The Inheritance Letter
Chapter 2: Whispers in the Walls
"Hello?" Eliza called again, her voice swallowed by the vastness of the entry hall. She fumbled for her phone, switching on its flashlight to illuminate the space before her.
The beam revealed a once-grand foyer with a marble floor arranged in a black and white checkerboard pattern. A massive crystal chandelier hung overhead, its facets catching her light and scattering it across the walls. Dust covers draped over what she assumed were pieces of furniture, ghostly white shapes in the dimness.
Eliza moved toward what appeared to be a wall switch near the door. To her surprise, when she flipped it, warm light flooded the entry hall as the chandelier came to life.
"Electricity," she murmured. "Someone's been paying the bills."
The illuminated foyer was even more impressive—ornate crown molding, dark wood paneling, and a sweeping staircase with an intricately carved banister. Two corridors led off from the main hall, and through an archway, she glimpsed what looked like a formal sitting room.
A boom of thunder rattled the windows, making her jump. Rain lashed against the glass panes, and wind moaned around the eaves of the old house. Eliza pulled her jacket tighter around herself, suddenly aware of the drop in temperature.
"First things first," she said aloud, finding comfort in the sound of her own voice. "Bags from the car."
She dashed through the rain to retrieve her weekend bag and laptop, then returned to the shelter of the house, dripping onto the marble floor. With her belongings secured, she began a careful exploration of the ground floor.
The sitting room was elegantly appointed, furniture draped with dust covers but clearly of high quality beneath. A grand piano stood in one corner, its surface free of dust unlike everything else. Eliza lifted the cover and pressed a key, the note ringing clear and perfectly in tune.
"Definitely not abandoned," she whispered.
The dining room featured a table that could seat sixteen, with a crystal chandelier as impressive as the one in the foyer. The kitchen was surprisingly modern—not contemporary, but updated perhaps in the 1980s, with appliances that seemed functional. To her astonishment, when she opened the refrigerator, she found it running and stocked with basic essentials: milk, eggs, butter, and several prepared meals in covered dishes.
A note on the counter, written in spidery handwriting:
For the new mistress of Ravenscroft. Welcome home.
Eliza's skin prickled. Someone had expected her. Someone had prepared for her arrival.
She continued her exploration, finding a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a conservatory with dormant plants, and a small study with a desk neatly arranged with stationery and pens. Everywhere she went, she flipped on lights, banishing shadows, creating a trail of illumination through the massive house.
Eventually, she climbed the grand staircase to the second floor. Here, the hallway stretched in both directions, lined with doors that she assumed led to bedrooms. She opened them one by one, finding guest rooms in various states of readiness—some fully furnished, others with furniture stored under covers.
In the east wing, she discovered what must have been the master suite—a massive bedroom with a four-poster bed, an adjoining sitting room, and a surprisingly updated bathroom with a claw-foot tub and modern fixtures.
On the dresser stood a framed photograph, the only personal item she'd found so far. Eliza picked it up, wiping away a thin layer of dust. It showed a woman in her thirties, dressed in a fashion that seemed to date from the 1970s, standing on the porch of Ravenscroft Manor. With a start, Eliza recognized her grandmother—much younger than she'd ever known her, but unmistakably Eleanor Finch.
She set the photo down and moved to the window, gazing out at the storm that now engulfed the estate. Lightning illuminated the grounds in brief, stark flashes, revealing gardens and pathways, a stone gazebo, and what looked like a small cemetery plot at the edge of the visible property.
Thunder crashed again, and the lights flickered. Eliza hurriedly left the room, suddenly uneasy about being caught in darkness in an unfamiliar place. She returned to the ground floor, retrieving her bag and setting up a base in the library, which felt somehow more welcoming than the other rooms.
The library walls were lined with books, many appearing quite old. A rolling ladder provided access to the highest shelves. Two leather armchairs flanked a fireplace where, to her surprise, wood was already neatly stacked, ready to be lit. A desk stood near the window, and above the fireplace hung a portrait.
Eliza approached it, drawn by something familiar in the painted face. The portrait depicted a woman in Victorian dress, her dark hair swept up in an elegant style, her pale face serious but with a hint of something knowing in her eyes. The nameplate on the frame read "Lenore Ravenscroft, 1889."
The resemblance was unmistakable—this woman could have been Eliza's twin, or more accurately, Eliza could have been hers. The same high cheekbones, the same slightly upturned nose, the same deep-set eyes, though the portrait showed them as a striking blue where Eliza's were green.
"Great-great-grandmother?" Eliza wondered aloud, studying the painted face. "Or something more distant?"
A sudden draft made the flames in the fireplace dance, though Eliza couldn't recall having lit it. She turned, startled, to find the fire burning merrily, as if it had been lit for hours.
"I didn't..." she began, then stopped. The fire was impossible, yet undeniably there.
From somewhere deep in the house came the faint sound of the music box she'd heard earlier, a delicate tinkling melody that faded as quickly as it had come. Eliza shivered despite the warmth of the fire.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since a quick snack on the road hours earlier. Deciding to focus on practical matters, she returned to the kitchen and examined one of the covered dishes in the refrigerator—a casserole of some kind that smelled delicious when she removed the lid.
After heating a portion in the microwave (which, like everything else, functioned perfectly), Eliza sat at the small kitchen table and ate, trying to make sense of everything she'd found. The house was in good repair, the utilities working, food prepared—someone had been maintaining the place and clearly expected her arrival.
