Maya casts another nervous glance at the GPS, checking it for what feels like the hundredth time. The signal seems to falter in the wild hills of Northumberland, and an uneasy knot tightens in her stomach. Fresh air streams in through the slightly open window, and she takes a deep breath, trying to dispel the dull anxiety that has gripped her ever since she left the city.
Dr. Leclerc had been relentlessly efficient in convincing his colleague, Dr. Ashford, to take Maya into her care. Less than a week later, here she is, in the northeast of England near the Scottish border, lost in the middle of nowhere.
She had watched the landscape roll past, barely lit by the last rays of daylight, taking in the English countryside clad in its winter colors: dark green hills, bare fields, and black hedgerows snaking across the horizon. Trees, stripped of their leaves, reached their skeletal branches toward a sky that had darkened slowly, taking on metallic hues before the early nightfall of late winter. Now, entirely enveloped in darkness, with only the headlights of her car for company, Maya forces herself to press the accelerator.
The evening is well advanced when her eyes catch sight of the road narrowing ahead. After a few sharp bends, a wooden sign finally comes into view, almost swallowed by overgrown vegetation: Blackmere Estate. She frowns but doesn't slow down, her hand tightening on the steering wheel. Letting out a sigh, she follows the path illuminated by her headlights, which winds through the trees like a fiery ribbon guiding her way. Then, at last, she sees it: a large wrought-iron gate adorned with intricate designs. The metal stands blackened with age, but the way remains open. Turning the wheel, her tires crunch against the damp earth as she crosses the threshold.
Maya had imagined a Tudor manor, all ancient stone and picturesque gardens, but what unfolds before her is far more imposing. Blackmere Estate looms in majestic splendor. The building resembles a small castle, almost medieval, rising three stories high with grey stone. Its angular turrets, thick walls, mullioned windows, and crenelated roofs cut an eerie silhouette against the night sky. The castle stands like a sentinel frozen in time, watching visitors approach with a silent, eager vigilance.
A long path of red gravel winds in graceful curves toward the manor's main entrance. On either side, perfectly trimmed hedges form surreal geometric patterns, too precise to be natural. The scene is lit by gas lanterns hanging from old iron hooks, their flickering glow casting dancing shadows on the ground. The light is soft yet tinged with a spectral hue, making the atmosphere all the stranger. Under this light, the manor seems alive, each stone in its walls absorbing and reflecting the pale gleam.
Surrounding the castle, gardens stretch endlessly, vanishing into the darkness. Wide gravel paths lead to enclosed spaces, fountains waiting to spring to life once more, and a small lake further off, its silvery surface barely catching the cold moonlight and scattered stars. Ancient trees, their bark black and glistening, rise like specters in the night. The entire estate feels as though it exists outside of time, an entity frozen in a distant past, disconnected from reality.
Maya parks the car near a row of a few vehicles. She turns off the engine and sits still for a moment, instinctively reaching for her phone to check the signal. After last year's events—being cut off from the world, far from everything, including connectivity—the lack of a network had turned into a source of anxiety. A sigh of relief escapes her when she sees the faintly lit bars of network strength. Not perfect, but enough. She quickly sends a message to let her loved ones know she's arrived, and a reply comes back almost immediately, easing her nerves slightly.
She steps out of the vehicle and adjusts her coat, the biting winter cold immediately seeping through her clothes. Retrieving her small leather suitcase from the back, she moves toward the estate. In front of her, the manor rises, majestic and imposing, bathed in the light streaming from all its illuminated windows. The golden glow of the lamps seems deliberately designed to accentuate the dark stone facades, the slender turrets, and the intricate edges of the building. The scene evokes a towering lighthouse, isolated in the heart of the night.
Maya pauses for a moment, captivated, her gaze drifting from window to window. One at the very top catches her attention. There, behind the panes, a still silhouette seems to be watching her. She squints, but before she can confirm what she's seeing, the figure vanishes like a mirage.
"If you plan to spend the night out here, should I come back to thaw you out tomorrow, miss?"
Startled, she jumps and turns to see a figure approaching from the gardens, his footsteps crunching on the gravel. The lantern light reveals a man in his fifties, tall and lean, dressed in a white shirt beneath a brown leather jacket. A scarf is casually wrapped around his neck, one end dangling loosely, and a wide-brimmed felt hat casts a shadow over his angular face. In his hands, he closes a small black leather notebook and slips it absentmindedly into the inside pocket of his jacket.
As he comes closer, he raises a hand in a friendly greeting, a smile tugging at his thin lips. His eyes gleam with mischievous curiosity, and he tilts his head slightly, an oddly disarming gesture that combines amusement and sincerity.
