The Old Hag

“There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.”—Edgar Allan Poe

It was the year 1820 when I had been travelling on horseback through the wearisome tracts of land that led beyond a knoll to the narrow path of the Villalobos Estate in Kingston, New York. I am a doctor by profession, and my name is Graham Crandall, an Englishman. I had been summoned to examine the dead corpse of Countess Marina Villalobos, originally from Spain, who had suffered a mysterious and unexpected death. I arrived at the colonial mansion with only the information of her death and nothing further explained.

When I raught the estate, it was close to eventide, with a faint crepuscule settling in. The imposing, thick clouds were dim and portentous, but I was able to see through the dismal gloom that had pervaded over the eldritch mansion. There were augurous crows with an ebony sheen perched upon the towering trees, cawing as I heard the plangour of the death knell. Upon arriving at the mansion, I was promptly greeted by the maidservant, who escorted me to the room where the countess had supposedly died. She lay stiff, listless, and stone cold in her bed, her hands folded.

I touched her pulse, but there was no heartbeat to be found. She had evidently been dead for several hours, according to my calculations. Her pallor was notably striking, and her bulging eyes were eerily open wide, hauntingly white, with a thin brown film over them.

She wore a ring with an onyx stone that matched the colour of her hoary hair. Her skin was covered in wrinkles, yet she was still perfumed with a florid scent. Judging by her appearance, she was a woman in her seventies, but one of impeccable nobility. I had heard of her before–her reputation for hosting splendid soirées and riveting séances. She was known for her ability to talk to the dead and foresee the future.

There was nothing I could do for the countess, but to hope that her soul had passed on to the other world and was finally resting. Preparations were made for her interment, and she would be embalmed, as per her request. It was a curious practice I had heard of—embalming.

The rain began to fall as a storm arrived from beyond the horizon, forcing me to stay the night at the house of the countess. I could never have imagined that it would be a night I would never forget. I had seen death in various forms before, under extenuating circumstances, but on that night, I would confront the most frightening death ever conceived and constructed in its permanence. It would be a lurking horror ascending from the very chasm of hell—a place where witches roamed freely during the moonlight of its nocturnal glow.

I was led to the room where I would spend the night. The two-storey mansion had six chambers, a fireplace with ornate mantels, two master bedrooms, a chandelier on the bottom storey, a long staircase, a dining hall, haunting oriel windows, narrow corridors, and distinctive paintings of the countess’s kin.

What struck me most was the countess’s obsession with jewellery. There were exquisite pieces everywhere, adorning the rooms and scattered throughout the house as embellishments. The pervasive smell of incense filled the corridors, something the countess had requested be spread after her death. I couldn’t help but wonder about the authenticity and purpose of such a request.

Inside my room, I pondered the macabre death of the countess and the mystery surrounding the mansion, though the details were scarce. After a while, I left the room and walked through the darkened corridors, my gaze fixed upon the walls around me. There were candles lit everywhere, casting a dull, eerie light. I passed a room downstairs that was full of dolls. I entered and gazed at them.

It was then that Josefina, the daughter of the countess, entered and saw me standing there. She invited me to dinner and accompanied me to the dining hall. She was a woman of striking beauty, her Spanish features illuminated by her sorrow. Her raven-black hair was long and silky, and she was endowed with fine curves, evident in her graceful posture.

She had come to see her mother before her untimely death, dressed in sable as a mark of mourning and deep reverence for her mother, or so I assumed. From what I gathered, her mother had been dealing with a mysterious illness for some time, likely due to her advanced age.

During dinner, I asked, 'Countess, if I could ask you several questions, I would like to know your responses?'

'That all depends on the questions you ask, doctor', she replied.

'I have noticed several peculiar things around the house that I find fascinating', I said.

'Such as, doctor?'

'The jewellery in the rooms and the dolls in the adjacent room to the dining hall. If you don’t mind me asking, why are they so abundantly present?'

'Surely, as you must know, my mother was a countess and adored jewellery. As for the dolls, they were like children to her. She adored them, as she adored her natural children'.

'When you say ‘natural’, you are referring to children?'

'Yes'.

I found her response odd and baffling.

The rain began to intensify, and so did my curiosity about the mysterious aura of the house and the deceased countess. I had come with only the assumption that the countess had passed away, but there was something about her daughter, Josefina, that surpassed her beauty and sorrow. I could sense there was something she was not telling me.

