Page 6 of An Inheritance of Monsters

“The Fuseli Comet,” Rosalie breathed, eyes wide.

Mrs. Marsh nodded. “The Fuseli Comet will pass over in approximately two weeks, give or take a few days. My mother told me it was one of the most spectacular visions on this island… and that is saying quite a lot.”

We all fell quiet for a moment. Being able to capture the Fuseli Comet in our footage while digging into therealhistory of Duskwood Manor… we might be able to turn this into a mini-series special, instead of focusing on one episode.

“So.” She steepled her fingers in front of herself, looking around at us all. “You have been invited to stay on my island, and in my home, for thirty days. You are free to film, to explore—whatever it is you desire to do. The only places that are off-limits to you are my personal bedroom, and the cellar.”

“Why?” I asked, suddenly very interested.

Everyone looked at me, and I felt a faint flush of panic.

If I’d known I’d be stuck here for thirty days with several of the people I hated most in this world, would I have accepted it?

I thought it over. Yes. Of course I would have.

Because I saw ghosts, and this was the only chance I’d ever get to step foot here.

I could deal with them for one month to experience this.

“The cellar is dangerous,” Mrs. Marsh said, but her eyes glinted. “I would prefer to have no harm come to any of my guests during your stay.”

I nodded, but according to my research, many of the terrible happenings on Duskwood Island had occurred, in fact, right in the cellar.

“But you’re correct to be interested in it,” she said, as though she’d read my mind. “The legend of Duskwood began in the cellar, on the very foundation of this manor. That is where Sarah Marsh was burned alive as a witch.”

That was the beginning of this manor’s entire tale.

The Marsh family had immigrated from England, led by their rich shipping magnate patriarch… and within two years of beginning construction of the manor, his wife Sarah had been tied to a spit and roasted like a pig.

He’d built the entire manor on top of her ashes.

“But there is much more history to Duskwood than that.” Mrs. Marsh waved a hand. “Come. We’ll begin the tour now before I show you to your rooms.”

Everyone stood up like marionettes jerked on strings and followed her obediently. Mrs. Marsh’s voice echoed back to me through the hallway, saying something about the additional construction over the years to modernize the manor.

Soon, I was the only one left in the parlor, surrounded by discarded bags and cooling cups of tea.

I could deal with it. There was nothing in this world that could move me from this island now that I was here, in the place where Sarah Marsh had burned, where Ruby Marsh had vanished, where Ivy Marsh had been murdered in her bed… and where Elizabeth Marsh now showed me her home.

Every man—or husband—in the picture had died of suicide. Every. Single. One.

The house itself was a testament to the tenacity of the Marsh women, whose unbroken familial chain had never left this island.

So, I wasn’t going to let an old, crusty skeptic get to me. Nor the guy who was my direct rival for a cable network slot.

And definitely not the bitch who had destroyed my parents with her lies and greed.

I exhaled a long, slow breath, shedding my raincoat and pulling out my Black Book. There was a whole three hundred year history to cover in the span of thirty days, and no time to waste.

As I dug for a pencil, I realized the room was much, much darker than it had been a moment ago. I could barely make out the cups on the table, much less my own backpack in front of me.

One of the weird phenomena of Duskwood Manor?

A creak sounded from the corner of the room.

And something touched the back of my neck.

It shivered there, warm and curious… and my ponytail curled, held up by whatever had touched me.

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