Awwww, thank you guys so much for the first reviews :) I'm so happy I already got you hooked on the new one! As for the question I received in the reviews, the "Great War" is what people used to call WW I before the second broke out. As for the location of this mansion, it's a fictional one somewhere in the south of England.

Chapter 2

The sunlight was violent and Clara squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't help to drown out the bustle in the room that told her the house had woken up. When even Coco started to move next to her and Martha's voice filled the room along with the smell of fresh coffee, Clara realised that it was no use and decided to open her eyes.

"Good morning," Martha announced happily as she opened the doors to the terrace to let the morning air into the room.

A thick mist had settled over the meadow and the damp coldness made Clara shiver and reach for her duvet. Nevertheless, the fresh, cool air felt nice on her skin and lifted some of her drowsiness.

"Morning," she mumbled in response. It was all she could manage at that moment. When Coco moved to a heavy object on the edge of her bed, Clara finally noticed the breakfast tray and held the hungry dog back. The coffee smelled amazing, as did the fresh rolls, and the fruits looked more than inviting. She was starving. "The coffee better be strong."

"Did you not sleep well?" Martha enquired.

After feeding Coco a slice of ham, she reached for the coffee and took a large sip, noticing with delight that it was just right between strong and bitter.

"It's the noises," Clara explained. "I'm used to hearing cars and people, not foxes and dogs and whatever that roaring sound was. And I could've sworn I heard horses, too."

The maid froze on the spot and it was enough to make Clara raise her head and take a proper look at Martha who suddenly seemed a little frightened. It was nothing that she did or said, but her eyes widened just a little as if in horror. She was still drowsy from the lack of sleep, but the memory of Jenny's reaction last night was vivid nonetheless. Something was frightening both women.

"What's wrong?" Clara wanted to know.

"Nothing," Martha replied a little too quickly and instantly set out to busy herself, but since Clara still hadn't unpacked properly and the room looked pristine, there wasn't actually anything for her do to. "You'll get used to the sounds in a heartbeat."

Still, Clara didn't take her eyes off Martha as she attempted to straighten the duvet around her feet. Something was wrong, she could feel it.

"What are you and Jenny scared of?" Clara decided to be blunt. It seemed to be the only way to get some information out of her.

Martha uttered a nervous laugh. "We're not scared. Why would we be scared?"

"That's what I'm asking you," she demanded. "A stag was roaring last night and Jenny started to trembled when she closed the window and you look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong? Are there wild animals in the forest? I'm sure they won't come here."

"It's not that," Martha responded. When she finally looked up, Maratha uttered a heavy sigh. "Mr and Mrs Oswald don't like us talking about it. They say it's nothing but a foolish superstition, a myth, and we shouldn't worry about it."

A frown appeared on Clara's forehead as she listened to Martha's explanation, but her curiosity was definitely sparked. She had always loved myths, even as a child and she remembered all those eerie bedtime stories she had made her mother tell her as an infant. At some point, however, her mother had stopped and Clara wasn't sure why that was and why she could never be persuaded to tell her another ghost story.

Now, she would make Martha tell her.

"What kind of myth?" she wanted to know and took a bite off her croissant while Coco begged for another piece of the ham.

The maid hesitated visibly and Clara could tell that she was uncomfortable.

"Please, I'm curious," she almost begged her. "I love a good story."

Martha took a deep breath and looked straight at Clara as if giving her one last chance to change her mind about it, but that would never happen. Then, she began. "It's a ghost story," Martha said carefully. "They say the forest is haunted by a strange figure called the Hunter. He has the body of a man and the antlers of a mighty stag and he roams the forest at night on his horse which is said to be the fastest in the entire land. They say he talks to the animals and if you kill one that belongs to him, he will not rest until you're dead."

"What?" Clara asked, frowning at Martha. "So no one hunts in this forest?"

"Some have tried," she replied. "But there's a law now that forbids it. They don't want to attract the Hunter's anger."

A soft shiver ran over her body, but Clara knew to blame it on the cold September air.

"What happened to the men who tried?"

Martha looked at her for a long moment but hesitated to speak. When at last, she opened her mouth, the door suddenly burst open.

Clara turned her head to see Jenny standing in the doorway, panting a little as if only just recovering from a run.

"Is something wrong?" Clara wanted to know.

Jenny inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt," she spluttered breathlessly, "but your father sent me to tell you he's readying the horses for a ride and he wants to know whether you'll be joining him. He wants to show you around the area."

Clara considered it for a moment, weighing the craving for fresh air against the recently learned ghost stories and she decided that a morning ride would probably do her good.

"Tell him I'll be downstairs in half an hour. I'll just finish my coffee and get dressed," she replied with a smile.

Jenny nodded eagerly and then pointed at Coco. "Shall I take her into the kitchen to feed her?"

"That would be lovely, thanks."

During the ride, Clara felt eager to ask her father about the urban myth surrounding the forest, but she could never find the right moment to bring up. At first, it felt strange to be back in the saddle, but she had been around horses for most of her childhood and it was easy to get the feeling back. The mare her father had chosen for her was a black Morgan horse named Ebony and she was gentle and seemed to sense Clara's tension before answering with careful movements and reassuring neighing. Half an hour later, riding on Ebony's back seemed as natural as walking.

As her father led her along the dark forest paths, the fog had finally lifted and Clara felt her thoughts trail off as she neglected to listen to what her father was telling her about the landscape. Martha's tale was still on her mind and Clara looked around the forest curiously as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the Hunter even though he was nothing but the product of an imaginative mind. But where had the sounds come from last night? What about the rider she knew she had heard?