After dinner, Josefina excused herself and told me that she would be retiring for the night. If I needed anything, the diligent maidservant would tend to my requests. Yet, I was not satisfied with the responses to my questions, particularly the one about the dolls. Perhaps it was simply because I was unaccustomed to them.

The draperies in my room were dark and heavy, and I noticed a glisten of dew on the window. The countess had a preference for priceless things, for decorations from another era. As I gazed out the window at the landscape outside the house, I heard the strange sound of a creaking door and footsteps in the corridor.

At first, I suspected the wind was causing the creaking and the echoes of footsteps, but the sounds grew louder and prompted me to step outside and check the corridor. I found nothing. Then, I began to hear the screams of a woman in distress. I traced the origin of the screams to the room where the countess lay. I turned the doorknob, but it was locked.

To my surprise, Josefina appeared at that moment.

'Is there something I can help you with, doctor? Are you lost?' She asked.

'Good God, you startled me, young lady. I heard loud screams. Did you not hear them?'

'I am afraid not. Perhaps you have mistaken the screams for the sounds of the windy night'.

'With all due respect, I don’t think what I heard were the echoes of the wind. They sounded like the screams of a woman'.

'The only women here are the maidservant and myself. She is presently tending to private matters, and I, as you see, am standing before you'.

'But I tell you that the voice I heard was of an elderly woman'.

She smiled and replied, 'There is no elderly woman here, except my mother, but she is in her room, sleeping'.

'Sleeping? By that, you mean dead?'

'You can say that, but I much prefer to say that she is sleeping'.

I returned to my room, perplexed by Josefina’s words. The more I spoke with her, the more I felt she was speaking in riddles rather than providing concrete answers. She gave me the distinct impression that she was trying to hide something.

It was possible that I was overreacting or exaggerating the peculiar events I was experiencing at the mansion, but this was just the beginning. More inexplicable occurrences would soon unfold, leading me into an abyss of suspense and terror.

Back in my room, I could feel the presence of someone or something watching me, its stare imperious. It was an odd premonition I was experiencing. There was a painting in the room, depicting a man. I assumed it was a member of the countess’s family, perhaps her late husband. As I approached the painting, I noticed that the eyes of the figure seemed to move, as though someone was watching me. I was fixated by the painting and approached it with curiosity.

When I stood directly before it, the eyes were still. It was peculiar, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had truly seen the eyes move. I could only speculate.

I sat down on the bed, trying to collect my thoughts, when suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a music box playing. It was coming from one of the rooms nearby. I decided to investigate its source.

When I raught the room, I discovered that the music box was playing in the very room where the countess’s body was preserved. Was it placed there intentionally, at her request before her death? I had been told that she had made several requests, but I did not yet know the full extent of them.

The more time I spent in the house, the more suspicious I became of the strange occurrences I was experiencing. As I listened to the music box, I began to hear the faint sound of a piano playing, coming from the parlour. The question on my mind was, who was playing the piano? I could not make out the melody or the notes, only the sound of the keys being pressed.

When I went to the parlour, I saw that the piano was playing, but there was nobody playing it. Had I just imagined someone playing the piano, or was there something unexplained transpiring, of which I was not cognisant of its nature? Once more, Josefina had seen me and had wondered what I was doing in the parlour alone. She had a unique knack for surprising a person, and about her queer behaviour, I was suspecting it was more than tentative. She had stopped the piano from playing its diapasons by closing its lid and fallboard.

'I did not know you were an admirer of the piano, doctor,’ she had uttered.

'Once more, you startled me with your presence. Did you not hear the playing of the piano or the music box?’' I had asked her.

'Yes, I did.’

‘I must know, why was the music box playing, and how is it that the piano was playing by itself?’

‘That I can explain, doctor. The music box has a special key that allows it to be continuously played for a brief period of time, and as for the piano, it too has a special key inside the soundboard near the treble strings and tuning pins’.

She had proceeded to show me. ‘I sometimes leave the lid open, so that the tonal resonance will improve upon playing the notes and striking the chords. I know all these things that you are hearing seem to be bizarre, but they were the requests of my beloved mother, the Countess Villalobos.’

‘I don’t know how exactly to respond. As a man of medicine and science, I must have a reasonable explanation for everything, including the insoluble’.

‘I understand, doctor, and there is so much about this house that you will never understand. You see, the wicked and the good are ever at variance with its existence’.

‘What do you mean by that, countess?’

