Chapter 2

1434words2026-01-19 03:33

The next morning, I woke to birdsong. Sunlight filtered through stained glass, painting the sheet-covered furniture with kaleidoscope colors. The air smelled of old books and dried petals—more comforting than any designer perfume back in the city. The looming threat of bankruptcy felt distant here, as if the manor's Gothic atmosphere had created a barrier between me and my troubles, keeping them locked beyond the iron fence.

I pulled back a white sheet, revealing an enormous mahogany dining table. Despite the thin layer of dust, the wood still glowed with rich warmth. Any single piece of furniture here probably outvalued everything I'd owned in my apartment. I hauled my meager possessions from Betsy's trunk—two suitcases, a toolbox, and several bundles of cleaning supplies. Before my writing career, I'd worked various jobs, including house cleaning. That experience had given me a skill surprisingly rare these days: the ability to single-handedly resurrect an abandoned building.

"All right, old friend." I patted the wall beside me, feeling its cool surface against my palm. "We're about to start a major cleanup. If you've got any precious artifacts you don't want me touching, speak now or forever hold your peace."

I was answered by silence and a faint draft from a distant corridor—a chill that cut straight to the bone.

I took a deep breath, pulled on rubber gloves, and launched my "Estate Restoration Plan." Like an animal marking territory, I claimed each space with mop and cloth—starting in the grand hall, moving to the spiral staircase, then tackling the long corridor on the second floor. I carefully wiped each thorny stone carving, discovering they were far more intricate up close, like living vines frozen in an instant, with a strange, resin-like coldness that clung to my fingertips.

The work was more exhausting than I'd anticipated, but each cleaned area revealed its true beauty, bringing an intense satisfaction. This wasn't just some gloomy, terrifying legend anymore—it was my home. A massive, mysterious home that, gloriously, required no rent.

The first strange incident occurred while I was cleaning the easternmost bedroom on the second floor. Like the others, it contained sheet-draped furniture, and its window overlooked a neglected rose garden. I'd just cracked the window for fresh air when an unexplainable cold breeze swept in from the corridor behind me, brushing the back of my neck and raising goosebumps. When I turned, I found the window at the corridor's end tightly shut and the air completely still.

"Interesting." I paused my work and stepped to the doorway, peering down the empty corridor. I thought I heard something—a faint whisper, almost like a sigh, from the far end of the hallway. It vanished instantly, so soft it might have been my imagination.

I wasn't scared—I was thrilled. I rushed downstairs and dug a brand-new notebook with a dark brown hardcover from my suitcase. With a silver paint pen, I solemnly wrote on the cover: "Thornhill Manor Field Notes."

I opened to the first page and wrote:

**[Observation Record 001]**
Time: 2:17 PM
Location: Second floor, east corridor
Phenomenon: With all doors and windows closed, a directional cold air current flowed from west to east. Temperature dropped approximately 5-7 degrees Fahrenheit, lasting about 3 seconds. Accompanied by faint sound resembling a male sigh, extremely low frequency, content indiscernible.
Preliminary analysis: 1) Airflow anomaly caused by building structure? (Unlikely—need to inspect attic and basement ventilation systems) 2) Auditory hallucination? (Possibly caused by infrasound, but doesn't explain directional cold air) 3) Preliminary evidence of intelligent entity? (Mild manifestation, non-hostile, appears to be observing)

After documenting this, I felt much better—like a scientist conducting a groundbreaking experiment. Fear comes from losing control; recording and analyzing brings the unknown back into my domain.

Over the next few hours, as my cleaning expanded, similar incidents occurred with increasing frequency. A freshly-wiped door closed itself with a soft click when I turned to wring out my cloth. The study door, slightly ajar, swung open as I passed by, as if inviting me in. I meticulously recorded each event, numbering them in sequence.

That evening, I dragged my exhausted body into the master bathroom. I turned on the hot water, letting steam fill the space and fog the mirror. With my eyes closed, I savored the sensation of hot water washing away the day's grime, my mind still organizing and cataloging my observations.

