Ashes of the Soul Keeper

Chapter 6

The Journal of the Dead.

“Some secrets are buried for a reason.”

The hollow thud of Evelyn’s boot against the warped fireplace panel echoed through the empty room. Dust bloomed in thick clouds as the wooden panel loosened and toppled to the floor. Her flashlight cut through the swirling haze, illuminating a narrow cavity behind the fireplace. Shelves lined with decaying books sagged under years of neglect, but one item stood out, a weathered, leather-bound journal.

She reached for it, the rough cover cool and brittle beneath her fingertips. Her thumb traced the faded gold lettering on the front. Vivienne Hale. Her grandmother’s name.

Evelyn hesitated, heart thudding in her chest, before cracking it open. The scent of aged paper wafted up, sharp and dry. Her eyes scanned the first entry, neat cursive letters spelling out a chilling truth:

“The line separating the living from the dead is protected by the Soul Keeper. The spirits imprisoned here become vindictive if ignored. They murder, they rage, they decay.”

Her throat went dry.

Page after page recounted Vivienne’s burden, helping the dead cross over, protecting Black Hollow from restless spirits. But what jarred Evelyn most was the constant mention of the Ashen Tragedy, the fire that had gutted the town decades ago.

She flipped to the last few entries. The handwriting grew erratic, rushed. A line caught her eye, etched in dark ink, the words jagged with panic.

“The fire was no accident. The town wanted it buried, along with the children.”

A chill crawled up Evelyn’s spine. Her hands trembled as she closed the journal, but the creak of the wooden floor pulled her attention to the room itself. The air thickened, pressing in around her, cold enough that her breath frosted in front of her.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

A sharp gust of icy air tore through the hidden room, snapping the pages of the journal in Evelyn’s hands. The sigil etched on the dusty floor glowed faintly, its jagged lines pulsing with a cold blue light.

Evelyn spun in place, heart hammering, but the room was empty.

Or so she thought.

The air shifted behind her, heavy and frigid. Fingers, cold and crushing, clamped onto her shoulder. Evelyn gasped, jerking away, her flashlight tumbling from her grip and clattering to the ground. Its beam flared wildly, landing on the cracked mirror across the room.

Her reflection stared back.

But she wasn’t alone in it.

A tall, gaunt figure loomed over her in the glass, hollow eyes boring into hers. Its skeletal hand still gripped her shoulder, but when Evelyn turned, the space behind her was empty.

Then the mirror cracked.

Thin fractures spiderwebbed across its surface before shattering outward. Shards sprayed across the floor, glinting like jagged teeth in the flickering light. Evelyn stumbled backward, her palm scraping against broken glass, but she barely noticed the sting.

Her gaze locked onto the fractured mirror.

Words formed across the scattered shards, bleeding through the glass like ink in water.

“He’s still here.”

Her breath hitched, panic rising in her throat.

Evelyn staggered to her feet, glass crunching underfoot, the journal clutched tightly against her chest. The shadows in the room thickened, swirling toward the shattered mirror like smoke drawn into a void.

Her mind raced back to the name that had been whispered to her before.

Caleb Vance.

Her grandmother had tried to warn her, but it wasn’t enough.

He was still here.

And he wasn’t done yet.

Evelyn sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, Vivienne’s journal wide open on her lap. The shattered mirror still glinted under the flickering light, its fractured shards reflecting distorted versions of the room. She barely noticed the creak of the front door until Ethan’s heavy boots echoed down the hall.

“Evelyn?” His voice was clipped, laced with frustration.

“In here!” she called, her voice cracking.

Ethan appeared at the doorway, his frame shadowed in the dim light. His sharp jaw clenched as his eyes swept over the shattered mirror, the glowing sigil, and the journal clutched in Evelyn’s trembling hands.

“You said it was urgent,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern.

Evelyn pointed at the journal. “Vivienne wasn’t crazy, Ethan. She was trying to protect this town.”

Ethan scoffed but moved closer. The air grew colder as he approached, his breath fogging slightly in front of him. He hesitated, then flipped through the pages. “Soul Keepers? Trapped spirits? Evelyn, this sounds…..”

