Craven Manor(4)

The path tended uphill. Daniel considered leaving his bike and collecting it on the way back, but the idea of losing it in the woods was enough to keep his clammy fingers gripping its handles. Vines and branches kept catching in its wheels, and the path was so rough that he had to carry it more often than not.

Daniel was breathless by the time the forest opened up. The sky had entered the twilight stage when shapes began to lose their colour. Already-strained muscles ached from the exertion, but he couldn’t repress a grin when he stumbled on a massive wrought-iron gate blocking his path.

So the manor is real. Does that mean the job offer is real, too? For the first time in what felt like months, a spark of hope warmed his insides. Then he stepped closer to the gates, and trepidation returned to extinguish his hope.

The massive iron structure towered over him, with rows of vicious spikes at its top. But it was also incredibly old. Vines grew through and around it, and thick chunks of rust had flaked off the structure. Eroding ground had caused one half to fall ajar, creating a small gap where he could enter through. Beyond, overgrown tangled gardens obscured the manor. He could glimpse the dark roof, silhouetted against the fading light, a few minutes’ walk away.

This has to be the right place, doesn’t it? The gates look ancient, though. Words had been inscribed in the metal bar that ran along the centre of the gates. Daniel brushed the grime off to read the name: Craven Manor.

He clung to the hope that he was coming from a back path. It didn’t matter that the gates were neglected to the point of falling apart if no one ever visited that part of the grounds. And based on the riotous gardens, he suspected no one had been to this corner in a long time.

Strange that the instructions brought me by this route. Even if it’s a shorter trip, it’s nearly impossible to find.

The gap between the gates was wide enough to squeeze through, but they wouldn’t be easy to get back out of. He hesitated—imagining trying to flee while being chased by vicious guard dogs, spit flying from their teeth as they bit at his ankles—and squeezed his lips together.

Desperate people can’t be picky.

He rested his bike against the gate then lifted a foot, extended it through the gap, and balanced on a rock just inside the property. He had to brace himself on the rusted metal as he eased through, doing his best not to ruin his clothes, though the grime was staining his hands black. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the gate hadn’t been touched in more than a century; it looked at least that old.

Vines snagged his foot as he pulled it through, and he stumbled then caught himself on a tree. Visibility diminished as night fell, and Daniel grew nervous about finding his way home. But the letter had said it wanted him to start work immediately. They were clearly desperate for a gardener. If he balked and left, the owner might think he didn’t want the job and offer it to someone else.

The flagstone path was clearer inside the property’s bounds, but weeds choked the spaces between the stones. Plants spilled beyond their boundaries in uncontrollable tangles, fighting for space. There were nearly as many dead trees as living ones, though many had collapsed and were slowly being turned into compost by tiny insects. Daniel had to clamber over several large fallen logs as he followed the path towards the house.

A deep, prolonged, melancholy cry startled Daniel. A flock of crows perched on a tree near the house, seemingly watching over the building. Two of them took flight as Daniel passed beneath them. Their massive wings made a whirring whistle as they churned the air. He watched them swoop away, the fading light catching in their silky black feathers.

Then he turned towards the house, and the little spark of warm hope he’d been nurturing withered into a dead coal.

Craven Manor was a massive building. Its three stories seemed to have burst out of the ground like an abomination, full of disorderly protrusions and jumbled ledges. More than two dozen black windows overlooked the entryway, which was comprised of three broad stone steps leading up to a wooden-arch double door. Pillars supported an awning that could easily shelter twenty people. The stones were all old, worn down, and speckled with green-and-grey lichen. A tower extended from the building’s side, rising above the roof’s highest peak.

Daniel looked behind himself, as though he might have missed the real house, but he hadn’t. The building’s size was daunting, and the intricate black stonework was unnerving, but worse than that was its state of disrepair. Many of the windows had cracks or holes in them. A constellation of chips marred the stone walls, which were all stained from decades of rain. The dark slate roof looked ragged where tiles had fallen. One of the large double doors stood open, but there was no light to be seen inside the building.

Long-dead leaves crunched under his feet as he climbed the worn steps to the front door. The house was clearly abandoned. As he stood, shivering, on the top step, Daniel wondered if he might be the first person to stand there in decades.

Who owns this? And why did they leave it in such bad neglect?

He approached the doors. One of the massive slabs of wood had been left ajar, and it seemed to invite him into the foyer. Daniel’s nerves and curiosity warred with each other for a moment, but inquisitiveness won out. He clenched his hands at his side and bent forward, peeking his head through the opening.

The foyer was vast. At least twenty doors lined its walls. At the room’s back was a magnificent staircase to the second and third floors. Carpet ran up its centre, but it looked even more threadbare than the runner in Daniel’s apartment block.