate, scared. She confided in me about the mysterious power of the Harrow family and the terrible game they were playing—a game that involved ancient rituals and a dangerous legacy."

"What did the game do?" Logan asked.

"The Harrows believed they could control fate itself through a set of enchanted dice," Father Shane explained. "These dice held great power, and they used them to manipulate events to their favor. But it came at a cost—an insidious, malevolent force that fed on their souls."

Logan's mind raced as he processed the information. "And you didn't believe Melusine?"

The priest shook his head, regret etched on his face. "No, I didn't. I was young, naive. I thought it was just the ramblings of a frightened, ill young woman. It wasn't until years later that I realized she had spoken the truth. By then, it was too late to help her."

Logan's heart ached for Melusine, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for doubting the stories he had heard about the Harrows. "And what about me? What do you know about my birth?"

Father Shane's eyes met Logan's, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with whether to speak. Finally, he nodded. "You deserve to know, Logan. You are... a Harrow."

Logan felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him. Vanessa’s accusation was something he could doubt, but he trusted the priest.

Father Shane continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Your mother gave birth to you at Harrow Hall. Hyacinth, your grandmother, arranged for you to be given up for adoption immediately after you were born. She placed you with the Emmerichs to protect you."

Logan's mind reeled. He had always felt out of place, but this revelation was almost too much to bear. "Why? Why would she give me up?"

"Because your father was a priest," Father Shane said softly. "And the Harrow was certain not to like that. Hyacinth wanted you away from the Hall, away from the family's dark legacy."

Logan's breath caught in his throat. "So, she thought the Harrow would what? Kill me?"

Father Shane nodded. "Yes, Logan, or worse. She believed that your connection to a man of faith made you a threat to the Harrow's power. By placing you with the Emmerichs, she hoped to keep you safe."

“But a priest fathering a child—if what I’m understanding about the Harrow is true, wouldn’t that fit right into their dark legacy?”

“A priest is still a man, my dear boy. As much as we fight the flesh, we never escape it until our last day. Another thing we never escape is love. We know you were given life through God’s love, but if your parents conceived you in a state of love as well…Well, that certainly wouldn’t be agreeable with the Harrow Legacy.

Logan's thoughts raced as he tried to process the weight of this revelation. His whole life, he had believed he was someone else, someone ordinary. But now, he understood the true depth of the darkness that had shaped his existence. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Hyacinth swore me to secrecy," Father Shane said. "She believed it was the only way to protect you. And over the years, as I saw the truth of what the Harrow was, and I knew she was right."

Logan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of everything. "And what about Melusine? What happened to her?"

"Melusine disappeared," Father Shane said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "Some say she ran away, others think she took her own life. I don't know. But she was a brave woman, trying to protect her family from a darkness she couldn't escape."

"So, what do I do now?"

Father Shane reached across the desk, placing a comforting hand on Logan's shoulder. "You do what I couldn’t for Melusine. You give that Anita every bit of help you are able and rely on God for what you’re not able. He will strengthen you in this fight."

Logan nodded, determination hardening his resolve.

The priest's eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pride. "Be careful, Logan. The Harrow family has always been dangerous, and you carry their blood. But you also have the strength of your father and the love of those who raised you. Use that to guide you."

Logan stood, his heart heavy but his spirit unbroken. "Thank you, Father Shane. For telling me the truth."

"Go with God, Logan," the priest said, his voice barely above a whisper. "May He protect you."

Logan left the church, the weight of his newfound knowledge pressing down on him. He walked through the quiet streets of the town, the clouds overhead beginning to part as the odd morning thunderstorm passed. He felt a sense of purpose he had never known before, a drive to uncover the secrets of his past and put an end to the dark legacy that had haunted the Harrows for generations.

***

Samuel Prendergast lived in a modest house on the outskirts of Marionville. The place had a whimsical charm, with a garden filled with blooming flowers and dozens of gnomes of all colors, sizes, and occupations. A well-maintained path led to the front door. It was barely 9:30 am. They hadn’t set a time, but Anita couldn’t wait much longer. She knocked and waited.

The door creaked open, revealing the elderly man with kind eyes and a weathered face that spoke of years of wisdom.

"Thanks for having me, Mr. Prendergast," Anita replied, stepping inside the cozy home. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the air carried the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee.

"Just Samuel is fine," he said with a chuckle, guiding her to a comfortable armchair in the living room. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Anita replied, settling into the chair.

Samuel moved to the kitchen and returned with two steaming cups. He handed one to Anita and took a seat opposite her. "So, you want to know about Melusine," he said, his expression turning nostalgic.

"Yes," Anita said softly. "I'm trying to understand more about her life and the Harrow family."