Her grandmother had visited twice a year, according to the woman at the general store. But why keep this place secret? Why never mention it to her granddaughters?
Some inheritances come with prices.
The phrase from Nana's letter haunted her now. What price came with Ravenscroft Manor?
As she rinsed her plate at the sink, Eliza heard it again—distinct this time—the sound of voices engaged in hushed conversation. She froze, straining to listen. The voices seemed to be coming from the direction of the dining room, a man and a woman speaking in urgent tones.
Eliza crept toward the sound, but as she approached the dining room door, the voices ceased. She pushed the door open to find the room exactly as she'd left it—empty, the table still covered, chairs arranged neatly around it.
"Hello?" she called. "Is someone here?"
Silence answered her.
She was turning to leave when she noticed something different—a book lay on the table, though she was certain there had been nothing there during her earlier exploration. Eliza approached cautiously and lifted the dust cover to reveal a leather-bound volume, its pages yellowed with age.
The book was open to a family tree, names and dates inscribed in faded ink. At the top was "Lenore Ravenscroft b. 1855 - d. 1932" with branches extending downward through the generations. Eliza traced the lines with her finger, following the path that eventually led to "Eleanor Margaret Finch b. 1936 - d. 2023" and finally to "Elizabeth Jane Finch b. 1995 -".
Her own name, already recorded in a book she'd never seen before today.
A floorboard creaked behind her. Eliza whirled around to find an elderly man standing in the doorway, his thin frame supported by a wooden cane. He wore a dark suit of old-fashioned cut, his white hair neatly combed, his face deeply lined but his eyes sharp and clear.
"Miss Finch," he said, his voice surprisingly strong for one who appeared so frail. "We've been expecting you."
Eliza's heart hammered in her chest. "Who are you? How did you get in?"
A faint smile touched the old man's lips. "I am Thaddeus Blackwood, caretaker of Ravenscroft Manor for the past forty-seven years. As for how I got in, I never left. I live in the caretaker's cottage on the grounds."
"You've been maintaining this place? For my grandmother?"
He nodded. "For the Ravenscroft estate, yes. Your grandmother was the last known heir until now. She made arrangements for the upkeep of the property, though she herself visited rarely."
"Why have I never heard of this place? Why keep it secret?"
Thaddeus leaned more heavily on his cane. "Perhaps that is a conversation better had in the morning, Miss Finch. You've had a long journey, and the house can be... overwhelming for newcomers."
As if to emphasize his point, thunder crashed overhead, and all the lights in the house flickered ominously.
"I prepared the east bedroom for you," he continued. "Mrs. Finch always preferred that room when she visited. I believe you found it already?"
Eliza nodded, still wary but somewhat reassured by the old man's matter-of-fact manner. "The one with her photograph?"
"Indeed. I've lit a fire there to ward off the chill. These old houses can get quite cold on stormy nights." He turned to leave, then paused. "One piece of advice, if I may, Miss Finch. Keep to the lighted rooms after sunset. Ravenscroft has its... peculiarities."
Before she could ask what he meant, Thaddeus was gone, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Eliza hurried after him, but when she reached the foyer, there was no sign of the old man. The front door remained firmly closed, showing no evidence of having been opened to the storm outside.
Unsettled, Eliza returned to the library to collect her bag, intending to take Thaddeus's advice and retire to the east bedroom. As she entered, she could have sworn the books on one particular shelf had been rearranged since her last visit, with several volumes now lying horizontal atop the others, as if hastily replaced.
Curious, she approached the shelf and examined the books. They were all related to local history, focusing on the founding of the nearby town and the prominent families of the region. One volume in particular caught her eye: "The Ravenscroft Legacy: Commerce and Controversy in Coastal New England."
Eliza pulled it from the shelf, intending to take it with her to read before bed. As she did, something shifted in the wall behind the shelf—a soft click followed by the unmistakable sound of wood sliding against wood.
The entire bookcase moved, swinging outward like a door to reveal a narrow passage beyond.
Eliza stared at the hidden doorway, her pulse quickening. A secret passage, just like in the gothic novels she'd devoured as a teenager. Part of her wanted to close the bookcase immediately, to pretend she hadn't seen it. But another part, the part that had driven her to architecture and restoration, that had always been fascinated by old buildings and their secrets, couldn't resist.
She used her phone's flashlight to illuminate the passage. A steep, narrow staircase descended into darkness, the stone steps worn in the center from countless feet over countless years.
Eliza took one step toward the hidden staircase, then stopped as the music box melody drifted up from below—louder now, clearer, its delicate notes forming a tune that seemed almost familiar, as if from a half-remembered dream.
From deeper in the house came the sound of footsteps, too heavy to belong to the frail Thaddeus. They moved with purpose down the hallway toward the library.
Eliza made a split-second decision. She grabbed her bag, ducked into the secret passage, and pulled the bookcase closed behind her. Through a small gap, she watched as a tall shadow moved across the library doorway, pausing as if sensing her recent presence, before continuing on.
Heart pounding, Eliza turned her attention to the stairs before her. The music box melody had stopped, but now she could hear something else from below—a rhythmic scratching, like a pen on paper.
Someone—or something—was down there.
With her phone's light to guide her, Eliza began her descent into the hidden depths of Ravenscroft Manor, drawn by a curiosity stronger than fear, toward whatever secrets lay waiting in the darkness below.
