Page 1 of Spooked
CHAPTER 1
ASH
The sky above Deepwood Mountain looks like a sea of roiling dread.
Dark purples and blues blend into murky shades of gray as I wind my way up the narrow road, following a series of weathered wooden signs shaped like bony fingers pointing toward my destination.
Perfect weather for visiting Montana's most notorious haunted attraction, and photographing its even more notorious owner.
"MARSDEN MANOR: WHERE NIGHTMARES COME TRUE," announces the final sign, its Gothic lettering illuminated by a flash of lightning as thunder rolls across the valley.
"Dramatic," I mutter, squinting through the windshield at the heavily adorned iron gates that materialize through the mist.
Marsden Manor.
Even the name sends a little shiver down my spine—exactly what Wolfe Marsden hopes for, I'm sure. I've spent the last two weeks researching him: decorated Army Ranger, reclusive business owner, and the mastermind behind the most successful haunted attraction in the Northwest.
The man everyone calls the Beast.
The gates are open, which I take as a good sign, even though I'm a day early. My editor at Thrill Seeker Magazine would kill me if she knew I was here before my scheduled appointment, but that's how I got where I am. I thought go-getters and self-starters are what all employers dreamed of in an employee.
Especially photojournalists.
I pull up to the parking area and cut the engine. The silence that follows feels weighted, like the property itself is holding its breath. The manor looms ahead, a sprawling Victorian Gothic monstrosity with jagged turrets and gables that pierce the cloudy sky.
In daylight, it might look merely imposing, possibly majestic. But with storm clouds gathering, it's downright menacing.
Grabbing my camera bag, I step out into the cool October air. The wind whips my ponytail across my face as I sling the strap over my shoulder. The path up the massive concrete steps to the front doors is lined by a series of carved jack-o-lanterns, each one glowing maniacally as I approach. They lead to human-sized stone gargoyles bracketing the entryway, like something you’d see at the Frank-N-Furter mansion straight out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
This photoshoot could make my career: a full feature spread on Marsden Manor and Wolfe Marsden for Thrill Seeker's Halloween Special issue.
I mean, landing this assignment wasn't luck; it was the result of my meticulously curated portfolio and reputation for capturing authentic moments in unexpected places. My editor called me “the ideal photographer” to showcase the haunted attraction that's been terrifying visitors for years. And I agree.
Also, the timing couldn't be better. I was already planning a visit to my best friend Willa and her family here in Deepwood Mountain for a long-overdue catch-up. When this assignment came through, it felt like fate. I could knock out a primo photoshoot and spend quality time with Willa, her husband Dash, and their adorable daughter Brynn.
I lift the heavy iron knocker—shaped like a snarling wolf's head, naturally—and let it fall against the wood.
The sound echoes like a gunshot.
A few seconds pass, then a minute, and no response.
I try again, harder this time, then step back to survey the façade. More gremlin-looking stone gargoyles peer down from the corners of the roof, their weathered faces twisted in eternal grimaces. Light glows from within stained glass windows, so someone must be here.
After more time goes by, I'm about to knock again when the door creaks open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond.
"Hello?" I call out, my photographer's instinct already cataloguing the contrast between light and shadow. “Mr. Marsden? Anybody?”
I take a breath. “It’s Ash Vaughn from Thrill Seeker Magazine. I know I'm early, but?—”
"You're trespassing."
The voice comes from the darkness…low, rough, and unmistakably angry. It sends goosebumps racing up my arms, but I stand my ground.
"I'm not trespassing. I have an appointment." Okay, so tomorrow, but…details.
"Tomorrow." The voice confirms. Okay, so he knows exactly who I am. "Today, you're trespassing.”
A figure moves within the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered. When he steps into the fading daylight, I nearly gasp.
