But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch's high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

And, round about his home, the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.

POE: The Haunted Palace, Part IV

I - Everything Before It Began

After nearly a century of vacancy and disrepair, the cliffside manor known as Allerdale Hall was one day discovered by overseas real estate investors who, upon conjuring lavish visions of its former glory, decided to begin renovations and convert it into a luxury hotel, with all the frills and furbelows of Victorian-era England being its primary calling card. Five years passed and millions of dollars were spent before the mansion reached a state of functionality, and even then the grand undertaking was not without tribulation.

Numerous construction workers cited feelings of discomfort or dread during work hours, like someone might be looming nearby whenever they were alone, a deathly stare burning into the backs of their heads or a soft voice calling out from the shadows, yet no one would be around. Other times tools and other objects went missing, only to reappear in another part of the manor. In more severe cases, structural repairs made by the workers were mysteriously undone the moment they walked away: newly hinged doors flew out of their frames, sometimes noisily; pipes in the plumbing came loose at random; and wiring the main elevator was a nightmare, let alone getting it to work.

It was speculated that there could be delinquents or disgruntled locals disturbing the worksite, so surveillance and security were upped to the maximum, and the suspicious activity quieted down enough that the workers suffered no further technical hitches, though the eerie atmosphere remained. While some speculated about the mansion having a haunted nature or dark past, there were no records available to solidly validate or discredit these beliefs. All the developers knew was that Allerdale Hall had been abandoned in the early 1900's and stayed that way until the present. With massive amounts of funding poured into the project, no one was going to relinquish it on account of a few unexplained events.

Perhaps it would have been prudent to heed the warning signs.

Even before the start of business reservations were being made, and once Allerdale Hall Hotel officially opened its doors to the public, visitors from around the world flocked to its rooms for a trip back in time, to an era of grandeur and opulence. With historically accurate décor and modern-day conventions integrated into one splendid masterpiece, the hotel received the highest of accolades and garnered wide recognition due to its unique setting. When winter arrived and snow began to fall, the blanketed property would suddenly turn a striking shade of crimson, this being attributed by geologists to red clay soil seeping out of the ground. Apparently, the estate had earned the appellation of "Crimson Peak" back in the day, as people who bore witness to the phenomenon continued to discuss throughout the years. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight to see, no doubt about it, evoking images of passion in romantic minds, and ones of the macabre in others.

However, the weird happenings persisted, including framed pictures falling from the walls and a piano placed near the downstairs fireplace producing notes when no one was actually playing it. Guests felt increasingly uneasy and unwelcome, even more so in wintertime, thereby causing a gradual decline in visitation over the course of a year, much to the dismay of hotel management. Allerdale Hall Hotel (or "AHH!" as it was sometimes called) became a hotspot for artists and writers seeking their muse, as well as paranormal investigators, ghost hunters and other horror enthusiasts. I came to AHH as one of the latter bunch, a spiritual medium of sorts hoping to aid trapped spirits in crossing over.

I never truly fancied myself a professional psychic as some might, mostly because I could not physically see ghosts, but rather possessed "second sight", or an awareness of the unseen. I was certainly sensitive to the spirit world and strongly believed in my past experiences, many of which motivated me to investigate and quietly converse with spirits, usually with a pendulum and automatic writing, wherein I allowed the thoughts or emotions of the spirits to flow through a pen and onto paper. I was ever leery of the Ouija board and even tarot cards, due to the possibility of opening doors to the other side and inviting unwanted guests into my life. Despite my precautions and spiritual protection, there were some risks I was just not willing to take.

During my train ride into the county of Cumbria I found myself unable to remove my eyes from the scenic coastline and rolling pastures as they passed in stunning relief, despite the exhaustion of a five-hour plane ride to London (from which I still received jetlag, despite being a frequent flyer) and the subsequent five hours of the tube and train stations wearing heavily upon me. The final stretch from Carlisle Citadel to Aspatria was roughly half an hour, a short period of reprieve, since I would need to catch a taxi in order to reach the hotel afterwards. Lugging around my suitcase made things difficult at times, but I wasn't about to complain, since I packed only the essentials: a few blouses and outerwear and pairs of pants to mix-and-match, toiletries, my laptop, cellphone and of course my trusty quartz pendulum, plus the additional clothing and downy winter jacket I wore at the moment.

Upon alighting at the Aspatria station I located a taxi driver from the service I called earlier, holding an arrival board with my name on it. Luckily I managed to stay on schedule, or else I would have felt bad for making him wait long. I smiled at the balding older gentleman as he lowered the sign and nodded his greetings to me.

"Caelan O'Reilley?" he asked, with a marked accent.

"Yes sir, that's me."

