Crawford Manor

The brass knocker lands against the heavy wood with a deep metallic boom that seems to echo through the storm itself. Rainwater runs down my curls and drips from the sleeves of my caramel leather jacket while I stand beneath the massive stone archway trying not to shiver.

Up close, Crawford Manor feels less like a home and more like something waiting. Tall black windows stare down at me through sheets of rain. Gargoyles crouch along the roofline. Somewhere high above, hidden in the darkness, ravens croak softly to one another.

For a long moment, nothing happens. The storm continues to hammer the manor roof above me while rainwater runs down the front of my dress and pools at my boots. I begin to wonder if the house is abandoned after all, or worse, if whoever lives here already saw me coming and decided not to answer.

Then I hear heavy iron mechanisms slide and clank somewhere deep beyond the door, one after another, like a prison being opened from the inside. The sound crawls slowly through the silence of the storm, deliberate and measured, and every instinct I have suddenly starts whispering that maybe I would be better off back in the cornfield.

The entrance creaks inward slowly enough to make my skin crawl. The man standing there looks old enough to have opened the door for Confederate officers. He is tall and gaunt, pale skin stretched tightly across sharp cheekbones. His silver hair is combed neatly back, and he wears a perfectly tailored black suit despite the storm raging outside. His posture is flawless.

“Good evening, miss,” he says calmly, his voice smooth as polished marble. “You appear to have had an unfortunate encounter with our roads.” His eyes linger briefly on the Colt Peacemaker hanging wet and heavy at my side.

Warm air spills from the manor behind him carrying the smell of old wood, candle wax, and fireplace smoke. It feels heavenly compared to the freezing rain outside. “I got my truck stuck about half a mile back,” I say. “I was hoping somebody here might have a phone.”

“Of course.” He steps aside immediately. “Please come inside before you catch your ****.” I hesitate. Something about this place feels wrong. Not dangerous exactly. Just… off. Like walking into a church after everyone else has already left. Still, the storm behind me answers that argument quickly enough.

I step inside and the doors shut behind me with a low thunderous groan. “I am Corbett,” the old man says. “Butler to the Crawford family. Welcome to Crawford Manor.” The foyer is enormous, with dark, polished floors. Massive staircases curve upward into shadow. Oil paintings watch from the walls, firelight flickering across antique gold frames.

Rain rattles faintly against towering windows somewhere deeper in the house. Corbett reaches politely for my soaked leather jacket. “May I?” I surrender the jacket reluctantly, but when his eyes drift once more toward the Peacemaker, he simply inclines his head slightly.

“The family is accustomed to firearms, Miss…”

“James. Jezebel James.”

“A pleasure, Miss James. You may keep your revolver.” That surprises me enough to make me like him slightly more. Corbett hangs my jacket carefully over one arm as though it were something valuable instead of rain-soaked leather and road mud.

Then he gestures toward a massive sitting room glowing with orange firelight. “If you would be so kind as to wait by the fire, I shall inquire whether Mister Crawford is willing to receive unexpected guests this evening.” I nod cautiously.

The sitting room looks like something torn from an old Gothic novel. Dark velvet furniture. Towering bookshelves. Candles flickering beside crystal decanters. A massive stone fireplace crackling beneath the mounted skull of some antlered animal I cannot immediately identify.

I lower myself carefully into a chair near the fire, the Peacemaker still resting across my lap while thunder rolls somewhere beyond the manor walls. Corbett disappears silently into the depths of the house. And for the first time since the truck got stuck, I realize just how completely alone I am.