"Ah, apologies—I didn't mean to startle you. I saw you arrive and thought I'd better come welcome you."
His voice, when he speaks, is clear, energetic, and carries an air of casual enthusiasm. Every word seems charged with quick wit, almost playful. He stops at a polite distance, his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels as if testing the very idea of standing still. Maya isn't quite sure how to respond, trying to figure out who he might be.
"Welcome to Blackmere Estate," he adds lightly, though with genuine warmth. "Magnificent, isn't it? Well, on the surface… They say the estate comes with its fair share of mysteries."
Maya adjusts her grip on her suitcase, observing him with cautious curiosity. Finally, she offers a polite smile. He narrows his eyes slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, and gestures toward the manor.
"But here I am rambling while you're freezing. Come on, let's not stay out here. I'm sure they're expecting you inside. I'm Fred, by the way."
"Maya. Do you work here?"
"Oh no," the man tilts his head slightly, an amiable smile on his face. "I'm just like you, a guest—or perhaps I should say, a patient."
The young woman nods, struggling to hide her unease. She had known she wouldn't be alone; Dr. Leclerc had mentioned she would be joining a collective program. "Several patients in the same situation as you," he had explained, whatever that meant. But she hadn't expected to meet someone like him, with his disarming nonchalance and singular demeanor.
"You're here for the therapeutic retreat?" she asks.
"Exactly. No white coat for me," he ends his sentence with a mischievous grin, as if to lighten the mood.
"You mentioned mysteries earlier… What were you referring to?"
"Ah, the mysteries," he says with a widening smile, a playful glint flashing in his eyes. "Old houses, you know… They're like grand ladies of a certain age. They have their secrets. Forgotten passages, unexpected guests, and sometimes… ghosts."
He emphasizes the last word slightly, watching her closely, as though probing for something beyond her surface reactions. Maya meets his gaze, but she feels her stomach briefly tighten.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asks finally, her tone lighter than she truly feels.
"Who knows?" His smile turns enigmatic as he shrugs. "Here we are."
With a gentlemanly gesture, he pushes open the massive wooden door and lets her step inside.
After passing through a reception area with its elegant wooden desk reminiscent of a grand hotel, Maya enters a majestic hall. The interior is both warm and solemn: dark wooden paneling covers the walls, creating a rich, enveloping atmosphere, while the ancient stone floor is softened by thick rugs with intricate patterns in warm tones.
Imposing master paintings adorn the walls, paying homage to bygone eras. Maya's gaze lands on the grand staircase, draped with a luxurious beige carpet that stretches elegantly toward the upper floors. It is further enriched by decorative medieval weapons and Renaissance crests. The place, unquestionably old, bears the marks of numerous renovations throughout its existence.
A door to her left, its brass plate labeled "Bar," slightly ajar, lets out a warm light. Moments later, a woman emerges, folders in hand. Tall and elegant, with chestnut hair styled into a neat bun, her refined features and sharp eyes reflect a quick intellect and natural confidence. Her silhouette, wrapped in a perfectly tailored black suit, exudes professionalism and poise. Upon seeing Maya, her face lights up with a broad smile that softens the austere atmosphere of the estate.
"Ah! Maya! I've been expecting you."
She strides forward with a brisk, purposeful step, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, and casts a knowing glance at Fred, who leans nonchalantly against the staircase frame.
"And I see you've already met Fred."
"Always a pleasure to make introductions," the man touches the brim of his hat, tipping it slightly in a theatrical gesture. "Ladies, I bid you good night."
He ascends the stairs with apparent ease, each step eliciting a faint creak from the wood. The woman turns back to Maya, adjusting the folders in her arms.
"I'm Dr. Ashford, but you can call me Elizabeth," she says, her voice soft and composed, yet tinged with a sense of urgency. "I'm delighted to welcome you to Blackmere Estate, Maya. Come, I'll give you a quick tour, and then I'll show you to your room. We'll talk more tomorrow morning after you've had a chance to rest."
She gestures for Maya to follow, and the young woman, stealing a final glance at the staircase where Fred had disappeared, falls in step behind her, taking in the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Ashford leads Maya through a long, richly adorned corridor, the polished wooden floors softly echoing their steps. The walls, covered in warm-toned wallpaper of burgundy and gold, are adorned with period paintings and understated chandeliers that cast a dim, welcoming glow.
As she trails behind the psychiatrist, Maya can't help but feel an odd blend of intrigue and apprehension. She forces herself to take a deep, steadying breath. They stop in front of an open doorway leading into an elegant dining room.
"This is where we all have our meals together. The meal schedule is posted in your room along with the rest of the program."
