The Architect of Shadows

Moving right along! To keep the momentum and  here is a Gothic Mystery piece about a house that keeps its own secrets.

The Architect of Shadows

The manor at Blackwood Ridge didn't appear on any modern maps. Silas, a surveyor for the National Trust for Historic Preservation, had to find it using a hand-drawn charcoal sketch from 1842. When he arrived, the house sat atop the cliff like a brooding bird of prey.

The owner was a man named Julian Vane, whose skin was the color of parchment. "The house is shifting, Mr. Silas," Vane said, leading him into a foyer that smelled of dried lavender and old copper. "I need you to find the center. I fear we’ve lost it."

Silas pulled out his laser distance meter, but the red dot danced erratically on the mahogany walls. In the morning, the hallway measured forty feet. By noon, it was thirty-eight. By dusk, it had stretched to fifty, and a door appeared where there had only been a blank wall.

Driven by a mix of professional pride and growing dread, Silas entered the new door. He found himself in a library where the books had no titles. He pulled one from the shelf and opened it. The pages were blank, except for a single line of ink that appeared as he watched: Silas enters the room, his heart rate 102 beats per minute.

He dropped the book. It wasn't just the house shifting; the house was recording. It was a physical manifestation of a "Living Archive," a concept he had once read about on the Library of Congress Research Pages. The manor wasn't built of stone and mortar; it was built of the experiences of everyone who had ever stepped inside.

He turned to run, but the hallway had twisted again. He was in a kitchen where the stove was cold but the smell of baking bread was overwhelming. He saw a shadow move across the floor—not his own, but that of a woman in a Victorian gown.

"You can't leave until you contribute," Vane’s voice echoed through the vents. "The house needs a new foundation. A new perspective."