The man nodded and tucked the board under his arm. "Well, welcome to Cumbria, Miss O'Reilley."

I followed him outside to a medium-sized silver car, which he unlocked and then allowed for me to climb into the backseat while he put my luggage in the trunk. Glancing around the black leather-upholstered interior, I buckled in and waited for the drive to start.

"Alright, we're off to Allerdale Hall Hotel, correct?" the man asked me, and I nodded.

"Right."

He started the car and cranked up the heat, and a few minutes were passed without conversation as he drove on. Usually I would have talked more and asked questions, but I had to fight to stay awake. The ride from the station to the hotel was only about twenty minutes, so there wouldn't be much sleep for me either way.

"So, miss," the taxi driver started saying at a red light, "safe to assume you're Black Irish?"

"I'm… uh…?" I'd never heard that term before, but I assumed it had to do with my hair and not my light skin.

"You've got the black hair and blue eyes and the name to boot," he remarked. "But I can guess you're from America."

"O-oh, yeah. I'm from Maine, in the US."

"You've come a long way then!" he exclaimed as the stoplight turned green. "Traveling alone too, huh?"

I wondered if he was guessing about my age, since I looked about eighteen years old despite being twenty-four. (Admittedly, when I used to travel with my parents as a kid, they could lie about my age at museums and such so I could get a child's discount, even after surpassing the age limit.)

"I'm used to it," I said. "I've been to a lot of places in Europe and England, but it's my first time in Cumbria."

"You'll enjoy your stay, I'm sure."

From the rearview mirror I saw the man narrow his eyes, graying brows furrowed, and he hesitated a bit before speaking the next words.

"Be sure to take care at Allerdale Hall, though."

I could have feigned ignorance, but chose not to. "Ah, the ghosts? I was actually pretty excited about them."

A visible shiver ran through the driver's body, his knuckles looking white on the wheel.

"There's something off about that place," he said, dead serious. "Can't say I believe in the paranormal, but there's definitely something off. I wouldn't go in there even if you paid me."

I laughed nervously hearing the intensity in his voice, twirling a lock of chin-length hair between my thumb and forefinger as I often did when uncertain. "I'm… somewhat familiar with that kind of stuff. I think I'll be alright."

There was a small lapse of silence, during which I fidgeted with the denim of my jeans.

"Maybe you'll figure out the curse," the driver said at last.

"Curse…?"

"The previous owners were said to have abandoned Allerdale Hall, but some say they actually suffered brutal deaths there," he said in a low voice, as if someone else might overhear, "and their bodies are buried, unmarked, somewhere on the property. Some say they're angry and out for revenge."

Lovely, I thought. Not that all earthbound ghosts sought vengeance on the living—most were simply unable to find the light due to attachment, or suffered a sudden death and didn't realize they were dead. Sometimes they just needed someone to talk to, instead of being vilified and regarded as if they were not actual human beings.

"Moreover, activity grows far worse in winter," he added offhandedly. "If you've heard the stories, you're certainly brave. Most folks bottled after word got out."

I shrugged, one hand reaching up to brush a few wayward strands of hair from my eyes. "It's the low season for travel, so I figured it would be easier…"

"Hah, fair enough!" he replied, grinning at me from the mirror.

I smiled back, although I sensed his discomfort about the whole subject. We both went silent for the moment, and I propped my arm against the window to cushion my head against. From the way my driver talked about Allerdale Hall he'd probably avoid it like the plague, yet here I was, diving headfirst into the implied danger. At least I wasn't doing a lockdown or nighttime investigation, so if things went sour I probably wouldn't be in any serious danger.

With gray clouds collecting overhead and dimming the sky, I felt my body surrendering itself to slumber, a tempting invitation on my heavy eyelids. The taxi's interior was warm and cozy and I was far too tired, and before long I'd shut my eyes completely and began my imperceptible descent into the welcoming arms of sleep.

Just before my consciousness disappeared into the darkness altogether I could have sworn I heard a voice: a man's voice, but not the voice of my driver. It was soft but urgent, strained and melancholy at once, sounding as if it were echoing from a hundred miles away:

"Beware of Crimson Peak."

A/N: Hi there! Thank you so much for reading through the first chapter of my Crimson Peak fanfiction; I really appreciate it! If it's a little slow right now, don't worry 'cause I plan to pick up the pace soon. I hope you'll favorite/follow and should you have any thoughts, please review!

(Admittedly, I haven't seen the movie yet, planning to, but I've become so enamored with it that I just had to look up the entire plot, read the novelization and then start writing. I've done my research and hopefully everything's passable for now. Feel free to let me know if there are changes I can make. :'D)

Again, thanks so much for reading this! I'm excited that I could share my story with you. Bye for now!

~CC