Page 29 of An Inheritance of Monsters

Because she would look good among all those English roses, fuck the rest of the manor, my inner voice bitterly interjected, and I cut it off.

“We do need to explore the outside.” I heaved up one of Crispy’s heavy equipment bags. “Garden would be a good start.”

His dark eyes darted between us, that line still carved between his brows, and finally he looked up. “It’s so dark in here. When did that happen?”

Sierra glanced up, shrugged again, and went to grab another bag.

I looked up, and saw shadows curling in every corner, hints of tentacles and claws among them.

Why were they here now? What had called the monsters back?

But Crispy just shook his head. “Okay, we go outside,Jefe. I need better light for these shots.”

For as littleinterest as I had in the garden, it was rather impressive.

The Marsh family had landscaped it into a twining maze that looked almost natural against the island backdrop despite the sheer size and perfection of the white roses growing in brambles.

At the edge, I could see down one of the slopes leading to the opposite side of the island. There would be no dock there, only a harsh, rocky shore the waves crashed against.

And over the sea, there was no sight of land.

I found a large, flat boulder that would be perfect for one of the introductory comments, and made a note in my Book, walking through the labyrinth as Crispy got his equipment out again for another round of Sierra shots.

But the maze eventually opened. Something crunched underfoot.

I looked up from my Black Book and the rough sketches I’d detailed, and found myself standing at the beginning of a gravel path leading down the slope.

The rest of the island was wild, untamed. Thick knots of bent trees stood in clumps, and the soil itself was stony. But something down there called to me.

I followed the path, the scent of the sea strong and briny as the garden trailed out of sight. Soon, if I turned around, not even the high walls of the manor were visible.

But something pale flitted past the corner of my eye. I whipped around, looking for any sign of movement.

There.

A man wandered across the hill, but his feet didn’t slip on any rocks. The wind stirred the edges of his ethereal form, tearing shreds of white away from him.

He was a ghost, flickering in and out of reality.

The first one I’d seen on this island.

My mouth went dry, and I pulled my phone out, bringing up the camera. I snapped a round of rapid shots, hoping at least one would contain a smear of an image.

He was heading downhill, meandering aimlessly, but always coming back to the same direction—towards the end of the gravel path.

I followed stealthily, not wanting to make contact quite yet.

The dead were not always receptive to the attention of the living.

I had to cross beneath several enormous boulders that leaned against each other to form a tunnel, but soon the pebbles of the beach came into view.

Along with another idol.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of it. It was almost exactly the same as the one by the docks, a tall obelisk carved with images of tentacles, but the howling face was turned towards the open ocean.

I snapped more photos as the ghost wandered into sight.

His misty eyes landed on the idol, and a sense of pure relief went through his form. Shoulders slumped, his arms dangled, and he made a bee-line straight for it.

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