Hidden Beneath: Part 1/2

A Horror Story

The inn was nestled in the village amidst the fog-draped moors. It was a relic of ages past with ancient timbers that creaked with the weight of centuries bearing down on them. A solitary lantern cast a feeble glow upon the weathered facade, while within, the flickering fire at the hearth danced with the shadows. Lashing rain streaked the narrow windows.

My coat billowed behind me like the tattered wings of a raven as I approached the front door. I strode into the dimly lit sanctuary of antiquity and crossed the room to the bar, keen to keep my business private.

The innkeeper, a stooped figure with gnarled hands and rheumy eyes, regarded me with wariness and curiosity. ‘Welcome, sir,’ said the innkeeper, his voice a rasp. ‘What brings you to our humble establishment?’

My lips curved into a smile, revealing nothing I didn’t want known. I am a stranger here, and anything I did, everything I did, would be observed in the gloom and noted by the locals. ‘I seek shelter from the tempest,’ I replied, my voice a low murmur.

‘Of course. Terrible weather out.’ His gaze scrutinised me. ‘What business do you have in the village?’

‘I will be collecting the keys to my estate in the morning.’

The stooped man behind the bar thought for a long moment and then seemed to recall something that sent shivers down his spine. ‘There’s only one place around here available, just outside the village. You don’t want nought to do with that place, let me tell you.’

‘Whyever not?’ Before the innkeeper could respond, I noticed several patrons shift in their seats and share a glance.

’There’s history up there.’

One of the patrons, a middle-aged man with a heavy frame, half-turned towards me, just enough to look at me from the corner of his eye. ‘History has a habit of repeating itself.’

‘I’m not worried about coincidences.’ The tension in the air thickened as I brushed off the warnings of the locals despite their palpable unease. The innkeeper's rheumy eyes widened with concern, his gnarled hands wringing nervously as he implored me to reconsider.

The man who addressed me finished his ale and left, letting the fierce wind blast through the room before closing the door.

‘Sir, I beg of you,’ the innkeeper pleaded, his voice quivering with fear. ‘There are forces at play in that house beyond our comprehension. It is not a place for the living to tread lightly.’

But I dismissed his concern with a chuckle, a derisive smirk playing at the corners of my lips. ‘Superstition and nonsense,’ I declared with contempt. ‘There are no ghosts or ghouls lurking in the shadows, no demons waiting to drag me to the depths of hell. You are all simply victims of your own irrational fears.’

With a nod, the innkeeper handed over a tarnished key and gestured towards the staircase that led to the upper chambers. ‘Very well, sir. Your room awaits you at the top of the stairs.’

And with that, I climbed into the murk of the inn, leaving the innkeeper to ponder. I’m sure that both he and the patrons exchanged anxious glances in my wake as I ascended the creaking staircase. When I reached the top a heavy atmosphere settled over the in, the only noises were pops and crackles of the fire and the distant howl of the wind.

The following morning, I freshened up and descended the creaking staircase. As I reached the bottom, the innkeeper shuffled over, his rheumy eyes betraying a hint of apprehension.

‘Sir,’ the innkeeper began, his voice barely a whisper amidst the silence of the dimly lit hall, ‘I must confess something to you.’

I arched an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. ‘What is it?’

‘The property agent has left the key for you,’ the innkeeper hesitated as if grappling with the words.

‘He left the key with you? When?’

‘This morning. He had to leave urgently. He left the key with me, but…’ He trailed off, his gaze darting nervously around the room.

‘But what?’ I pressed, a flicker of impatience flashing across my features.

The innkeeper swallowed. ‘He left in quite a hurry, sir,’ he finally confessed, his voice barely audible over the faint crackling of the fire in the main room. ‘He seemed... afraid.’

‘Afraid? Of what?’

The innkeeper shook his head. ‘I cannot say for certain, sir. But whatever it was, he seemed shaken. He implored me to warn you, to urge you not to go to the house alone.’

‘I appreciate your concern,’ I said evenly. ‘But I assure you, there is nothing to fear. I am more than capable of handling any... unexpected developments.’

I took the key from the innkeeper's outstretched hand and made my way to the door, the weight of the innkeeper's warning lingering heavy in the air. As I stepped out, the wind howled mournfully, as if echoing the innkeeper's warnings and fears.

‘Look for Will Wright!’ called the innkeeper. ‘He’ll take you past the worst of the dirt road.’

