Page 19 of Buried Souls
He stares at me, not blinking. “What are you? A detective?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” I chuckle, pride blossoming in my chest as I lift my chin. “I’m a historian at the Institute of Barbora. And I’m almost done with my paper, which I’ve been working on foryears. So please, if you could help this stranger out.”
A mask of annoyance slides over Rein’s features. “There’s nothing to say. My family were its sole inhabitants since it was erected in the thirteenth century. The mansion was much smaller in its original state, the wings and top most floor being added on at a much later date.”
My jaw pops open in disbelief. “Did you say—thirteenth century?” Bursting with excitement, I round the island until I’m standing right next to the man, eager to hear more. “But that means—” Olga’s words come crashing back. “No...could it be?” I trail off, my brain going a thousand miles per hour at the possible implications of my newest discovery. “This is the Bear Mansion, isn’t it? The one that the townspeople believe to be abandoned.”
Rein scowls, completely ignoring me, then resumes his cooking as if I haven’t said a word.
I frown, irritated with myself for being so careless and brash.I should know better than to take such a direct approach. If I was to push the subject now, Rein will only lock up and refuse to tell me what I need to know.
A risk I’m not willing to take.
I clear my throat again, taking the hint. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go get that firewood.”
Cursing myself internally, I bolt out the front door after putting on a pair of green rubber boots, then come to a crashing stop. The rain smacks me flat in the face as I realize that I forgot to ask where the shed was.
“I can’t go back there. He already thinks I’m half-witted and rude. I’ll just have to search the area until I find the damn thing.”
Hurrying so that I don’t get completely soaked, I rush to where I believe the back of the mansion should be, hoping that, for once in my life, luck will be on my side and I won’t have to be out in the rain for long.
A faint light in the woods catches my attention, and I squint, staring into the trees.
“What is that?”
Curious, I make my way towards the dim source, the shed and my task already forgotten about. The forest looms ahead, a tangle of blackened, hollowed trees that groan with the weight of their own history. Moaning like voices caught between worlds whenever the wind threads through them.
Weaving through the trees, I descend deeper and deeper into the forest. The air is heavy and cold. Each step sinks into the sodden ground, where the leaves have rotted into a gray paste. Mist drifts low among the roots, carrying with it the faint echo of whispers that seem to rise from beneath the soil rather than through the air.
No birds sing here. No insects hum. The silence is so deep it presses against my chest, and every breath of mine feels like it could be my last one before the forest decides to take it back.
I’m struck by how tightly packed the trees are, the thick branches intertwining around each other like eager lovers. The trunks are massive, spanning the entire length of my arm, leaking—
“That’s not right.”
I examine the first tree. The bark is split open like an old wound, seeping a thick, tar-dark sap. Peeling off a chunk of said bark and inspecting it in my palm, I sniff the piece of wood and recoil back when the strong stench of death and damp earth invades my nostrils.
I cough, wheezing violently as the repulsive smell enters my lungs. Doubling over, I step back, my instincts demanding I remove myself from this unnatural anomaly. I’m dizzy. Beyond nauseous, and dropping to my knees, my head bowed low, I attempt to regain some composure, but then from somewhere beneath the earth comes a low whisper—faint, rhythmic, almost human, but not quite.
I shake my head, as if clearing away a dream, and gripping the rotting trunk, I pull myself up, my eyes blurring from the indescribable stench.
Something wet hits my head. My fingers graze the spot.
“What—”
Blood drips down my face, coloring my flesh a deep crimson hue.
I scream, bolting in the direction of the house, the thick liquid now flowing freely down my neck and collarbones. The black trees seem to move—slowly, subtly—twisting their hollow faces toward me, their shadows stretching long like grasping hands.
In my panic, I fail to see the ominous form hiding in the trees.
Watching.
Waiting.
CHAPTER 10
“Bad Girls Get Punished”