‘I merely was implying an old Spanish adage that my mother once said to me, as a child. I think it would be better, doctor, that you not allow yourself to be rattled by the type of noises you are hearing, for the house is full of these unusual sounds that you are not accustomed to hearing’.

‘Perchance, you are correct, countess. I am wont to the solitude of my own house. I shall be returning to my room. It must be late at this hour’.

‘There is no need to fret, doctor. The night is long, but the morning will arrive sooner than you expect. For now, allow your eyes and body to rest. If you hear more of these strange sounds, it is better for you to ignore them. They are common occurrences in the house’.

Upon my return to the room, I then suddenly heard the dulcet tone of a female voice that was singing. I was obfuscated and undetermined about what to do. Had the house started to affect me with its haunting manner? It was coming from the room where Countess Villalobos was.

The events that were unfolding had unsettled me profoundly. The night had seemed interminable and distressing. I had come to the house to examine the body of the countess, who was dead, but I did not expect that I would be a bidden guest to the unusual circumstances that had involved the mansion.

Where and when would this madness end? It was highly implausible that I would discover the intrinsic secrets about the house and the countess in one night. The procellous rain had stopped, and only a faint thunder could be heard from the distance. These things that were happening had kept me from sleeping that night.

Then the clanging of the tall clock was heard audibly by my ears. It had startled me as I was lying on the bed. How could I dismiss the sound, when it was ringing for several minutes? I was compelled to head towards the hallway, where the clock was situated.

Once there, I could see the brown mahogany clock. It had halted making its noise, but there was a shadowy figure of a woman walking in the corridor ahead. Was it Josefina or the maidservant? Who else was staying in the house besides them? Did an unknown stranger enter the house unannounced like a thief, or had Countess Villalobos risen from the dead?

A sudden burst of wind had entered through the velvet draperies of the room.
It was then, when I first saw a momentary glimpse of the Countess Villalobos. She had a hoary guise that was the reflection of her terrible death. Her bulging eyes were white, and her skin as well. They were covered in the pallour of her deceased body. Her hair was ashen-grey, and she was dressed in the garments in which she was to be buried. She had stared into my eyes and then disappeared into the night.

The mirror had shattered into fragments. I was astonished by the encounter and was left to contemplate what I had actually witnessed. It had made me feel uncomfortable and unprepared for the wickedness that I still had not unveiled.

Sleep was out of the question, for I could not sleep one minute without there being some odd occurrence in the house that was fathomless in its essence. I had often heard stories about the countess being the descendant of a witch that was burnt at the stake in Spain, but these were merely malicious rumours that were spread as blasphemy.

If the rumours were accurate and she was indeed a witch, then this would explain the supernatural elements that were happening inside the house, with her death. I was still incredulous to accept such a bizarre notion. The countess had died of natural causes. I had examined her and found nothing that would indicate murder. Her body was lying embalmed in her room, waiting to be buried in the cemetery in the morning.

The giant clock would ring in the hallway, upon every hour struck. That would unnerve me even more. The hour was late at night and all I could think about was the mystery of the house and the countess. I had laid down for a couple of minutes, when I had felt something near my pillow. I grabbed it and saw that it was the female image of one of the small dolls I had seen earlier.

The doll would discompose me and cause me to jump to my feet with immediacy. It was giggling at me. I threw it on to the ground and wanted no part of the doll. It kept on giggling with a devilish look in its eyes. I did not know what to do. I was about to pick it up and throw it out of the room, when I heard a knocking at my door. It was Josefina. She had entered and had seen the doll on the floor.

I had told her what had happened, and she simply grabbed the doll and told the maidservant to put it back where it belonged. She had explained to me that it was probably there in the room before I had arrived at the mansion, and that it had not been removed. She apologised, if the doll had spooked me.

I was never fond of dolls as a child. They had always unsettled me and brought hellish nightmares to my nights. I was not pleased to see them in the house, but it was not my home. The doll was the worst of my anxious moments. To think that there were more of these episodes left was becoming unbearable to fathom. Josefina had told the maidservant to bring me some tea to allay my angst.

She had stepped away for a few moments. I accepted the tea and told the maidservant, whose name was Mary, to inform the Countess Josefina that I wished to speak to her in private afterwards. The idea that the house was haunted was not out of the question, but was I really experiencing all of these things in their sequential order? She would tell the countess, who would re-enter my room.

Thereafter, I asked her some questions pertaining to the house and her mother, Countess Villalobos of Toledo. What I wished to know was how long the countess had been living in the house, and who was the original proprietor.

