Chapter 1: The Unexpected Bequest
The envelope was thick, sealed with crimson wax and the crest of a raven holding a key in its beak—definitely not the kind of thing Nana ever sent through the post. Eliza Finch turned it over in her hands, frowning at the ornate calligraphy that spelled out her name. No return address, no postmark, just her name written in flowing script that reminded her of the antique documents she sometimes referenced for her architectural restoration projects.
Rain tapped against the windows of her small apartment, the gray afternoon light barely illuminating the stack of unpaid bills on her kitchen counter. Three months behind on rent, six rejections from design firms in the last month alone, and now this mysterious letter appearing in her mailbox less than a week after burying her grandmother.
Eliza slid her finger under the seal, careful not to damage the wax impression. Inside was heavy parchment, yellowed at the edges and smelling faintly of roses and something else—something older, like dust and forgotten places.
"Dear Eliza," began the letter in the same flowing script. She recognized the handwriting now. Nana had always written her birthday cards in this formal style, though never with such fancy materials.
"If you are reading this, then I have finally passed beyond the veil, and you are now the last of our line. What I am about to share with you I have kept hidden for decades, hoping I might spare you this burden. But time has run short, and choices must be made."
Eliza sank into her threadbare armchair, rain forgotten, bills forgotten, as she read on.
"Enclosed you will find the deed to Ravenscroft Manor, your true ancestral home. The property and all its contents now belong to you, as does the responsibility that comes with it. Some inheritances come with prices. Trust only the shadows. Use the key wisely."
The letter ended with a flourish of her grandmother's signature, along with a postscript: "Forgive me, my darling girl. I had hoped to find another way."
Eliza upended the envelope, and two items fell into her lap: a folded document and a heavy iron key that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the dim light. The key was old—centuries old, by the look of it—with intricate engravings along its shaft that shifted strangely when she tried to focus on them.
The document was indeed a deed, transferring ownership of Ravenscroft Manor from Eleanor Margaret Finch to Elizabeth Jane Finch, dated just three days before her grandmother's death.
"Ravenscroft?" Eliza whispered to her empty apartment. In all her twenty-eight years, through all the stories her grandmother had told her of their family history, she had never once mentioned a place called Ravenscroft Manor.
Her phone buzzed on the side table—her sister Margot's name flashing on the screen.
"Please tell me you're not still moping in that apartment," Margot said without preamble. "It's been a week, Liz. Nana wouldn't want you hiding away like this."
"I'm not hiding," Eliza replied, still staring at the deed. "I'm... processing. And something strange just happened."
"Strange how?"
"I got a letter from Nana. Postmortem, I mean. With a deed to some property I've never heard of. Ravenscroft Manor. Does that name mean anything to you?"
The silence on the other end stretched long enough that Eliza checked to make sure the call hadn't dropped.
"Margot?"
"Sorry, I'm here. No, never heard of it. Are you sure it's legitimate? There are plenty of scammers who target people after obituaries are published."
"It's her handwriting. And there's this key..." Eliza trailed off, not sure how to describe the odd feeling the key gave her—like it was somehow waiting for something.
"A property deed and a key. Let me guess, it's for some run-down shack in the middle of nowhere that probably has decades of back taxes owed on it. Classic." Margot's practical nature always came through in her tone, a trait she'd inherited from their father.
"Maybe. I'm going to look it up." Eliza cradled the phone against her shoulder as she opened her laptop, fingers typing quickly. "Ravenscroft Manor."
The search results were sparse. A few mentions in historical society records, a couple of blurry images on obscure paranormal websites, and one real estate listing from fifteen years ago that had been removed. What she could piece together described a Victorian estate nestled in dense forest about four hours from the city, near a coastal town she'd never visited.
"Well?" Margot prompted.
"It's... a mansion, apparently. Built in the 1880s by someone called Lenore Ravenscroft. Looks like it's been abandoned for years." Eliza clicked through the few available images—a crumbling stone wall, an overgrown garden, and a single, distant shot of a multi-gabled roof rising above the trees.
"Abandoned property in the middle of nowhere? Sounds like a money pit, Liz. You can barely afford your rent, and now Nana's leaving you with some decrepit old house to deal with? Sell it to a developer if it's even worth anything."
Eliza's fingers traced the edges of the key. "Maybe. But don't you think it's weird that she never mentioned it? All those summers we spent with her, all those stories about our family, and not once did she talk about owning a mansion."
"Nana was... complicated. You know that. Look, I've got to run—Olivia has ballet in twenty minutes. Promise me you'll talk to a real estate attorney before you do anything crazy?"
"Define crazy."
"Eliza. I'm serious."
"Fine. I'll consult a professional. Happy?"
After ending the call, Eliza sat in silence, the rain's rhythm intensifying as evening approached. The practical thing would be to follow Margot's advice—talk to an attorney, figure out what taxes might be owed, list the property for whatever she could get.
But something about the letter, about the key in her hand, pulled at her. Some inheritances come with prices. Trust only the shadows. What had Nana meant by that?