I nodded and squared my shoulders. As I searched for Will Wright, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, that unseen eyes peered through moth-eaten curtains and followed my every move.

I came across a man doing some maintenance work on a cart. He was young, but prolonged periods of time spent out of doors made him look older. The corners of his coat flapped furiously in the wind, and he was grumbling under his breath when I approached. ‘Excuse me? I’m looking for a Will Wright.’ I had to raise my voice over the sound of the weather. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find him?’

He gave the cart a push and a pull to test the wheels and nodded at his work. ‘Will Wright, you say?’

‘Yes. I’m told he could take me past the worst of the dirt road leading up to the old estate.’

‘And who told you that?’

‘I stayed at the inn last night, the innkeeper said to look for him.’

‘Not many people keen on going up there. Especially since the latest owner went missing. Did the innkeeper say how much Will Wright would charge?’

‘He did not. I’ll pay whatever the cost may be.’ I smiled at the man, though I was eager to get moving, and the weather didn’t seem like it would ease up anytime soon. ’So, do you know where I might find him?’

‘You’ve found him.’

‘Excellent! Let us not waste a second more.’

‘And you’ll pay whatever the cost may be?’

‘Whatever-’ Will Wright cut me off.

‘Up front?’

‘Yes, up front.’

‘Well all right. Let me get the steed ready. You got a name?’

I gave a wry smile. ‘You’ll have to take me for half-fare if you want my name.’

‘Wouldn’t remember it anyway,’ he said, returning a grin.

As we set off on the pony and trap through the mist-shrouded countryside, the landscape unfolded before us like a scene from a hauntingly beautiful painting. The rolling hills were draped in soft fog. Ancient trees, their gnarled branches reaching like spectral fingers, loomed on either side of the winding dirt road, their silhouettes etched against the pale grey sky.

The mist clung to the landscape, softening the edges of reality and lending an air of mystery to the world around us. It danced and swirled in ghostly patterns, weaving through the branches and enveloping us in its cool, damp embrace.

Occasional shafts of weak sunlight pierced through the thick veil of mist, casting ephemeral rays of light upon the dew-kissed grass and illuminating the landscape in fleeting moments of brilliance. But as quickly as they appeared, the sunbeams vanished, swallowed once more by the ever-present fog.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. It was a scent both comforting and unsettling, hinting at the untold history the man alluded to the night prior. The sense of isolation and unease grew stronger as we journeyed on.

The pony's hooves squelched rhythmically through puddles on the dirt road. And yet, despite the eerie atmosphere and the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air, there was a strange beauty to be found in the mist-laden countryside. It was a beauty tinged with melancholy, a beauty born of solitude that invited introspection.

Will Wright was the first to speak. ’What made you want to move all the way out here if you don’t mind me asking? I mean, that house has some reputation.’

I had been careful not to disclose the nature of my interest in the property, and I didn’t want to give anything away now. ’So I’m told. Repeatedly. What is all the fuss over? It’s just a house, is it not?’

‘Well, the rumour has it that everyone that lives in that place has rotten luck, to put it gently.’

‘Rotten luck?’ I quizzed.

’People seem to disappear. That might be an exaggeration. We’re talking more like every couple of generations someone goes missing in mysterious circumstances.’

‘I should be safe for a couple of generations now though, right?’

‘Right you are,’ he said, and we laughed.

‘Back there,’ I gestured towards the village, ‘you said the last owner went missing.’

‘That’s right!’ Will had to project his voice over the wind that had picked up without warning. ’Started acting all funny, running around town looking through documents and archives. Poor guy looked more ragged with each passing day.’ He gestured to the surroundings and said, ’Some say he hurt himself out here somewhere and had no way of getting to help. But others think that it was the house. Either way, he defaulted on his payments, and now you’re here.’

‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What do you think happened?’

‘Anything could have happened to him out here and nobody would find him in a hurry. See where the road widens over there?’

I nodded.

’That’s as far as I go.’ He steered us to the side and came to a stop. ‘You’ve got about half a mile ahead of you, but you’re clear of the worst part.’

‘I appreciate the help, Will Wright.’ I hopped off and looked up at him. ‘You know, someone like you, an honest man, would find some work in the city. A good living and a family, perhaps. If you stay out here, then your children could be the next generation that the house decides to claim.’

He smiled at that. ‘I hear Violshire City is expanding fast. Maybe I’ll go there,’ he said with a look through the trees into the distance. ‘Take care,’ and he began the journey back to the village.