She answered me by saying, ‘The countess, my mother, had been living in this house, doctor, for many years, since she had married my father, Count De La Torre. He was the original proprietor of the house. It was built for him and my mother, upon their previous engagement.’

‘Your parents migrated to New York from Spain? Is that not so, countess?’ I asked her.

‘Yes’, she responded.

‘Why did they come to this area?’

‘From what I was told by them, they came to begin a new life in the Americas. Spain was beginning to rebuild after the occupation of Napoleon’.

‘Pardon the question, countess, but why is your mother associated with witchcraft?’

‘Who has told you this, doctor?’

‘I apologise, if I enquire about this matter. I was merely curious, countess’.

‘If you must know then, those claims are false. My mother is, or was, no witch. She had great power to foresee and predict the future. Would you call that witchcraft, doctor?’

‘I suppose I wouldn’t, but I can understand how people could believe that assumption’.

‘People will believe what they want to believe’.

‘Will you join me for a glass of sherry?’

‘As an Englishman, a glass of sherry will do nicely for me, thank you’.

We began a new conversation, and this time it was mostly about asking her about her life.

‘Do you enjoy living in this area of New York?’

‘Yes, doctor. I enjoy my time and stay in Kingston’.

‘Will you ever return to live in Spain?’

‘To live in Spain. I suppose one day I shall return, but I have spent most of my life here’.

‘I have been to Spain on several occasions and hope to visit the country soon’.

‘You should go. Spain is a beautiful land, with wonderful places to see and visit’.

‘What will you do, countess, without your mother? Do you plan on selling the house?’ I asked.

‘Selling the house, you ask? Why, of course not. Why should I sell the home of my mother?’

‘Forgive me for the implication. I had expected, once your mother had passed away, that you would sell the property’.

‘That would be foolish of me, doctor. This is her home’.

‘But she is dead, countess’.

‘Dead, you mean in body, not in spirit?’ She answered.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Soon, you will understand everything, doctor, in due time’.

She had then left, and I had pondered her replies and insinuations. What did she mean by, I would soon understand everything? Understand what? That was the significant question that had required a logical answer. Was she speaking in a vague notion or rhetorical sense? I could not fully determine what was exactly transpiring with the occurrences in the house, but they were related in some form to the death of the countess.

I had remembered cases of witchcraft in Salem and in Spain, during the time of the Inquisition. Could they be connected to the countess and her family back in Spain? Was she and her family avoiding capture and ultimately, being burnt to the stake for witchcraft?

This had intrigued me to know the truth about the family of the countess and her unique history. It was not unordinary that people who had claim to see the future or predict it would be assumed to be witches or warlocks. There were still persons who had puritan beliefs against witchcraft or its concept of execration. I had read how those that were found guilty of practising its abominable rituals were executed in the most inhumane manner conceived.

I did not know if it was a certainty that the countess had possessed the powers of witchcraft, but I did know that it was facile to accuse someone of witchcraft, with limited evidence provided. The history of America and Europe were smeared, in the tainted blood of sanctimonious and religious injustice.

I had seen from the view of my window outside, a lone figure of an older woman passing the tall trees by the courtyard patio. At first, I could not truly make a clear distinction who this person was. After a closer look, as the woman had approached my window, I then saw the ghastly image of the spectre of Countess Villalobos again.

Had she come to torment me? Had she come to make me believe that she was alive and not dead? It was hard to imagine that she could be alive, within the realm of our reality. It was most likely her restless spirit that had returned to haunt the mansion.

She was like a shadow of time, and her lingering soul was condemned to wander forever, as a dreadful ghost. How could that thing even be feasible to comprehend? Where do I even begin? The apprehension in me was a consternated experience. I had to discover the truth about the countess and the mansion, or I would go insane. I had to see the body of the countess once more.

That would mean that I would need to go inside her room, where she was declared dead by me. It was perhaps disrespectful to try to enter the room without permission granted. When I had raught her door, I could smell the process of the putrid stench of her body. I would utilise the pretext of checking on her to see if she had not released any reeking body odours, or was beginning the gradual process of decomposition, despite the embalmment.

I had knocked on the door of Josefina and had explained to her what I had mentioned before. She was a bit surprised to see me and to hear what I was alluding to with my words. We were definitely at a discordance.

'Why would it even matter, doctor, if she smelt or not? I shall take care of that in the morning. I will make certain that she is perfumed, with her favourite scent as requested'.

'I know it will sound strange to you, but I have an urgency to see her'.