The next morning found Eliza on the road, her ancient Honda Civic packed with a weekend bag, her laptop, and a cooler of snacks. The GPS estimated just over four hours to reach the coastal town of Blackmere Point, the nearest settlement to where Ravenscroft Manor was supposedly located.
The journey took her through increasingly remote countryside, through towns that grew smaller and farther between, until finally the road began to wind along cliffs overlooking a steel-gray ocean. Blackmere Point itself was barely more than a cluster of weathered buildings—a general store, a diner, a small inn, and scattered houses with peeling paint and sturdy storm shutters.
Eliza stopped at the general store, a bell jingling as she pushed open the door. The middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine, eyes widening slightly at the sight of a stranger.
"Help you?" she asked, setting the magazine aside.
"I hope so. I'm looking for directions to Ravenscroft Manor."
The woman's expression shifted, something like concern washing over her features before she composed herself. "Ravenscroft? Nobody's lived there for decades. Road's not even marked on most maps anymore."
"I've inherited it," Eliza said, pulling out the deed. "I'm Eleanor Finch's granddaughter."
"Eleanor Finch," the woman repeated slowly, as if testing the name. "Never knew her real name. The old lady who came through twice a year to check on the place—we always just called her Mrs. Raven."
"That was my grandmother, yes. She... she never told me about this place."
The woman studied Eliza's face, then nodded slightly, as if confirming something to herself. "Guess there's a family resemblance at that. Especially around the eyes." She pulled a notepad from under the counter and began sketching a crude map. "You'll want to take the coastal road north about eight miles, then there's a turnoff just past the old lighthouse. Dirt road, easy to miss. Follow that for another two miles until you hit the stone wall. Gate should be on your right."
Eliza thanked her and turned to leave.
"Miss?" the woman called after her. "If you're planning to stay there... the nights get cold up on that hill. And dark. Real dark."
The warning, delivered in such a matter-of-fact tone, sent a small shiver down Eliza's spine. But she smiled politely and continued on her way.
The coastal road was narrow and winding, hugging the cliffs with the ocean churning below. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, promising more rain by nightfall. The turnoff, as predicted, was easy to miss—just a gap in the trees with a hint of a rutted path beyond. Her Civic bounced and protested as she navigated the overgrown road, branches scraping against the windows.
After what seemed much longer than two miles, the trees opened up to reveal a massive stone wall, moss-covered and crumbling in places but still standing firm after what must have been over a century. The wrought-iron gate was exactly where the store clerk had indicated, partially hidden by vines but intact.
Eliza sat in her car for a long moment, staring at the gate. This was her last chance to turn around, to go back to her apartment, call a real estate agent, and wash her hands of whatever secrets Ravenscroft Manor held. The practical choice. The Margot choice.
Instead, she grabbed the iron key from her pocket and stepped out into the gathering dusk.
The key fit perfectly into the rusted lock of the gate, turning with surprising ease. The hinges shrieked in protest as she pushed the gate open, just wide enough to slip through. She returned to her car and eased it through the narrow opening, then closed the gate behind her.
The driveway beyond was in better condition than the access road had been, curving gently through manicured grounds that, while overgrown, showed signs of basic maintenance. Someone had been keeping the worst of the wilderness at bay.
As she rounded the final curve, Ravenscroft Manor revealed itself fully for the first time. Eliza's breath caught in her throat.
It was magnificent, even in its neglect. Three stories of dark stone and timber, with a central tower rising another floor above that. Gables and turrets punctuated the roofline, and tall, narrow windows reflected the dimming sky. A wide porch wrapped around the first floor, its roof supported by intricately carved columns.
This was no run-down shack. This was a masterpiece of Gothic Revival architecture that would have cost millions to build today.
Eliza parked before the grand front entrance and stepped out, the air noticeably cooler here than in town, heavy with the scent of pine and impending rain. Up close, she could see the signs of age and neglect—peeling paint on the trim, missing roof tiles, a sagging section of porch railing. But the bones of the place were solid, imposing.
The manor didn't look abandoned. Neglected, yes, but not abandoned. The windows, though dusty, weren't broken. The grounds, though overgrown, weren't completely wild. It looked... waiting.
"What were you hiding, Nana?" Eliza whispered as she approached the front door, key in hand.
Before she could reach it, the first drops of rain began to fall, quickly becoming a downpour. She hurried the last few steps and fitted the key into the elaborately wrought lock. It turned smoothly, and the massive oak door swung inward on silent hinges.
Eliza hesitated on the threshold, peering into the dimness beyond. A grand entryway stretched before her, a sweeping staircase rising to the second floor, doorways leading off to other rooms. Despite years of apparent disuse, there was no musty smell, no feeling of stale air.
As she stepped inside, closing the door against the rain, a flash of movement caught her eye. She looked up, toward the second-floor landing, just in time to see a flicker of light disappear down the hallway—as if someone carrying a candle had just moved out of sight.
"Hello?" she called, her voice echoing in the vast space. "Is someone there?"
Only silence answered her, but as the last of the daylight faded outside and darkness settled over Ravenscroft Manor, she could have sworn she heard the faint notes of a music box playing somewhere deep within the house.
Eliza's fingers tightened around the key in her pocket as she took another step forward, into whatever legacy her grandmother had left her.
