Chapter 3: Chapter 3 — Beneath Blackthorn

Neither of them moved.
The sound came again.
Knock.
A pause.
Knock.
Then silence.
Clara stared at the floorboards.
"That can't be a person."
Julian picked up one of the candles.
"There's only one way to find out."
They left the dining room and walked toward the western corridor.
The corridor had always been Clara's least favorite part of the house.
It was narrow, poorly lit, and lined with portraits of people she had never known. At the far end stood a wooden door that had been locked for as long as she could remember.
Her father had called it the old storage passage.
Julian stopped before it.
"This is where it was."
"Where what was?"
"The entrance."
He ran his fingers along the wall.
"Your father showed me the basement when we were young."
Clara frowned.
"I never knew there was a basement."
"Most people didn't."
Julian pressed his palm against the wooden panel beside the door.
Nothing happened.
He tried another.
Still nothing.
Then Clara noticed something.
"Wait."
She pointed toward the floor.
One of the boards was slightly raised.
Julian crouched.
He slipped his fingers beneath it and lifted.
A small brass key lay underneath.
Clara stared.
"How long has that been there?"
"Probably twenty years."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
Julian smiled faintly.
"You're still impatient."
"And you're still avoiding questions."
"Some things haven't changed."
He picked up the key.
It was old and blackened with age.
A tiny symbol had been engraved into it.
A thorn wrapped around a crescent moon.
Clara had seen that symbol before.
On her father's signet ring.
She felt a sudden chill.
"Julian."
He looked at her.
"My father had that symbol."
"I know."
She took the key from him.
"Where does it go?"
Julian looked toward the locked door.
"Probably there."
The key turned easily.
The door opened with a long groan.
Behind it was a narrow stone staircase descending into darkness.
Cold air rose from below.
Clara held the candle higher.
"You're sure this was here?"
Julian nodded.
"Yes."
They descended.
The staircase seemed much longer than it should have been.
At the bottom was a stone passage.
Unlike the rest of Blackthorn, this place had been carefully constructed. The walls were smooth. Iron brackets held ancient lanterns along either side.
Julian touched one.
"This place hasn't been abandoned."
"What?"
He pointed.
There was no dust on the floor.
Someone had been walking here.
Recently.
Clara felt her heartbeat quicken.
"Maybe an animal."
Julian shook his head.
"Animals don't leave footprints."
Clara looked down.
There, in the thin layer of dust, were fresh footprints.
Two sets.
One belonged to a man.
The other was smaller.
A woman.
Clara looked at Julian.
"Someone has been down here."
"Recently."
They followed the footprints.
The passage ended at a heavy iron door.
There was no handle.
Only a small inscription carved into the stone.
WHAT IS BURIED REMAINS.
WHAT IS LOVED RETURNS.
Clara touched the words.
"That's Mother's handwriting."
Julian looked closely.
"You're right."
Her mother had written the inscription.
But why?
Julian examined the wall.
"There must be another mechanism."
Clara walked around the door.
Nothing.
Then she remembered the letter.
The truth is hidden beneath the house.
She looked at the inscription again.
"What is buried..."
She glanced down.
The floor.
A small stone near the threshold looked different from the others.
She knelt and pressed it.
A click sounded.
The iron door slowly opened.
Beyond it was a room.
Clara raised the candle.
Shelves covered every wall.
Boxes.
Ledgers.
Letters.
Photographs.
Documents.
Everything had been preserved.
At the center stood a wooden desk.
And on the desk was a single envelope.
Clara approached it.
Her name was written across the front.
CLARA VALE
She picked it up.
Julian stood behind her.
"Open it."
She broke the seal.
Inside was a single sheet.
Her mother's handwriting appeared again.
My dearest Clara,
If you are reading this, then Julian has finally returned.
Clara looked at him.
He seemed as stunned as she was.
She continued.
I hoped he would.
Her eyes filled with tears.
There is something I should have told you long ago.
Your father did not die because of an accident.
Clara's breath stopped.
Julian stepped closer.
She read the next sentence.
He was murdered.
The candle flame trembled.
Clara lowered the page.
"No."
Julian said nothing.
She read further.
And I know who killed him.
Clara's hands began shaking.
The next line was partially obscured by an old water stain.
Only a few words remained visible.
It was not Julian.
Clara closed her eyes.
For years she had carried the belief that her father's death was a tragic accident.
For years her mother had allowed her to believe it.
And now, in a hidden room beneath their home, the truth was waiting.
She continued reading.
The person responsible is still alive.
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Approaching.
Julian extinguished the candle.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Clara's hand found his.
They stood perfectly still.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
Someone whispered her name.
"Clara..."
Her blood ran cold.
She knew that voice.
It belonged to someone who had supposedly died twelve years ago.
Her mother's voice.
"Clara, darling..."
Julian tightened his grip on her hand.
The voice came again.
"Please don't let him tell you everything."
And then the door began to open.

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