When I shut off the water and reached for my towel, I glanced at the mirror. There on the foggy surface, someone had traced a single word with their finger.

"WELCOME"

Next to it was a crudely drawn smiley face.

My heart skipped—not from fear, but from the surprise of receiving a formal greeting. I reached out, my fingertips gently touching the letter "W." The mirror felt cold, and where the letters had been traced, the steam condensed more slowly, leaving ghostly impressions.

"Hello," I said softly, as if greeting a shy new neighbor. "Thanks for the welcome. But next time, maybe use paper? It's more efficient and easier to clean up."

I felt the air temperature subtly fluctuate, as if carrying a hint of uncertainty.

I dried off, changed into clean pajamas, then returned to the bathroom with my Field Notes. After snapping a photo of the mirror message, I wrote:

**[Observation Record 004: First Active Communication Attempt]**
Time: 8:42 PM
Location: Master bathroom
Phenomenon: "Roommate" conveyed welcome message on steam-condensed mirror. Handwriting showed clear, firm strokes, though the awkward smiley face suggests uncertainty in expressing friendliness.
Analysis: Entity possesses intelligence, understands modern English, and can interact with physical world in limited ways (manipulating water vapor, applying weak forces). This communication responds to my earlier comments, proving it has been observing me without hostility. Shows strong desire for interaction.
Note: Temporarily named "Casper," after the friendly cartoon ghost. Further observation needed to establish behavioral patterns.

The next day, I focused on the manor's crown jewel—the great library occupying nearly the entire west wing. Towering bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, dusty globes perched on stands, a mounted stag's head watched over the fireplace, and a massive oak desk dominated the center, large enough to sleep on. This was literary heaven.

I carefully dusted the ancient hardbound volumes, their spines embossed with gold lettering. The collection spanned everything from alchemy to astronomy, classical philosophy to Gothic literature. This wasn't just a family library—it was a private museum of human knowledge.

Just as I was struggling to return a massive tome titled "Studies of Ancient British Mythology" to its high shelf, something caught the rug beneath my feet. I stumbled, nearly falling. After regaining my balance, I looked down to find an old book with a deep blue cover and no title lying quietly by my feet.

I was absolutely certain it hadn't been there moments before.

I bent down and picked it up. The cover was made of some unusual leather with a strange texture, almost warm to the touch. I brushed off the dust and opened to the first page.

On the title page, a line of elegant cursive handwriting caught my eye.

*Chronicles of Thornhill Manor—To my eternal beloved, Lenore*

I froze. Lenore—how similar it sounded to Eleanor. Below this inscription was a family crest—thorny vines entwined around a sword—and a clear signature:

Julian Evergreen Vince.

Vince.

My surname.

I raised my head, scanning the silent study that suddenly seemed filled with invisible watchers, and whispered: "Julian... is that your name?"

The answer came as a sudden burst of sparks in the cold fireplace.

Clutching the book, I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and sat where the sunlight was perfect. I stroked the cover, then glanced at the name "Casper" I'd written in my Field Notes.

I picked up my pen, crossed out "Casper," and wrote a new name beside it.

"Julian."

I opened my notebook and wrote a new entry.

**[Observation Record 005: Communication Intent Confirmed & Identity Clues]**
Phenomenon: "Roommate"—Julian—through physical intervention (book displacement), provided key clues about his identity and the manor's history.
Analysis: He appears to want me to understand the manor's past and the significance of the Vince surname. Questions remain: Who was Lenore? What was her relationship to Julian? Is my inheritance somehow connected to her? This chronicle may be the first key to unlocking these mysteries.

I leaned back, resting the heavy Chronicles on my lap. Sunlight warmed me as the pages released their ancient ink fragrance. I gazed up at the study's vaulted ceiling, where light and shadow danced, seemingly concealing a sorrowful yet curious presence.

"Alright, Julian," I said softly, "I'm ready. Tell me your story."