Ashes of the Soul Keeper

Chapter 2

The Whispering Walls.

“Some ghosts don’t know they’re dead.”

Morning light filtered through the cracked windows of the Hale Estate, slicing through the dust-heavy air in golden beams. Evelyn stood at the kitchen sink, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of black coffee, steam curling in lazy spirals. The estate was quieter now, but the air still felt thick, like the house itself was holding its breath.

The sharp knock at the door jolted her.

She set the mug down, the porcelain clinking against the counter. Through the dusty front window, she spotted the familiar black SUV parked at the gates. And there he was, Detective Ethan Calloway, standing with the same tense posture, his jaw set like stone.

Evelyn pulled the heavy door open, its hinges groaning.

“Ms. Drake,” he greeted flatly, his gray eyes scanning the property before landing on her. The morning sun lit the rough edges of his face, defined cheekbones, a faint scar near his brow—but it was the tension in his stance she noticed most.

“Detective.” Evelyn folded her arms. “I wasn’t aware I was due for another house call.”

He clenched his jaw. "Last night, you were spotted close to the crime scene."

Evelyn did not recoil. I followed the lights and took a breath. I wasn't really intruding. 

“Close enough.” He glanced past her shoulder, eyes narrowing at the gaping foyer behind her. “This place... it’s not safe.”

“Is that an official warning?”

“It’s a town warning.” His hand flexed at his side, and Evelyn caught sight of a scar slicing across his knuckles, jagged, white against his tanned skin.

“How’d you get that?” she asked.

Ethan hesitated, the question digging deeper than she intended. “Old case,” he said stiffly, brushing it off.

Evelyn tilted her head. “You’re not much for details.”

He was not smiling. "People are sucked whole by Black Hollow." Avoid allowing it to bite you. 

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel, heading back to the SUV.

She watched until the taillights vanished into the mist.

The house behind her creaked, as if listening.

The weight of Vivienne’s journal sat heavy in Evelyn’s hands, its cracked leather cover warm beneath her fingertips. Dust motes swirled in the soft afternoon light pouring through the tall windows of the estate’s study. The whispers from last night still echoed faintly in her mind, lingering like smoke she couldn’t quite clear.

She flipped through the brittle pages, her eyes skimming frantic scribbles about “spirit bindings” and “unfinished ties.” The word Soul Keeper appeared again and again, circled in ink so heavy it had bled through to the next page.

“The Soul Keeper must guide the lost. Without purpose, they grow violent, their pain becoming hunger.”

Evelyn snorted under her breath. “Because that’s normal.”

But as she flipped to the next page, something dislodged, a faded photograph fluttered out, landing face-up on the desk.

Her breath caught.

It was her.

A little girl, no more than six, stood in the very hall she now sat in, dressed in a pale yellow sundress, dark curls tangled around her shoulders. She was laughing, frozen mid-spin, arms wide, as if the photographer had called her name.

But Evelyn didn’t remember this. Not the dress. Not the moment. Not even being at the estate at that age.

Her fingers trembled as she traced the edges of the photo.

“Who took this?”

Her mind raced, pieces not fitting together. The journal, the sigils, the burned body. And now this.

The house groaned in the silence, its walls stretching with age, or perhaps, something else.

Another whisper.

It was softer this time, almost kind.

“Come home.”

Evelyn shot to her feet, the journal tumbling to the floor.

The photograph stayed in her hand.

She wasn’t sure if it was calling her deeper into the mystery, or warning her to run.

Thunder cracked above, the sound rolling through the hollow like an old, deep warning. Evelyn barely noticed. She wandered the darkened halls of the estate, the storm’s distant growl a constant backdrop to the hollow silence inside. Her flashlight’s beam quivered against the walls, highlighting old portraits cloaked in dust and cobwebs.

Rain hammered the windows, but inside, it was the oppressive stillness that gnawed at her nerves. She should have left. Should have packed a bag and driven until the Hale Estate was nothing but a nightmare behind her.

But something kept her here.

A loud slam snapped through the house. Evelyn spun around.

The door at the end of the hall had swung shut.

Wind?

She moved closer. The wooden door, warped from age, creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a steep staircase spiraling downward into darkness.

The basement.

