Page 24 of When You're Close

Finn lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Thoughts raced through his mind. Lady Ferguson's refusal to let him talk to Nathaniel weighed heavily on him. Could the young man be involved? Or had he seen something? As the wind roared louder and the room grew colder, Finn's thoughts spiraled.

Suddenly, a faint noise caught his attention. It was a soft scratching sound at his window, much like the shadow he had seen his first night at Huldra House. Curiosity overtaking his earlier unease, he slid out of bed and moved towards the window, pulling back an old red curtain. The storm outside distorted his view, the raindrops streaming down the glass. But there was no shadow, no figure.

Nothing.

He sighed, attributing the sound to the storm and his own paranoia. He crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up, still weighing the possibility of trying to find Nathaniel. Deep down, he now just wanted to get to sleep. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, a clear, distinct knock sounded from his window.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His heart raced. That wasn't the wind. Slowly, with trepidation, he approached the window again, half expecting to see a face pressed against the glass. But there was nothing. Then, out there somewhere in the dark, he thought he saw a brief flash of a glowing light on the moor. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, and Finn wasn't even sure if he had seen it in the first place.

The storm, combined with the history and stories of the island, was getting to him. He was sure of it. His mind was playing tricks on him. Deciding that lying in bed wouldn't be productive, and wanting to shake off his unease, he threw on a shirt and decided he might as well make the most of his wakefulness. Lady Ferguson may have denied him an audience with Nathaniel, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try on his own.

Steeling himself, he opened the door to his room, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. The wind howled even louder now, echoing through the vast emptiness of Huldra House. The storm outside mirrored the storm of thoughts in Finn’s mind, both seemingly unrelenting.

With determination, Finn set off towards the attic, each step echoing slightly in the quiet corridors. But finding the attic in the dark would prove difficult. He still didn't have a handle on the layout of the building, sometimes it felt as though the place was a little different each time he walked through it.

In the cavernous darkness of Huldra House, Finn found himself lost within its labyrinthine corridors. The storm outside grated on his mounting anxiety. Lightning painted rapid, haunting vignettes of the house's interior on the walls as the thunder played a deep, rumbling bass. Each shadow twisted and played tricks on his eyes, making him doubt his every step.

Trying to trace his path back to the attic, he came across a heavy, ornate door that looked different from the rest. Pushing it open revealed an expansive library, seemingly untouched by time. The room was vast and dimly lit by the ambient lightning. Towering bookshelves reached for the ceiling, their contents a testament to centuries of collected knowledge. It felt like he had stumbled into the very heart of the house, where its memories were recorded for anyone brave enough to find the right book.

Dust particles danced in the sporadic beams of light, and the musty smell of old parchment filled the air. Each book, with its worn spine, seemed to have a story to tell, not just within its pages, but of the hands that had once held it, of the eyes that had poured over its words.

In this room, time seemed suspended. It was somehow quieter than everywhere else. The storm outside felt miles away, despite it being overhead, and the eerie quiet made every heartbeat, every breath sound deafening. But then, as Finn moved deeper into the room, a soft creaking sound disturbed the silence. It was the unmistakable sound of a door closing.

Heart pounding, Finn looked toward the source of the noise and saw a faint glow seeping through the gaps of another door on the opposite side. His curiosity piqued, he approached cautiously. Maybe it was Nathaniel? Or Lady Ferguson? Or someone else entirely?

The door led to another hallway, this one even darker and more oppressive. The occasional footfalls he thought he heard seemed to be just ahead of him, urging him forward. The sound was maddeningly elusive; just when he thought he was close, it seemed to dart further away, leading him deeper and deeper into the house's unknown realms.

The atmosphere grew colder, the weight of the house pressing down on him. The winding passages seemed like they were closing in, creating an oppressive feeling of being watched. The footfalls, the whispers of movement in the periphery of his vision, the storm outside - it all amalgamated into a symphony of dread.

Driven by a mix of determination and apprehension, Finn continued to follow the sounds, feeling more and more like he was being drawn into a web from which there might be no escape. He started to wonder if he should have left the safety of his bed at all.

The echoing footsteps now grew louder, the rhythm steadier, as Finn pressed himself against the wall next to the corner. He realized that they were now movingtowardshim rather then away. Each thud seemed to punctuate the intense silence between the rolls of thunder outside. His breath was shallow, his muscles taut as a bowstring, prepared to confront whoever was coming his way. The dim light from a nearby window caused shadows to dance and sway, dark patches that moved almost as if alive.

Finn was starting to realize why everyone talked about shadows and secrets on the island.

The footfalls were almost upon him. He could hear the soft rustle of clothing, the faintest breath. Every instinct in him screamed to pounce. He tensed, waiting for the perfect moment. As the footsteps reached their crescendo, Finn lurched out, eyes wide, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The sudden appearance of a pale face framed by dark hair sent an electric shock through him. Without thinking, a sharp, startled shriek escaped his lips, piercing the silence of the hallway.

"Amelia?!" he gasped, his heart racing as the realization hit him.

She looked just as startled, but her surprise quickly melted into amusement. "Was that a shriek, Detective?" she teased, her lips curving into a smirk.

"FBI agents do not shriek," Finn shot back, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It was more of a... strategic vocal distraction."

Amelia chuckled, a light, easy sound that felt out of place in the looming darkness of the house. "Right, because that's a thing."

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. "What are you doing here? I thought you were resting in your room."

Amelia raised an eyebrow, her smirk still in place. "I could ask you the same. Sneaking about in the dark, screaming at shadows."

Finn rolled his eyes. "I was... investigating. So, were you heading to Nathaniel's room too?"

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