*Chapter 8: The Labyrinth*
As Emily followed Malcolm through the garden, she felt like she was trapped in a labyrinth. The hedges seemed to stretch on forever, the statues watching her with cold, dead eyes. She tried to ask Malcolm where they were going, but he just smiled and kept walking.
The air was thick with the scent of roses and lavender, but beneath that, Emily detected a hint of something darker. Something that seemed to seep from the very walls of the mansion. She shivered, despite the warmth of the summer evening.
Suddenly, Malcolm stopped in front of a large stone statue. It depicted a figure with its face twisted in agony, its eyes seeming to stare straight through Emily. Malcolm turned to her, his eyes glinting with a mischievous spark.
"This is my favorite part of the garden," he said, his voice low and husky. "The statue is said to have been carved by a master sculptor, one who infused it with a piece of his own soul."
Emily felt a shiver run down her spine as she gazed up at the statue. There was something unsettling about it, something that seemed to draw her in. She reached out a hand to touch it, but Malcolm caught her wrist.
"Don't," he said, his voice firm. "You don't want to touch it. Trust me."
To Be Continued...