Curiosity overrode caution. She descended, each creaking step stirring up the smell of mold and damp earth. The basement spread out in cold emptiness, the concrete floor slick beneath her boots.

The door slammed shut behind her.

She lunged back up the stairs, but the door didn’t budge. Locked.

“Seriously?” she muttered, jiggling the knob.

The air thickened, cold seeping into her bones. Her breath puffed out in white clouds.

Then, faintly…….

A child’s cry.

The sound was soft, muffled, but unmistakable.

“Hello?” Evelyn called into the dark, the beam of her flashlight shaking as she swept it across the basement.

In the far corner, something caught the light.

A doll.

Charred. Its glassy eyes cracked, its fabric body blackened, but a soft trail of smoke still curled upward.

Her hand trembled as she reached for it……

Cold fingers latched around her ankle.

She screamed, jerking backward as icy hands clawed at her.

“Help me,” a child’s voice whispered, close, too close.

She scrambled to the door, kicking until the grip loosened.

The lock released.

She burst into the storm outside, the doll’s scorched smell still clinging to her.

The rain had dulled to a steady drizzle as Evelyn parked her car outside Black Hollow’s library. The building was old, gray stone with ivy curling around its windows, but inside, it smelled of paper and damp wood.

Evelyn traced her fingers along the spines of faded books until she found the archives tucked into the back room. Yellowing newspaper clippings filled the walls, the faded ink barely legible.

She flipped through brittle pages, hunting for anything about the Hale Estate fire.

“Looking into ghosts, or running from them?”

The voice behind her was unmistakable.

Ethan Calloway.

He stood at the end of the aisle, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the faint scar on his hand catching the light. His gray eyes were sharp, but there was something softer beneath them, something tired.

Evelyn straightened, holding her ground. “Just catching up on family history.”

He didn’t smile. “You’re digging into the fire.”

“Why? Should I not?”

His jaw clenched. “That fire took more than your grandmother. Several kids went missing that night. They were never found.”

Her chest tightened. “And you’re still looking for them?”

His gaze darkened. “I don’t like unfinished stories.”

“Or maybe you’re in one.”

That hit a nerve.

Ethan snapped the old file shut. “This town eats people alive, Drake. I’d watch your step.”

He turned to leave.

“Why do you care so much?” Evelyn called after him.

He hesitated at the doorway.

Then he was gone.

Evelyn stared after him, questions burning, but no answers followed.

The library felt colder now.

And somewhere behind her, a page flipped on its own.

The air inside the Hale Estate hung heavy, stale and cold, yet there was an undercurrent, a faint whisper threading through the walls. Evelyn sat on the dusty study floor, the journal still open beside her, but she wasn’t reading anymore. Her head tilted slightly, the sound growing clearer, words she couldn’t quite catch, like voices buried beneath water.

She stood, heart racing, following the whispers as they danced through the shadows. The trail pulled her back into the grand hall. Her boots echoed on the cracked marble, each step slower than the last. They led her to the cold stone fireplace, blackened by years of smoke, its iron grate rusted shut.

The whispers intensified.

She ran her hands along the crumbling brick, fingertips tracing deep grooves worn into the stone. A subtle breeze brushed her wrist. Evelyn froze, pressing her palm against the hollow space behind the mantle. She shoved hard.

A section of the wall shifted with a heavy scrape.

Her breath caught as the hidden panel swung open.

A narrow passage stretched into darkness.

She grabbed the flashlight, its beam cutting through layers of dust motes swirling like ash. The air grew colder with each step, the stone walls tightening around her. Then the space widened, revealing a hidden room, small, circular, its floor cracked and layered in dust.

At the center, an ancient sigil was drawn in thick chalk, a spiral surrounded by jagged lines. Candles, long since extinguished, clustered around it. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with relics: weathered books, glass vials, and rusted talismans.

But what caught her attention was the mirror.

It stood in the corner, tall, framed in tarnished silver, its surface fractured with long, deep cracks. The glass reflected the room perfectly, except for her.

Her reflection wasn’t moving.

Evelyn stepped closer. The figure in the mirror didn’t mirror her steps. Its head tilted at an unnatural angle, dark eyes wide and hollow.

Then it smiled.

Evelyn didn’t.

Her heart thudded violently as the reflection pressed a hand against the cracked glass.

And a whisper coiled through the room……“I see you.”