'An urgency? What type of urgency, doctor?'

'I cannot explain it with words, countess. I can show you, once we are there at her room and see her body'.

'I don't see the need at this moment to conduct such a thing, but if you insist, I will go with you'.

At that moment, someone had knocked on the front door. The maidservant had answered the door and it was a constable, who had wanted to speak with Josefina. When he spoke to the countess, he would inform her that the image of her mother was seen roaming along the grounds of the estate and on the main road leading to the estate.

I was able to overhear the conversation, and the expression on the face of the countess was one that displayed no measure of amazement. It had seemed that she was aware of her mother's apparition, or she was merely attempting to disguise her discontent.

Whatever was her authentic reaction, it had proven to me that I had not seen an illusion, or was the only one to have seen Countess Villalobos in person. Whilst the countess was occupied with the constable, I had managed to find the key that belonged to the room of the deceased Countess Villalobos.

When I had entered inside the room, I would behold a horrifying image. The body of the countess was gone. Either someone had removed her body, or she had risen from the dead, like the biblical Lazarus. The maidservant had entered then and had screamed, as she recoiled in awe.

This would alert the constable, and he would demand to enter the house. The countess was reluctant at first, but she then had allowed him entrance into the mansion. When he had reached the room of Countess Villalobos, he saw the maidservant and I standing with a bewildered look on our faces and enquired,

'What is going on here?'

'The countess has awakened!' The maidservant uttered.

'Who?' the constable asked.

'Countess Villalobos', I replied.

'What are you talking about?'

Josefina had entered the room. She ordered the maidservant out of the room, then she said to us, 'There is no need to worry. My beloved mother has been moved from the room. I had removed her myself'.

'Removed, you say? Where to?' I asked.

'To another room in the house, doctor. You can trust me when I say, she will be prepared for tomorrow's funeral'.

Her reason had convinced the constable, and he would soon leave the house.

'I guess there is nothing for me to do here. I shall be on my way. If you will excuse me'.

After the constable had departed, I had spoken in privacy with Josefina about the disappearance of her mother. She had confirmed to me that she had indeed moved the body to another room. It was her decision to make, and I was no one to dispute that decision. After all, I was only a doctor. I was concerned with the health of the maidservant. Thus, I went to examine her. The shock of not seeing the body of the countess in her room had affected her. To what capacity, I did not know.

I told Josefina that I would return to speak seriously about the matter of her mother. Fortunately, the maidservant had calmed herself, but I did perceive in her this anxiety that was palpable. I did not know if she knew about the spectral image of the countess.

Once I returned to speak to Josefina, I had demanded to see her mother.

'Take me to see her at once. As her doctor, I must see the state of her body'.

'Why? She is dead, as you know. Why awaken her, when she is quietly asleep in another room?'

'Believe me. It is not my intention to be rude nor impose upon you, countess. I am merely making a small request'.

Seeing that I was insistent, she had acquiesced.

'You are a very persistent man, doctor. I will take you to see mother now'.

I was taken to the new room where Countess Villalobos was at. It was there where I saw her familiar dead body again, and it was a horrendous impression I had that I could not rid myself of its haunting aspect. Her body was still stiff but colder, and her hands had remained folded. Her lips were still parched. It was her dreadful eyes that had terrified me the most—they were bulging.

It did not appear to me that Josefina was shocked by those eyeballs. I had wanted to believe that she was not involved with the disappearance. What was the reason for her to remove the body in the first place?

'Did you know that the eyeballs were still bulging?' I asked Josefina.

'Yes. I was aware of that'.

'It seems strange to me, and I am a doctor'.

'Mother had always had big oval eyes'.

'It just seems odd, countess'.

'You will not understand'.

'Understand what?'

'Look behind you—for mother has risen'.

I had turned around and saw that Countess Villalobos had risen from the dead. She rose from her bed and sat up, with her bulging eyes. It was a disturbing scene to witness. I was somewhat discomposed for a moment before I had regained my mental faculties. When I had turned to look at Josefina, she had a sinister grin on her face and began to laugh. She had gone mad like her mother. It was insanity that had killed Countess Villalobos.

This was the reason that I was unaware of its relevance. Was I too going mad? Was this nothing more than a conjured hallucination of a fretful state? I had taken notice of every occurrence that had happened in the house, since I had first arrived there.

I had scurried out of the room. As I was outside of the narrow corridor, I could hear the sound of the giant clock clanging and clanging, until it had deafened me. I fell to my knees and had covered my ears, until I opened my eyes and had felt the touch of a person upon my sweating hands. It was the maidservant, who had found me on the floor.

