Evelyn Hartley had always been drawn to the unusual. As a child, she spent countless afternoons roaming the misty woods that bordered her grandmother’s ancient cottage, her imagination fuelled by folklore and the mysterious tales of spirits that danced through the trees. Years later, however, the forest seemed less enchanting and more foreboding. Now, as she approached her grandmother’s estate after the news of her passing, Evelyn felt a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the autumn breeze.
The cottage stood stoic at the edge of the woods, dressed in laughter and shadows. It was a small stone structure, ivy-clad and crooked, with a wooden door that creaked like the bones of an old man. Generations of Hartleys had lived here, each with their secrets, each with their share of tragedies. Their musty portraits lined the walls, watching her return with expressions ranging from stern disapproval to lingering sadness. Evelyn had always felt more at home among them than the living.
As she stepped over the threshold, a sense of unease settled within her. The air was stale, thick with the scent of decay and old wood. The house felt like a tomb, preserving memories that were better left forgotten. Yet, as she wandered through the narrow halls, she stumbled upon a box tucked away beneath a loose floorboard in the parlour. It was made of dark mahogany and engraved with swirling designs that seemed to pulse under the weight of time. Her pulse quickened; her intuition told her to leave it alone, but curiosity compelled her to lift the lid.
Sitting nestled within the velvet lining was a small, ornate mirror. The glass shimmered in the dim light, but when Evelyn lifted it, the reflection was not her own. Instead, a tangle of shadows and flickers, indistinct forms moving too quickly to decipher. She dropped it back into the box as though it scorched her palm. For a moment, everything felt off—her surroundings shifted, shadows stretched unnaturally, and the air thickened around her.
That night, unable to shake the sense of foreboding, Evelyn wrapped herself in a blanket and settled down on the old settee. In the flickering light of the fire, she tried to dismiss the feeling of being watched. Her grandmother had spoken of spirits, of guardians tied to the property, but Evelyn had never put much stock in those tales. Now, however, she felt an undeniable presence, lingering just out of sight. The flames danced erratically, casting grotesque shapes against the walls, while the wind howled through the cracks in the cottage.
With a sudden flare, the fire flared brightly, and Evelyn felt compelled to take a closer look at the intricacies of the mirror. After a brief struggle against her instincts, she retrieved it from its hiding place. The moment she held the frame, she gasped, for the reflection was different this time. A translucent figure emerged from the glass; its features were indistinct yet hauntingly familiar. Evelyn squinted, trying to place the resemblance.
“Evelyn,” the voice was a whisper that seemed to echo directly in her mind. “Beware the darkness. Beware the shadows that come to claim you.”
She stumbled backwards, her heart racing, as the figure faded away. What was happening? The room felt colder, and a shadow loomed just outside the edge of the flickering firelight. Gripped by dread, her instincts screamed that she needed to escape, but her feet felt locked in place.
The next morning, Evelyn awoke to an unsettling stillness. Her dreams had been plagued by images of the mirror and the spectral figure, and her mind buzzed with lingering questions. What darkness was she to beware of? Determined to uncover the truth, she mustered the courage to dig deeper into her grandmother’s belongings.
Hours turned into days as she sifted through stacks of yellowing letters and faded photographs in search of answers. She learned of a family curse tied to the estate, one that had claimed several lives over the centuries whenever a Hartley was drawn too closely to the ancient woods. The darkness had a name—Draugr, a malevolent spirit that lingered in the shadows, an entity bound to the Hartley bloodline.
Her grandmother had written of an old tome, said to contain incantations that could protect the family or, perhaps, offer a means to sever their ties with the Draugr. It was hidden beneath the floorboards of the attic, where Evelyn had never ventured before.
With dread lacing her steps, she climbed the rickety stairs to the attic. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through grimy windows. Old trunks filled with lace and silk lined the walls, but what caught her attention was the floor, worn and uneven in places. She felt compelled to pry one of the loose boards away. Beneath it lay a leather-bound tome, its cover embossed with a symbol that was hauntingly familiar—the same swirling design as her grandmother’s box.
The pages were thick and yellowed, filled with ink that faded towards the edges. As she flipped through the incantations, she saw the final entry, written in her grandmother’s unmistakable hand. It spoke of a ritual—a protection spell that required not only the words but a sacrifice. Evelyn’s heart raced. It demanded something personal, something from her heart. The price of safety, it seemed, was too high.
That evening, Evelyn hesitated until the sun dipped below the horizon, letting dusk shroud the world in shadows. She could feel the Draugr now, stirring restlessly outside, waiting for her to falter. She prepared the ritual as instructed, gathering candles and herbs, her instincts telling her to finish before the shadows consumed her resolve. Just as she was about to begin, however, a noise echoed from the garden—a child’s laughter, sweet and innocent.
Evelyn rushed to the window, her heart gripped by a sudden fear. Outside, cloaked in the deepening gloom, stood a small figure, glimmering in the last light of day. “Come play with us,” the child called out, but it was not one child; they were not alone. More figures emerged, each cloaked in shadows, faces soft and inviting.
“No!” she screamed, but the figure persisted, a siren call of innocence masked in dread. She felt drawn closer, the warmth of their laughter promising comfort, yet colder shadows threatened to curl around her ankles.
In that moment, the words from the tome echoed in her mind, cautioning against succumbing to the allure of the shadows. “Life and death entangled,” she whispered to herself, grounding herself against their pull. The Draugr sought to lure her into darkness—to twist her spirit and claim her as its own.
In a breathless rush, Evelyn returned to the complex ritual woven in her grandmother’s words. She lit the candles and began to chant, summoning her courage and the intention behind each utterance. “By blood, by heart, I swing this blade—” she held a small shard from the mirror, sharp and gleaming. With every strike of her voice against the encroaching darkness, she felt the shadows begin to writhe and retreat.
Suddenly, the figures outside transformed, their cries turning to feral snarls as darkness clawed at her windows. Evelyn pressed on, her voice rising, each word slicing through the oppressive veil of night.
The air crackled with energy as the Draugr shrieked, a cacophony of sound that rattled the very foundations of the cottage. With a final cry, Evelyn plunged the shard into the earth before her, completing the ritual. There was a brilliant flash of light, and the figures outside erupted into a storm of shadows, scattering into nothingness.
As silence reigned, Evelyn collapsed to the floor, breathless and trembling. The spirits of the Hartley lineage flickered to the corners of the room, grateful murmurs woven into the air. Though the bond of her bloodline would never fully sever, she had held true against the encroaching abyss.
In the days that followed, she packed her grandmother’s things, leaving behind the shadows that once whispered to her in the dark. She would take the mirror, however, a memento of the trials she had faced and the choice she had made. The estate would remain hers, tangled with remnants of the past and the weight of the stories woven within. Yet in her heart, there lay a newfound resolve—a delicate blend of reverence and defiance against the fate that sought to eclipse her own.
As she stood at the threshold one last time, the woods seemed less ominous. Instead, they breathed of secrets and stories yet to unfold. With a lingering glance, she turned away into the light, leaving shadows to whisper their tales in hushed tones, at least for now.