"Do people usually ride around the forest during the night?" Clara found herself asking.

Her father turned his head and for the first time, she took a proper look at him. He seemed to have aged since the last time she saw him even though it had only been a few years. David Oswald had visited after Danny's death and made her the offer to move back home. Four years ago, Clara had declined because she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her job as a teacher and the flat she had shared with Danny.

Her father granted her a smile. "No, why would they?" he asked in return.

"Oh, no particular reason," she replied. Somehow, Clara felt like he wouldn't believe her if she told him.

"You shouldn't listen to the maids' tales," her father said. "They say all sorts of things haunt the forest at night, but you know how locals are. It's nothing but a silly superstition."

Clara nodded absent-mindedly, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened in the forest last night. It wasn't just the sound of a horse she had definitely heard, it was the eerie quiet that had settled over the place as soon as they had entered the woods. She couldn't see or hear a single animal.

"Clara, darling, are you feeling alright?" her father suddenly asked and there were traces of worry in his voice. "I know you only came here because you had no choice, but Linda and I will try our best to make this house your home until you remarry."

"I'm never going to remarry," Clara snapped back at him and instantly regretted her outburst. The Great War had left behind many widows and she knew of several women who had already found love again after the loss of a husband, but Clara couldn't imagine that happening to her. Danny had been her first love and he would be her last. Even if she found another man, the thought about marriage scared her more than anything else. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal.

"You're still young," her father told her in reply. "I understand if you don't feel ready yet, but you might in a few years. Trust me, when your mother died, I felt devastated."

"You found solace quite quickly though," she barked. Clara hadn't meant to make it sound like an accusation, but the words just came out like that.

David Oswald sighed audibly. "Linda can't replace your mother. No one ever will," he said softly. "But she makes me happy, she offers me companionship. I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone and I don't want you to. Even if you don't find love again, I hope you will at least find a companion."

Clara nodded slowly, thinking that maybe her father was right, but for her, it was too early to even think about it. And if she had a choice between being on her own and the male equivalent of her stepmother, Clara would rather die alone.

It seemed as if Clara's plan to avoid Linda worked pretty well for most of the day, but when the time came for dinner, the family gathered in the large dining room and there was no way to get out of joining them. However, it also provided Clara with the perfect excuse to finally ask the question that had been on her mind all day long.

"Martha told me an interesting tale this morning," she began, still chewing on a piece of salmon. "She said that according to an urban myth, the forest around the house is haunted."

Linda snorted in response. "Oh, the Hunter," she replied, her voice so full of disdain that Clara instantly felt as if she wouldn't receive the information she wanted. "A scary ghost story to keep the people out of the forest and keep them from hunting where they have no business hunting. It's rubbish, of course."

"Martha and Jenny don't seem to think so," Clara retorted. "They actually seem a little frightened."

"Good," Linda concluded. "The story is working then."

Knowing that she would get nothing else out of Linda, Clara turned to her father with a bright smile. "You know I've always loved ghost stories. Would you mind telling it to me?"

To her surprise, her father started to chuckle. "You're not ten years old anymore, dear," he said gently. "Besides, your mother had to stop telling you these stories because you started having nightmares about them. In fact, I'm fairly certain it started right here, in this house."

Frowning, Clara continued to look at her father. She didn't understand.

With a sigh, her father wiped his mouth with a napkin and when he placed it aside, he looked a little worried. "When you were a child, I don't know, maybe you were six or seven years old, we stayed here for a few days and your mother told you the story about the Hunter, a demon or ghost creature that lives in the forest. You loved it, of course, you've always loved ghost stories. But that night, you disappeared from your bedroom."

Clara listened to him intently. She couldn't remember that incident at all.

"We were beside ourselves with worry," her father went on. "When we found you in the garden, it was almost morning and you were shivering and telling us you've seen the Hunter. The doctors said you must have sleepwalked and had a nightmare. From that day on, your mother and I decided that we should no longer tell you these crazy tales when they were giving you bad dreams."

"I don't even remember that," Clara replied, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Her father granted her a warm smile. "You were a child. Of course, you would get frightened."

Clara nodded, but her mind was miles away and suddenly, she wished she could remember the days she had spent in this house, wished that she could remember the ghostly tale and what she had really seen in the garden. But she knew that she wouldn't get the answers out of her father or Linda.

As she lay in bed that night, Clara listened closely to the sounds in the forest, but it wasn't as noisy as it had been the night before. Maybe Martha was right and she would get used to the sounds in no time, but tonight, it was the absence of noise that terrified her even more. Just like it had been during the ride in the forest, the woods seemed almost dead and there was no sound apart from her own breathing.

Clara was already beginning to drift off when a roar sent a shockwave through her body and she felt the adrenaline course through her veins as she sat up. Her heart was hammering inside her chest and she was only beginning to recover from the startling sound when the clattering of hooves appeared. Then, the dogs started barking again. The forest had come alive once more.

Curious to see what was going on, Clara slipped on her morning room and slippers and walked to the door that separated her from the terrace. Coco followed after her even as she stepped out into the cool night air.

The moon was high and bright on the night sky and it illuminated the empty meadow in front of her, but the sounds still hadn't faded. It was clear as day, the sound of a horse galloping through the forest and it was definitely not a product of her imagination.

Clara jumped up when Coco suddenly joined in and barked at nothing along with the other dogs. She tried to hush her pet when all of a sudden, as if possessed by a spirit, Coco sprinted away and darted across the meadow.

Now, Clara had no choice but to follow after her.