The suitcase refused to close.
Ivy Mandell sank onto the edge of the bed, pressing down on the stubborn zipper. The flap popped back open as if it had its own stubborn will, her favorite black hoodie spilling over the side like a shadow refusing to leave. She didn't blame it. She didn't want to leave either.
"You're doing it all wrong," Kate's voice cut through the quiet, coming from the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her blonde hair tousled like she'd just rolled out of bed. "Press from the middle. Not like you're trying to kill it."
"I am killing it," Ivy muttered, the words bitter in her throat. "Or at least trying."
Kate knelt beside her, hands calm, practiced. With a swift motion, the zipper closed. Ivy didn't look up. Her throat tightened. Every time she had to leave this house, the echoes of laughter, of voices once familiar, seemed to lodge themselves in her chest. She had tried to memorize them, but the thought of forgetting made her shiver.
"You sure you want to come with me?" Kate asked gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from Ivy's face. "You don't have to. It's just babysitting."
"I'm not staying here alone," Ivy said too quickly, her voice sharper than intended. "There's nothing left here."
Kate didn't argue. She nodded, standing and grabbing her bag. "Alright. Let's get going."
The drive to Bly felt like crossing into another world. Ivy pressed her cheek to the car window. City streets gave way to winding roads lined with thick trees, their branches clawing at the sky. Asphalt cracked, then disappeared into dirt paths. Her phone had already died somewhere back there, leaving only the hum of the engine and the faint crunch of tires on gravel. The sky darkened even though it was barely afternoon, heavy clouds crawling across the sun like a living thing.
Kate hummed softly, a tune Ivy didn't recognize, her eyes glued to printed directions. No GPS. No street signs. Only trust.
Ivy didn't speak. Her stomach twisted with unease. Something about this silence felt wrong. Not peaceful. Empty.
Bly Manor appeared suddenly, a shadow among the trees. Stone walls climbed toward the sky, draped in tangled green vines. Windows loomed like eyes watching their approach. The gate creaked open as if greeting them with a groan of iron. The house felt frozen, suspended between life and memory.
They parked, and Kate cut the engine. "This is it," she said, a forced smile tugging at her lips. "Looks like a castle, huh?"
Ivy said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on the looming façade, a whisper forming on her lips, as if speaking too loud might wake something.
Before they even reached the door, it swung open. A woman stepped out, small but upright, gray hair pinned neatly. Her face was lined with kindness, but her eyes were sharp, assessing. Mrs. Grose.
"You must be Kate," she said warmly. Her gaze lingered briefly on Ivy before returning to Kate. "Come in. Flora's been waiting."
"Flora?" Ivy asked, voice small.
"The girl we're looking after," Kate said, stepping forward.
Inside, the house was immense. Dust motes drifted in shafts of weak light, a chandelier hung above like a frozen sun. Paintings of stern men and pale women lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow Ivy with quiet judgment. The floor creaked beneath her feet. The air smelled of old wood, roses, and something faintly sweet—like memory itself.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs. A small girl in a pale pink dress appeared, hair neatly tied with a ribbon. Her smile was immediate, radiant.
"Kate!" she squealed, running down. "You're here!"
Kate bent to hug her. "Hey, Flora! You've grown so much!"
"I'm not big," Flora giggled. "I'm perfectly small." She turned to Ivy. "Is this your sister?"
Ivy nodded, offering a tentative wave. "Hi."
"I'm Flora!" she said proudly. "Do you like games?"
"I guess."
"Good! We'll play lots." She grabbed Ivy's hand. "Come see the house! I already picked your room."
"Flora," Mrs. Grose's voice cut through, gentle but firm, "let her breathe. They've just arrived."
"But she has to see it," Flora insisted. "She'll love it."
The room was at the end of a dim, cold hallway. Flora flung the door open with a flourish.
"This one!"
The room was startlingly clean. White walls, tall windows, dark sheets neatly tucked. A vanity stood by the window, its mirror cracked at the top, a thin vein like a scar. Ivy stepped in slowly, the air chilling her skin.
"Who stayed here before?" she asked, her voice low.
"No one now," Flora said, sidestepping the question. "But you can have it. You look like her."
"Who?"
Flora was gone, skipping down the hall like a whisper.
Ivy's fingers traced the edge of the cracked mirror. A drawer caught her eye—it was slightly open. Inside, a hairbrush with tangled black strands. She shivered and snapped it shut.
Dinner was quiet, save for Flora's chatter. The dining room was long, dimly lit with candles flickering like hesitant stars. Plates of warm, heavy food sat before them. Ivy picked at hers. Silence pressed around her, heavy and intrusive.
Flora was undeterred. "Ivy, do you have any brothers?"
"No. Just Kate."
"I do!" Flora said proudly. "He's older, but he's away. Got sent off for being naughty. He's coming back tomorrow. Isn't that exciting?"
Kate and Mrs. Grose exchanged a glance, sharp and fleeting. Ivy forced a smile. "Yeah. That's… cool."
Flora clapped. "You'll like him! I know you will."
Later, Ivy lay in bed, eyes tracing the dark shapes of the ceiling. The wind outside clawed at the windows, trees scratching like fingernails on glass.
Flora's words echoed in her mind.
He's coming back tomorrow.
A cold shiver slid down her spine. She didn't know why.