It was morning when she had found me in the parlour. She had asked me what I was doing in the parlour alone. I told her that in that adjacent room, I had seen Countess Villalobos rise from the dead. She looked at me and told me that I had experienced a nightmare. The countess was still in her room, waiting to be buried in the morning. When I asked her about the whereabouts of Josefina, she had told me she was in her room preparing for the funeral.

I had gone to her room and spoke to her. She had been preparing herself when I had entered the room. I had asked her about the incident from last night with her mother, and she had seemed to be surprised, as if she did not know what I was alluding to.

I left her and headed towards the room where her mother was being prepared. Inside the room, I saw that her eyes were indeed still bulging. Slowly, I started to touch her and there was no reaction, no suspirious movement. She was stone dead, like the day before.

Had I merely imagined that she had risen, beguiled by her susurrus? I did not wish to spend another minute in that house of horror. It was maliferous. Thus, I departed the estate of Countess Villalobos, with the memory of the prior night still vivid in my mind. I had convinced myself that all I had witnessed had been but a dreadful nightmare.

Upon mounting my horse, I bid farewell to Josefina and the maidservant. I wished to believe that my experiences in the house were real, yet an insidious doubt crept into my thoughts, troubling me. If I had encountered a ghost—or some phantasmal image—what, then, did it signify in the broader sense? There was nothing ordinary about that house, nor the old woman, the Countess herself. They were all the actual embodiment of death’s emerging shadows.

Along the dirt road that led from the estate, near a murmuring brook, I came upon the figure of a solitary elderly woman, her back turned to me. I halted my horse at once. Then I called out to her.

When she turned, she emitted a loud, sharp shriek. It was the ineffaceable image of the old hag—her bulging eyes staring directly into mine.

My horse reared slightly at the sound, its hooves clawing the air as though resisting the presence that lingered in the hush beyond the trees. The shriek—the sharp, inhuman cry—had not merely been heard, but felt, like a cold nail driven into the spine. The woman stood motionless, her frame silhouetted by the early mist, and when she turned, the sight of her features rooted me to the ground. Her face, warped by age and something more unnatural still, bore the mark of one who had lingered far too long on the threshold of the grave.

The brook beside the road murmured as it always had, but it no longer soothed. It gurgled as though conscious, mocking, repeating the last note of her cry with cruel delight. The trees stood lifeless and mute, their branches bending slightly as if bowing to a hidden presence. I dismounted with caution, compelled not by logic but by some inwards pull that resisted explanation.

Every step towards her was like wading through a mire of invisible weight. The world had grown dense and suspended, as though time itself had thickened around us. The woman produced a small object from her shawl—her hands twitching with strange energy—and extended it with an eerie purpose. My fingers reached out, though my mind recoiled. Wrapped in old, withering cloth, the object bore an air of age and rot.

Unwrapping it slowly, I uncovered a blackened cameo locket, its surface dull, its chain knotted and tangled like a nest of vipers. Upon it was engraved the profile of Countess Villalobos, her likeness carved with unsettling precision. The ivory relief was cracked and dusted with something darker than time. And yet the eyes—her eyes—possessed a shine, an unnatural shimmer, as if they knew they were being watched.

The cold that spread from the locket entered my bones with the certainty of winter. My breath misted in the still air, despite the absence of frost. Around me, the leaves no longer stirred, and the brook itself seemed to hold its breath.

The woman began to move. Not a cold shiver, but a violent, spasmodic collapse—as though her body was resisting itself. Her form seemed to shrink inwards, her features crumpling like paper touched by flame. In mere moments, her body gave way, and she crumbled into grey ash. A faint breeze stirred the remains, sending her into the air, weightless and gone.

I remained there for what felt like an eternity. The locket still lay in my palm, a token now seared into my ominous fate. Though the figure had vanished, her presence had not. The trees resumed their gentle swaying, but they no longer offered comfort. Even the brook, though it bubbled and ran, no longer sang with innocence.

When I climbed back atop my horse, the weight of the morning pressed down like the dust of a tomb. The path behind me had darkened, the way ahead no longer familiar. The estate, far in the distance, barely visible above the surrounding woods, cast its singular shadow inwards upon the land, stretching far beyond its foundations.

The day was gone, but it had not ended. There was still the terror in me that had remained. That evil shriek and those bulging eyes haunted me.

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