Chapter 27: The House Remembers

Isla shifted in her chair, glancing around the room as if searching for something solid, something that made sense. The warmth of the fire didn’t seem to reach her, and despite her best effort to appear unimpressed, Elliot could see the tension in her posture, the way her fingers curled slightly into her palms. She wasn’t just uncomfortable she was unsettled.

She wasn’t the only one.

The house had changed the moment she walked in. Elliot could feel it an awareness pressing in from all sides. The air carried a weight now, charged with something just beneath the surface, like the moment before a storm broke. It was always like this when a new arrival came. Wintercroft Hall was patient, but not passive. It had waited for Isla, and now it was watching.

Elliot leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Isla scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re the one who’s supposed to have the answers. You tell me.”

Elliot studied her carefully. “You got the letter. And something made you come.”

She exhaled sharply, shifting in her seat. “I was curious. That’s all.”

“That’s never all,” Elliot said.

Isla opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. She glanced away, staring at the flickering fire, her jaw tightening slightly. She was trying to push something down, but the house would never let her bury it for long.

“I don’t know,” she admitted finally, her voice quieter. “It just… felt like I needed to come.”

Elliot nodded slowly. That was the way of it. The house didn’t call to just anyone it called to those who had something unfinished, something unresolved. The ones who had spent their lives running from something they weren’t ready to face.

And the house always made them face it.

A gust of wind rattled the windows, the sound deep and hollow. Isla flinched slightly, but Elliot barely reacted. He had spent enough time here to recognize the shift. The house was getting restless.

Isla rubbed her arms, frowning. “Is it always this cold in here?”

Elliot glanced at the fire. The flames burned steadily, but the warmth barely touched the air. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether the house wants it to be.”

She gave him a look. “Great. Love that. That’s totally normal.”

Elliot leaned back, watching her. “It’s going to get worse.”

Isla’s fingers tightened around her arm. “Worse how?”

“The house brought you here for a reason,” Elliot said. “And it’s not going to let you leave until you figure out what that is.”

Isla let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Sure. Because that’s not creepy at all.”

Elliot didn’t smile. He had heard the same doubt from every person who had walked through these doors. But they all believed eventually.

They always did.

A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackling fire and the occasional groan of the house settling. Isla looked toward the door, her expression unreadable.

“Can I see the letter?” she asked suddenly.

Elliot hesitated, then pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. She turned it over in her hands, running her fingers over the Ashworth crest pressed into the wax. Her brows furrowed.

“It looks old,” she muttered.

“It is,” Elliot said.

She frowned. “But I just got it a few days ago.”

Elliot said nothing.

Her fingers tightened around the envelope. “This is a joke, right? Someone’s messing with me.”

“The house doesn’t play games,” Elliot said simply.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she broke the seal and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside. Her eyes scanned the short message, her frown deepening as she read.

Isla,

You are invited to Wintercroft Hall. The answers you seek are waiting. But beware some truths cannot be buried forever.

There was no signature. There never was.

Isla swallowed hard, setting the letter down on the table between them. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

Elliot leaned forward slightly. “Then why are you shaking?”

She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were trembling. She curled them into fists, as if she could will the reaction away.

A deep, resounding creak echoed through the hall beyond the sitting room. Isla’s head snapped toward the doorway.

“What was that?”

Elliot exhaled slowly. “The house.”

Isla looked at him, eyes wide. “You keep saying that like it explains anything.”

“Because it does,” Elliot said. He stood, nodding toward the hallway. “Come on. It’s starting.”

She didn’t move. “What’s starting?”

Elliot looked back at her, his expression serious. “The part where you stop pretending you don’t know why you’re here.”

For a moment, Isla didn’t respond. Then, reluctantly, she stood, grabbing her bag from her lap. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Elliot didn’t tell her that nothing about this would be quick.

The house wasn’t finished with her yet.

The hall was darker than before. The sconces along the walls still flickered with low candlelight, but the air felt heavier, charged with something unseen. Isla kept close to Elliot, though she tried not to make it obvious.

“This place is massive,” she muttered.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Doubt it.”

They passed through the long corridor lined with portraits, their painted eyes watching as they walked by. Isla slowed, her gaze lingering on one of the paintings. A woman in dark clothing, her expression unreadable, her fingers resting against the arm of an ornate chair. Isla frowned.

“She looks… familiar.”

Elliot glanced at the portrait. “You’ve been here before.”

Isla’s head snapped toward him. “No. I haven’t.”

“Not that you remember,” Elliot said.

She opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. Her fingers twitched at her side, and Elliot could see the conflict in her expression. She wanted to deny it, but doubt was creeping in.

A whisper drifted through the corridor, faint but clear.

Isla…

Isla turned sharply, her breath hitching. “Did you hear that?”

Elliot nodded.

Her face paled. “Tell me you have, like, speakers hidden in the walls or something.”

“No speakers,” Elliot said.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. “What the hell is going on?”

Elliot met her gaze, his voice calm. “The house remembers you. Even if you don’t.”

A gust of cold air swept through the hall, extinguishing the nearest candle. Isla shivered, hugging her arms around herself.

Elliot took a slow breath, then motioned ahead. “Let’s keep moving.”

Isla hesitated, then followed.

The house had its hold on her now.

It was only a matter of time before it made her remember why.

The whisper came again, softer this time, curling around them like smoke.

“Welcome home.”

Isla’s breath caught in her throat.

She had the strangest feeling that she had been here before.

And that she had never truly left.