The manor quieted once again, the shadows drawing back with the timid touch of daybreak. Eleanor Hayes crossed the threshold, her back sagging with the weight of all she had learned tonight, a second skin upon her. There were no more secret whispers, the secrets now laid bare—but at a price that would haunt her for awhile.

Thomas Grayson stood in the door, eyes half relieved, half sorrowful. Agnes Blackwood’s warning had been more than just superstitious nonsense, and the curse that tied Blackwood Manor limp was not canceled nor forgotten but abated. The restless spirit of Evie Sinclair released from her place between spaces, had left a haunting that promised warning and hope in equal measure.

Father Callum Reid was there still, a solemn muse that faith and fear were warnings inextricably locked in the loom of people. Dr Samuel Whitaker’s quick intellect had dived into the darkness, but for every shadow that remained he could offer no explanation. In a cataclysmic encounter, Marcus Flynn’s cynicism was challenged, and Lily Chambers’ youthful determination to explore the unknown had been given an unknowing depth.

Eleanor hesitated, the sound of Sarah Kendal’s name muttered in darkness a sad throb behind her determination. The manor had pulled her into it — and through that pull, she had crossed the line between reality and nightmare. The shadows had moved off for the time being but Eleanor had to realise that certain voices never left. They bide their time, patient and relentless -- waiting for the day they might whistle a name again.

Dawn’s first light washed over her face as she left Blackwood Manor. The darkness had spoken, and so had she. But the tale was not yet complete.