He stopped mid-sentence. A photograph had slipped from between the pages, landing face-up on the dusty floor. Ethan’s face went pale as he bent to pick it up.

The image showed a group of children outside the Hale estate. One of them, dark-haired, blue-eyed, was unmistakably his sister, Lily. The date scribbled on the back sent a jolt through him: Two days before the fire.

Ethan’s fingers tightened around the photo. “She…..she was here?”

Evelyn’s heart raced. “I think she was one of the missing.”

His hard exterior cracked, a storm of emotions flooding his face, grief, rage, disbelief. “You’re telling me my sister was part of this?”

Before Evelyn could answer, Ethan’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, then at Evelyn.

“Another body,” he muttered. “Town square.”

He didn’t need to say more. They were already moving.

The town square was a wash of flashing red and blue lights when Evelyn and Ethan arrived. A tight crowd of onlookers had gathered, their murmurs blending into a tense hum. The charred smell of burnt flesh and ash hung thick in the air.

Ethan ducked under the yellow police tape, flashing his badge to the officer on duty. Evelyn followed close behind, ignoring the sharp look thrown her way.

The body lay in the center of the square, barely recognizable, skin blackened, limbs twisted grotesquely. But it wasn’t the remains that made Evelyn’s stomach turn. It was the ground beneath the corpse.

The sigil.

The same jagged symbol that had glowed in Vivienne’s hidden room now burned deep into the cobblestones. The edges still smoked, the air shimmering with heat.

Ethan crouched low, his jaw tight as he examined the burn marks. “This is the same as the one at your estate,” he muttered, running his gloved fingers over the charred lines. “Whoever’s doing this… they want you to notice.”

Evelyn’s throat was dry. She opened her mouth to respond, but then she saw it.

A faint shimmer, nearly invisible, hovered just above the blackened remains. It looked like smoke at first, but then it took shape, small fingers, outstretched, as if reaching for help.

Evelyn gasped.

“What is it?” Ethan asked, following her gaze, though his eyes saw nothing.

She took a step forward. The child’s handprint pressed into the ash, a perfect outline, before it vanished in a wisp of smoke.

“They’re trapped,” she whispered. “The children… they’re still here.”

Ethan stood, his face pale. “If what you’re saying is true, this isn’t just a murder investigation.”

“It never was,” Evelyn murmured, her mind racing.

Somewhere beneath the town, the past still burned, and someone was making sure the flames never went out.

The house was silent, too silent. Evelyn’s breathing deepened as she drifted into sleep on the dusty couch, Vivienne’s journal clutched tightly to her chest. But peace didn’t come. Instead, heat.

Intense, suffocating heat.

She gasped and sat bolt upright, but the couch was gone. Smoke thickened the air around her, the charred scent heavy in her throat. Orange flames licked up decaying walls, and broken windows glowed against the black sky. Evelyn staggered to her feet, her boots sinking into ash-covered floorboards.

Children’s screams pierced the smoke.

Her heart pounded as she stumbled toward the sound, the heat blistering against her skin. Shadowy figures clawed at the foggy windows, tiny hands pounding, desperate. Evelyn tried to reach them, but the fire surged between them, its flames greedy and fast.

“Help us!” a child’s voice shrieked.

She froze. A masked figure stepped from the smoke, a tall silhouette in a cracked, porcelain mask. Its black eyes locked onto hers as it dragged a struggling child toward the rising flames. Evelyn’s feet felt cemented to the ground, the smoke swallowing her words.

She yelled, "Stop!" but her voice seemed to vanish in the flames.

The masked figure didn’t pause. It threw the child into the fire.

Flames roared higher, and Evelyn choked on smoke. Another child, face obscured by ash and soot, turned toward her. Hollow eyes stared back as the child whispered, “You let us burn.”

Her scream echoed through the burning house.

Evelyn jolted awake, chest heaving. The couch beneath her was cold, but her hand, her right palm, throbbed in pain. She looked down, horrified to find angry red blisters across her skin, as if she had truly touched fire.

Smoke still hung faintly in the air.

Her phone buzzed violently on the table.

One new message.

“You’re too late, Evelyn. The fire never went out.”

Her blistered hand trembled as she read the words, but the smell of smoke lingered, this time, it wasn’t just a dream.