Page 7 of On Edge

“As you might have guessed, I’m Master Troy’s house manager, Mrs Oakley. I’m on the third floor if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re sure no one will be using this room tonight?” I ask quickly, before she leaves. “There was someone…” I take a breath. I can’t say it was a demon. She’ll think I’ve lost it. “There was a…man outside on the driveway. Could it have been Mr. Mundel?” I remember she mentioned him earlier.

“Elias? No, he’s down in the cellar dealing with the mess the storm has brought.”

“What about Severin?”

“As I said, Master Troy is away on business. No one else is on the island.”

She pauses and studies me. “You’ll do well to remember, Miss Lovett, that this is an old house. At night, things may seem one way, but they are not. The pipes, for instance, can sometimes make the most terrifying noises. I promise you there’s probably a reasonable explanation. There definitely aren’t ghosts, despite the local stories, but try not to go wandering in the dark to check.”

I stare at her, unsure of what to say to that. “I’ll stay in my room.”

With a sigh of what sounds like relief, she closes the door. Eventually, the sound of her footsteps fades away. I hurry over to the door, lock it, and then lean against it. My breath is tight. My heart beats a frantic rhythm.

Honestly, it’s not ghosts I’m afraid of.

What was it outside, watching me?

I glance at the window, but thankfully, the shutters are closed. I clutch the key in my fist, staring at it until my pulse slows. Tension seeps from my shoulders.

Slowly, I make my way over to the bed and then lie down on top of the comforter, too drained to care if I make the sheets damp. I do nothing but stare at the ornate coving on the ceiling for a long time, occasionally glancing around the room to double-check that I am, indeed, all alone.

When I can muster the energy, I take the silky pajamas she gave me, which oddly still have a price tag on them, into the bathroom and treat myself to a long, hot, much overdue shower.

It’s only later, when I’m fresh and clean, albeit still damp, that I explore every inch of the room, running my hands over the rich, pristine fabrics and peeking into the empty drawers.

Magnolia-painted walls, speckled with tiny blue flowers. Crisp sheets draped in royal blue chenille throws and pillows. Dark wood floors polished to perfection. A carved dressing table glows softly under lamplight. Plush sheepskin rugs hug the floor. And a vase of fresh carnations blooms on the sideboard, filling the air with the scent of a garden after rain.

It’s also too neat. Too feminine. Too untouched.

This isn’t a man’s room.

There are no clothes in the walk-in closet. Only a set of unopened men’s toiletries sits beside the basin in the bathroom. And on the wall peg, a royal blue cotton dressing gown hangs, the tags still attached.

This suite feels like a guest room—sterile, untouched, a perfect illusion. It also looks like a memory or feels familiar, as if I’m stepping back in time.

If Troy Severinhardly everstays here, that suits me just fine. For tonight, even if I can’t sleep, at least I can pretend,with no personal traces of him. Only the shadows in the corners, watching.

I would say lovely silence, too.

Except….

Outside, the wind continues to howl through the trees, making branches scrape against the estate wall, so that my mind conjures up bony fingers tapping to be let in.

I hate my brain sometimes.

Keeping the lamp on, I pad over to the vast bed in the dim light, and then crawl under the covers and try to sleep. But the trees keep rapping on the window, and every time I close my eyes, the memory of that dark, bloody figure watching me is burned into the back of my eyelids.

Something isn’t right.

It’s the feeling that wakes me first. The slow creep of awareness that I’m not alone, like the weight of someone’s gaze is pressed against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. My first thought is that my sister’s ghost is standing over me, breathing like she can’t drag air into her lungs, tracing my skin with her cold, dead fingers.

Until my eyes snap open.

And I see a shadow of a figure towering over me, a silhouette in the eerie darkness.

There’s someone in my room.