The room, with its tiled floor and walls covered in gleaming wooden paneling, is furnished with small round tables, arranged to seat two or three people at most. A magnificent fireplace adorned with wooden carvings dominates an entire wall, stretching across its full width. Large mullioned windows topped with stained glass, framed by heavy velvet curtains, offer a view of the gardens submerged in darkness.
"We prefer intimate meals," Dr. Ashford continues with a smile. "It allows everyone to take a moment to talk with one another."
Maya nods, silently processing the information. Ashford pivots sharply, gesturing toward various doors with a precision that suggests clockwork accuracy and an undercurrent of impatience—or is it something else?
"Here are the restrooms. Over there, the kitchens. Meals are prepared by my two assistants, Robert and Jeffrey, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't enter the kitchen, thank you. This hallway leads to the library and two adjoining lounges. They're open to everyone, but please be extremely careful with the books. The laundry room is at the end of the corridor, should you need it."
Ashford retraces their steps and points to a smaller room on their right. The slightly ajar door reveals a cozy yet orderly space: shelves packed with books, a solid wooden desk, and two comfortable armchairs positioned near a window.
"My makeshift office," the psychiatrist says with a touch of humor. "If anything troubles you, or if you'd like a private session, don't hesitate to come see me. I'm always available."
Maya nods again, sensing the sincerity in her tone, though the idea of a private session tightens a small knot of apprehension in her chest. She tries to focus on the psychiatrist's explanations, but her mind drifts, captured by the atmosphere of the place. The manor, with its thick walls and muffled corridors, gives her the feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world, as though she has entered a parallel universe where time and reality follow different rules.
At times, a faint nervousness creeps in. The memory of her night at Sea View—isolated and surrounded by the unfamiliar—lingers at the edge of her thoughts, ready to emerge at the slightest shadow or unexpected sound. Yet the therapist's kindness and the warm atmosphere she tries to create ease some of that tension.
Jimmy isn't here. She is safe.
"Thank you, Dr. Ashford."
"Elizabeth," Ashford corrects her, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she guides Maya back to the hall.
She stops to indicate a set of double doors near the entrance, made of dark wood with faintly glowing copper handles that catch the light from the wall sconces.
"Group sessions will take place in this lounge. You'll see—it's quite a unique space. The bar here, the reception hall, and the winter garden at the end of the hallway are off-limits. We ask patients to avoid these areas during their stay. The property has been graciously lent to us, and we're keen to respect the restrictions imposed on us. Yes? Perfect."
She claps her hands lightly, her tone bright and satisfied.
"And that's about it for the ground floor. The gardens are also open to everyone, but I kindly ask that you stay within the property's boundaries. It's an insurance matter, you understand? Good. Come, I'll show you to your room."
As soon as the psychiatrist steps onto the staircase, Maya hears a dull thud above her. A stair creaks distinctly, a prolonged groan suggesting weight—like someone had been standing there, motionless for a while, and had suddenly moved away.
A slight shiver runs through her as her gaze instinctively rises to the top of the staircase. The shadow on the upper landing seems denser, heavier, as though it conceals an invisible presence. She shakes her head to steady herself, forcing the sound to be nothing more than the quirks of an old building. Old houses creak all the time, and Ashford doesn't seem to have noticed… but the unease lingers.
"Dr. Ash—Elizabeth… This house… is it a hotel the rest of the time?"
"Not exactly. More of a bed and breakfast, with about fifteen en-suite rooms, mainly for romantic getaways and the like. Back when the previous owner was alive, the estate was particularly popular for weddings."
Maya nods, registering the information without much attention, her thoughts still fixed on the creaking step and the fleeting impression that something—or someone—had slipped away above them. They reach the first-floor landing, and Maya can't help but glance quickly left and right, as if to catch someone off guard. But the hallway turns sharply at a right angle, leaving her facing the closed doors of two rooms. To her right, a staircase leads to a second floor, plunged into complete darkness.
Ashford continues her explanation as if nothing has happened, lowering her voice slightly to avoid disturbing the occupants.
"The previous owner, Mrs. Winterbourne, passed away only a few months ago, and her nephew inherited the estate. He was immediately supportive of our initiative and generously allowed us to use the property for therapeutic retreats until the grand reopening planned for spring. A real stroke of luck for us."
"And does he live here as well?" Maya follows Ashford, glancing back occasionally as they turn right, passing the staircase to the second floor and the door to another bedroom.
"Oh no," Ashford says with a small shake of her head and a smile. "Not at the moment, at least. He stays here occasionally, but that's about it. His private quarters are on the second floor, so I must also ask you not to go upstairs. I believe he wants the house to come back to life gradually before settling in—if that's even part of his plan. But he insisted on having the property used meaningfully, as a place of renewal and healing."
