Alice Harrow’s morning began with the sound of persistent knocking. It wasn’t the polite rap of a neighbor or the impatient buzz of a deliveryman. This was something heavier, more deliberate, like the sound of inevitability. She blinked groggily at the ceiling, the pale morning light filtering through her thin curtains. The knocking continued, relentless, pulling her from the sanctuary of sleep. She wrapped a worn cardigan around herself and shuffled to the door, her mind still clouded with remnants of a dream she could no longer remember. When she opened it, two uniformed police officers stood on the threshold. Their faces were taut, their eyes clouded with discomfort. “Ms. Harrow?” one of them asked. He was tall, with a shaved head and a voice that carried the weight of bad news. Alice nodded, clutching the edges of her cardigan tighter. “I’m Officer Greaves, and this is Officer Martin. May we come in?” The question hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Alice stepped aside, her heartbeat quickening. They entered the small apartment, their presence overwhelming the modest space. The officers didn’t sit; instead, they stood awkwardly in the living room, as if afraid their presence would leave a permanent stain. “What is this about?” Alice asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound composed. Officer Greaves cleared his throat. “Ms. Harrow, I’m afraid we have some difficult news. Your husband, David Harrow, was found deceased early this morning near Ashford House.” Alice’s knees buckled, and she sank onto the armrest of the couch. “What? How?” Officer Martin, a younger man with a face too kind for this line of work, spoke next. “The preliminary report suggests it was a heart attack.” A heart attack. The words echoed in her mind, foreign and absurd. David was healthy—almost annoyingly so. He exercised religiously, avoided anything remotely indulgent, and had the stubborn resilience of someone who seemed invincible. “That’s not possible,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s… he was… fine. Are you sure?” The officers exchanged a glance. It was fleeting but telling. They weren’t sure. Or maybe they knew more than they were letting on. “We’re sorry for your loss, Ms. Harrow,” Officer Greaves said, his tone carefully neutral. “If you have any questions or remember anything unusual about his behavior recently, please don’t hesitate to contact us.” Unusual behavior. The phrase stuck in her mind like a thorn. David had been… preoccupied lately. He’d been spending long hours at the library, pouring over old maps and documents, muttering about connections and secrets. And then there was Ashford House, the decaying mansion on the outskirts of town that seemed to haunt his thoughts. As the officers left, Alice stood frozen by the door. Her mind was a whirl of disbelief, grief, and a gnawing sense of unease. Something wasn’t right. The funeral was held three days later. It was a cold, dreary affair, fitting for the mood that had settled over Alice like a heavy shroud. The town’s elite attended, dressed in their finest black attire. They whispered their condolences with practiced sincerity, their words hollow and perfunctory. Alice barely registered them. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for… what? Answers? Comfort? She wasn’t sure. But then she saw her—an elderly woman standing apart from the others. Her hair was stark white, pulled back into a severe bun, and her sharp, piercing eyes seemed to cut through the fog of grief that surrounded Alice. The woman didn’t approach, didn’t offer a word of condolence. She simply watched, her gaze heavy with something Alice couldn’t name. The priest’s sermon droned on, a mechanical recitation of scripture that seemed more for the benefit of the living than in honor of the dead. As the casket was lowered into the ground, Alice felt an overwhelming sense of finality, but not closure. There was no peace in this goodbye, only a growing sense of unease. Back in the small apartment she had shared with David, the silence was deafening. Alice wandered into his office, a room cluttered with books, papers, and the peculiar chaos that came with David’s restless mind. She sank to the floor, surrounded by his things, and let the tears come. It was hours later when she found his journal. It was a worn leather-bound notebook, the pages filled with David’s meticulous handwriting. She traced her fingers over the words, her heart aching with every entry. He’d documented everything—his thoughts, his findings, his obsession with Ashford House. The final entry stopped her cold: “Ashford House is alive. I must see for myself.” Alice read the words over and over, their meaning eluding her. What had David meant? Alive? It was a house, an empty, crumbling relic of the past. How could it be alive? The days that followed were a blur. Alice couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. The apartment felt different, as if David’s absence had shifted its very foundation. And then there were the sounds. At first, she thought she was imagining them—soft footsteps in the hallway, faint whispers that stopped the moment she tried to listen. She told herself it was grief, her mind playing tricks on her. But the sounds persisted, growing louder, more distinct. One night, she awoke to the sensation of someone standing at the foot of her bed. She bolted upright, her heart pounding, but the room was empty. Still, she felt it—a presence, unseen but undeniable. Desperate for answers, Alice returned to David’s journal. She combed through his notes, piecing together his investigation. He’d written about the history of Ashford House, its former owners, and the rumors that surrounded it. There were whispers of disappearances, strange phenomena, and a darkness that seemed to cling to the place like a shadow. As the days turned into weeks, Alice felt herself being drawn toward the house. It was as if David’s obsession had taken root in her. She needed to understand what had happened to him, why he’d gone there, and what he’d found. The answers, she knew, lay within the walls of Ashford House. But as she stood on the threshold of that decaying mansion, her heart pounding and her breath visible in the cold night air, Alice couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. The house loomed before her, it''s dark windows like empty eyes, and she felt its presence as surely as she’d felt the presence in her apartment.  Ashford House was waiting.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.