Samuel nodded, his eyes misting with memories. "Melusine was a special person. She had a heart full of kindness, even though she was surrounded by so much cruelty." He reached for a small, wooden box on the table beside him and opened it, revealing a stack of yellowed letters tied with a delicate red ribbon.

"These are the letters she wrote to me while I was overseas during the 1940s," Samuel said, handing the bundle to Anita. "We were just kids, really. She was a few years older than me, but we shared a bond that transcended age."

Anita untied the ribbon and gently unfolded the first letter, her eyes scanning the elegant handwriting.

October 5, 1943

Dear Samuel,

I hope this letter finds you well and safe. Life at Harrow Hall continues to be a challenge. My family’s cruelty knows no bounds. They see me as nothing more than a pawn in their endless games of power and manipulation. I long to leave this place, to run away and find freedom. But the ties that bind me here are strong, and I fear I may never break free.

You are the only one I can confide in, the only one who knows my true heart. Your letters bring me comfort in these dark times. Stay safe, my dear friend.

Yours, Melusine

Anita felt a pang of sadness as she read the words. She could sense the despair and loneliness that Melusine had endured. She carefully unfolded another letter.

March 12, 1944

Dear Samuel,

The days here grow longer and more oppressive. My family’s demands are relentless, and their games grow ever more sinister. I often dream of escaping, of finding a place where I can be free of their control. But every attempt I make is thwarted by their watchful eyes.

Sometimes, I feel like a prisoner in my own home. Your letters are my only solace. They remind me that there is goodness in the world, that there is hope beyond these walls. I wish I could leave and be with you, far away from this cursed place.

With all my heart, Melusine

Anita glanced up at Samuel, who was watching her with a mix of sadness and fondness. "She really trusted you," Anita said softly.

Samuel nodded. "She did. I was just a boy, but I loved her deeply. She was like an angel trapped in hell."

Anita continued reading through the letters, each one revealing more about Melusine’s struggles and her desire to escape the confines of Harrow Hall. In one of the final letters, Anita found a particularly haunting passage.

July 27, 1945

Dear Samuel,

I fear this may be my last letter to you. My family’s games have grown more dangerous, and I am afraid for my life. They are obsessed with their secrets and their power. I have hidden the rules to their twisted game, a game that has caused so much pain, and I swear I will take them to my grave.

If something happens to me, know that I loved you with all my heart. You were my only source of light in these horrid shadows. I pray that one day, the truth will be revealed, and this curse upon the Harrow family will be lifted.

Yours forever, Melusine

Anita’s heart raced as she read the letter a second time. "The rules to the game... She said she would take them to her grave," Anita murmured.

Samuel nodded slowly, his eyes filled with tears. "She was so brave, even in the face of such cruelty. She wanted to protect others from the same fate she endured."

Anita set the letters down and looked at Samuel. "I found the Harrow family cemetery this morning.” She stifled a shiver. “I didn’t see a stone for Melusine. Do you know what happened to her?"

Samuel’s expression turned somber, and he took a deep breath before speaking. "Yes, I do. I’d just gotten home from the war, and the official story was that she ran away and got lost in the woods, but I didn’t believe it. She knew that land like the back of her hand. Her time outside of the Hall was her only source of peace."

He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "I searched for her through three nights on the Harrow property. I finally found her body by the fruit orchard, hidden away in an apple cart. The townspeople never cared enough to look for her. They preferred to make up stories and rumors about her, rather than see the real her.

“She wasn’t…” He took a deep breath and the lines around his eyes creased deeply. “She’d been gone a while, but from what I could tell, she’d been strangled and her neck was broken. By who or what I don’t know, but you can bet her family was behind it.” Tears streamed down Samuel’s face as he continued. "I closed her up in that apple cart with a quilt and gave her a proper burial on the hill by the orchard. I carved an M on the tree next to her grave."

“Wouldn’t the authorities have—”

He shook his head vehemently. “Her sister-in-law had had the old sheriff in her pocket for years by then. They’d have done nothing. Worse yet, I was afraid they would have placed the blame on Melusine. They called her crazy, even her own family. I couldn’t…I just couldn’t let them tell another lie about her.”

Anita’s heart ached for Samuel and for Melusine. "I’m so sorry," she whispered. "She deserved so much better."

The old man nodded, wiping his tears with a trembling hand. "She did. She was a bright light in a dark world. I’ve spent my life trying to honor her memory."

Anita reached across and gently squeezed Samuel’s hand. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I’ll do everything I can to uncover the truth and bring some peace to her memory."

Samuel’s eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Anita. It means a lot to know that someone cares about her story."

As Anita left Samuel’s home, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. She knew she had to find Melusine’s grave and uncover the hidden rules of the Harrow family’s game. She was confident that the rules and the dice, as Vance had instructed, would give Anita the tools she needed to stop the Harrow.