Maya nods, though this response doesn't entirely dispel a curious feeling. Ashford climbs a flight of stairs and opens a door leading to a small hallway with two additional rooms. She stops in front of the one directly ahead, marked with a polished brass number 12.
"Your room," she murmurs, as if they were in a library or a church. "I hope you'll feel comfortable here. I took the liberty of placing the women slightly apart, to maintain a bit of tranquility. You have a neighbor just next door, Camille, a young Frenchwoman about your age. I'm sure you'll get along very well."
Then, stepping back, she gestures discreetly towards the end of the hallway.
"As for me, I'm just there, in room 14, near the service staircase. But if you ever need me, I recommend coming directly to my office."
Maya, still attentive to Elizabeth's warm yet methodical demeanor, gives a small nod. She silently promises herself to find a map of the premises as soon as she can.
"I understand that this setting might be difficult for you to adjust to after everything you've been through. But I assure you, you're perfectly safe here, among people who understand you. Get settled and rest well. We'll talk more tomorrow."
"Thank you, Elizabeth."
Dr. Ashford looks satisfied and leaves the hallway with a small encouraging wave. Maya steps inside and quickly shuts the door behind her, releasing a long sigh she's been holding since her arrival.
Ahead of her, a door reveals a glimpse of a luxurious bathroom. Its gleaming white tiles, adorned with golden patterns, reflect the soft light of a suspended chandelier. To her right, the en suite bedroom opens up like a true jewel of royal elegance.
The floor is covered in dark, polished hardwood, so lustrous it reflects the reddish tones of the walls, which are dressed in deep red wallpaper. In the center of the room stands an imposing four-poster bed. Its carved wooden columns rise to the ceiling, supporting rich red drapes embroidered with golden floral patterns. The matching pillows are perfectly aligned, and a thick velvet blanket seems to promise unparalleled comfort.
To the side, a cozy sitting area with two velvet armchairs and a finely crafted wooden coffee table invites relaxation. An antique wardrobe, its doors adorned with elegant carvings, stands near a small desk detailed with delicate ornamentation, atop which rests an old-fashioned lamp casting a soft glow. The walls are decorated with small paintings depicting the estate in different eras, seasons, and angles, capturing the majestic evolution of the place over the centuries. A large mirror, built into the wall opposite the bed and as tall as a person, completes the décor.
Maya steps forward cautiously, almost hesitantly, letting her fingers brush the luxurious fabric of the curtains. She has never seen, let alone stayed in, a place this sumptuous in her life. Awe mingles with a strange sense of unease.
She remains motionless in the center of the room, her suitcase still in hand. Her gaze gets lost in the shifting shadows of the gently swaying curtains, the dull reflections in the massive mirror, and the darkness beyond the windows, where only the bare trees seem to stand watch. The creaks of the old building, the distant whispers of the wind against the stone, feel amplified, almost menacing. She takes a deep breath.
Finally setting her suitcase down beside the bed, she grabs one of the chairs from the sitting area and drags it to the door. In the absence of a key, she wedges the chair carefully against the handle. This precaution doesn't completely soothe her nerves, but it gives her at least a semblance of control. She quickly changes into her pajamas and crosses the room to brush her teeth in the gleaming bathroom. Her anxiety rises steadily as the moment to lie down approaches.
She has to sleep here. Just a few nights. It'll be fine.
She repeats the words over and over like a mantra, but the tension building inside her doesn't fully dissipate. It's her first time sleeping anywhere other than her own bed since the harrowing events of the previous year, and the weight of this novelty gnaws at her nerves.
Back in the bedroom, she turns off all the lights except for the bedside lamp, which casts a soft golden glow over a bouquet of perfectly preserved lotus flowers. Maya sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers clenched on her knees, her gaze drifting to the large mirror facing her. An odd sense of discomfort creeps in at the thought of the mirror reflecting her movements as she sleeps.
She abruptly stands and grabs one of the large white towels from the bathroom. On her tiptoes, she tries to drape it over the top of the mirror, covering most of its surface. She adjusts the fabric several times until she feels reasonably satisfied.
Finally, Maya lies down, pulling the velvet blanket up to her chin. She stays awake for a long time, her eyes fixed on the soft glow of the bedside lamp, stubbornly refusing to close them completely. The sounds of the house seem to grow louder in the silence, every creak and groan becoming suspicious.
It's just an old building, it'll be fine, it'll be fine...
Only after a relentless battle with her restless mind does she finally drift into a light, uneasy sleep, haunted by the persistent feeling that someone, somewhere, is watching her.
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