Rain fell like a whisper on the rolling hills of northern England, painting the sky a muted gray. The taxi rolled to a halt in front of a towering iron gate. Beyond it, nestled among bare trees and crumbling statues, stood Blackmoor Manor—ancient, vast, and undeniably watching.
Ava leaned against the window, her breath fogging the glass. She had seen pictures, sure, but the real thing looked like something out of an old horror novel. Ivy clung to the stone walls like claws, and the windows—tall, narrow, and dark—reminded her of eyes that never blinked.
The driver, a balding man with tired eyes, looked back at her. "Sure you want to stay here, love? Bit... eerie, innit?"
Ava forced a smile, pushing down the unease curling in her stomach. "It's just a house. I've seen worse in Jakarta."
He chuckled nervously. "Right, well... good luck to you."
She stepped out, pulling her coat tighter against the wind. The iron gate creaked open on its own as she approached. No one came to greet her.
---
Inside, the air was colder than outside.
Dust hung like fog in the hallway, lit by a flickering chandelier. Her suitcase wheels echoed against the old wooden floor as she dragged it across the foyer. The furniture was covered in white sheets, and an antique clock on the wall ticked a little too loud, as if counting down.
"Hello?" Ava called, her voice sounding small. "Mrs. Addington?"
No answer.
According to the exchange program's letter, Ava was to stay with the Addington family for six months while studying at St. Bartholomew's Academy. But the manor seemed... empty. No maids. No butler. No family.
Only silence.
She found her room on the second floor. The door groaned as she opened it, revealing an old but surprisingly clean space. A fireplace stood cold against the wall. The bed, though antique, looked freshly made.
A full-length mirror stood in the corner.
She avoided it.
---
That night, the wind howled like wolves across the moor. Ava sat on the bed, scrolling through her phone—no signal. Her hand hovered over her contact list before she sighed and tossed it aside.
At exactly 3:17 AM, she woke up.
No reason. No sound. Just... woke up.
She sat up slowly. The room felt colder. The fire hadn't been lit, but this cold felt unnatural. As if something was breathing down her neck.
She turned.
The mirror.
There was something off about it. The moonlight through the window cast enough light to see herself—except the reflection was wrong.
She was sitting upright, just like in reality. But her reflection was smiling.
Ava wasn't.
She blinked.
The reflection returned to normal.
She didn't sleep the rest of the night.
---
Morning came late and cloudy. Ava found the kitchen downstairs and made herself tea. On the wall was an old photograph of the Addington family—stern faces, black clothes, and a little girl in a white dress.
The plaque beneath read: **Elora Addington, 1873–1887.**
Fourteen years old. The same age as Ava.
She stared at the girl's face. Something about the eyes felt familiar. Not in a comforting way.
More like a warning.
---
That afternoon, she explored more of the manor. Most doors were locked, but one hallway led to a library. The books were thick and smelled of mildew. In one of the corners, she found a diary wedged between two crumbling volumes.
It was leather-bound, with the name *Elora A.* engraved in gold.
Ava opened it slowly.
*I saw her again. The girl in the mirror. She wears my face but not my soul.*
The handwriting was elegant but hurried. Page after page, Elora wrote about being watched, about footsteps in the attic, and about dreams where she woke up in a coffin.
Ava closed the book, her hands trembling.
Something was wrong with Blackmoor Manor.
And she had just stepped into its story.
---