Emily Voss's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Emily Voss came to help her aunt fix a broken house. She did not expect the workers to run. Every morning they filed out of the manor pale and shaking, and every morning they were gone before she could ask why. She moved from the city three weeks ago. She still didn't know what lived in the east wing, but she meant to find out, because something in that wing needed her help. She just didn't have the words for it yet. This morning she stood at the bottom of the steps and blocked the path. A young worker came out first, sawdust on his sleeves, eyes wide. "What did you see up there?" she asked. He looked past her at the manor, then shook his head. "The lady in the wet dress," he whispered. "She cries in the corner. She won't stop." He pushed by Emily and hurried down the drive with the others. None of them looked back. Emily climbed the steps. Peeling paint flaked under her hand on the rail. She had never gone into the east wing. Her aunt kept telling her the floors were unsafe. Her aunt met her in the front hall. Mrs. Vivian Voss wore a spotless gown of blue and gold, though the house around her was dust and cracked plaster. She smiled at Emily, and the smile held too long. She reached out and pressed Emily's hand between both of hers. Her fingers were cold. "You're up early, dear," her aunt said. "The men are jumpy. Old houses make noises." She squeezed once and let go. "A worker said there's a woman crying in the east wing," Emily said. "A woman in a wet dress." Her aunt's smile did not move. "Workers imagine things." She turned toward the parlor. "Leave the east wing to me." Emily did not leave it. She waited until her aunt's heels clicked out of hearing. Then she climbed the back stairs to the east wing. The door stuck, then gave. Moving boxes filled the room, flaps torn, corners crushed. Water stained the floor in a dark ring near the far corner. The air smelled of pond and rot. Emily stepped closer and saw a picture frame propped against the wall. A wedding portrait. The gold edges peeled. Grime blurred the two faces, a bride and a groom, until she could not tell who they were. Cold air moved across her neck. A black moth drifted from behind the frame and settled on the glass. Its wings shimmered blue and purple in the gray light. Emily heard it then, low and near the corner, a woman weeping. Her skin prickled, but she did not run like the others. She knelt by the frame and looked into the ruined faces. "I hear you," she said to the empty corner. "I'm not leaving." The crying stopped. For the first time, something in the east wing was listening back.