The Inheritance

Elliot Ashford never would have imagined inheriting a 200-year-old Victorian mansion in the Scottish Highlands after his grandfather's death. But here he was, moving all his belongings into the mansion.

He had always loved his grandparents' home. It stood in a secluded area, far away from the city, surrounded by lush meadows and rolling hills that stretched into the distance. The mansion itself was a sight to behold, with its tall stone walls, pointed gables, and large, arched windows. Its ivy-covered exterior and weathered wooden doors gave it an old-world charm, as though the house had stood there for centuries, quietly watching the world change around it.

It was so peaceful and beautiful that city dwellers would pay anything to live in such a place. And yet, here he was, inheriting it without having to pay a penny. He had never liked the noisy streets of the city and had always wanted to live somewhere far away from them, if only his job had allowed it.

Now that he was working from home, he could finally make that happen.

Four or five housemaids were helping him settle in. He was so absorbed in admiring the mansion that he barely noticed John, the man responsible for managing the household staff and ensuring everything ran smoothly, approaching him.

“Sir, all your belongings have been placed in their respective rooms. Should you need anything, just ring the bell in your room, and one of the housemaids will attend to you.”

He nodded politely. “Thank you so much for all the help, John. I appreciate it.”

John bowed slightly before heading inside.

He followed shortly after. The house had been cleaned, fresh flowers had been placed in every room, and candles sat neatly on the tables. A few electricians were still working on the lights, and they nodded as he passed. He returned their greetings and continued towards his room.

He was exhausted from the journey and headed straight to the room where he had spent much of his time during his childhood visits. He closed the door behind him, flopped onto the bed, and let out a long sigh. The bed was just as comfortable as he remembered, with its soft, velvety sheets and thick, furry blanket.

Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.

Some time later, a knock at the door woke him.

“Sir?”

It was pitch-black outside. How long had he been asleep?

He got up and opened the door to find John standing there with a polite smile.

“Sir, your dinner is ready. It's being set on the dining table downstairs.”

“Alright, I'll be down in a few minutes,” he replied.

But John remained standing there, looking as though he had something else to say.

“Is there something else?” he asked politely.

John's expression softened, and he hesitated before speaking.

“Sir, if it's alright with you, I'd like to head home after you've finished dinner. My child isn't feeling well, and I'd like to check on them.”

“Oh, that's not a problem at all. You can leave now.”

“But, sir, I should be here in case you need anything.”

“John, please go home. If I need anything, I'll manage on my own,” he said with a reassuring smile.

John nodded gratefully. “Thank you, sir. Your dinner will be on the dining table downstairs. Two of the housemaids will be staying in the outer quarters in the backyard, so you can call them if you need anything.”

“Sure. Thanks, John.”

John bowed slightly and left.

He closed the door, but just as he turned around, he remembered that he still had to send the final designs to his clients. The deadline had already passed.

He hurried to his desk, opened his laptop, and got to work.

He was so absorbed in his designs that he lost track of time. By the time he finally closed his laptop, it was past ten o'clock.

The mansion was unusually quiet. Beyond the windows, the Scottish Highlands lay beneath a blanket of darkness, with only the faint outline of the hills visible against the night sky. Living here was a blessing, he thought, though the silence sometimes felt a little unsettling, especially after dark.

He stretched, rubbed his tired eyes, and was about to get up when he heard something outside his bedroom door.

It sounded like someone opening and closing a door.

He paused, listening.

There it was again.

A slow creak, followed by the soft click of a door shutting.

Then silence.

He waited for a few seconds, assuming one of the housemaids must be moving around the house. But the sound came again, followed by another creak and click, as though someone were repeatedly opening and closing the same door.

A slight unease settled over him.

He glanced at the clock. It was well past ten, and everyone should have been in their quarters by now.

He stood up quietly and walked towards his bedroom door.

Just as he reached for the handle, the sound stopped.

He waited.

Then, from the other side of the door, came three slow knocks.

He froze.

“Hello?” he called out.

No one answered.

He hesitated before opening the door.

The corridor was empty, dimly lit by the wall lamps. The long stretch of wooden flooring disappeared into the darkness at the far end of the hallway.

He stepped outside and looked around.

Nothing.

He was about to return to his room when he noticed something strange.

The door at the end of the corridor, the one leading to his grandfather's old study, was slightly open.

He was certain he had seen it closed earlier.

He stared at it for a moment, then slowly approached.

From somewhere inside the study came the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open.

He stopped in his tracks.

The study door was already open.

And yet, from within the darkness, something was opening another one.

He stood frozen in the corridor, staring towards the open doorway of the study at the far end. A faint light glowed inside, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

Then he saw it.

A tall shadow moved behind the frosted glass of an inner door within the study, briefly blocking the light.

Elliot took a step back. The light went out, leaving the study in darkness.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then, from inside the study, he heard the slow creak of a door opening.

Elliot hadn't moved.

The study's main door remained open.

A chill crept down his spine. He stood several steps away from his bedroom, unable to look away from the dark doorway at the end of the corridor.

Then came another sound from inside the study.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

Coming towards the doorway.

Elliot pressed himself against the wall beside his bedroom door. His mouth had gone dry, and he could feel his pulse hammering in his throat.

The footsteps stopped.

A figure stood just inside the study, its outline barely visible against the darkness. He could make out a head and shoulders, but its face remained hidden.

Elliot stared, scarcely daring to breathe.

Then the figure leaned forward, as though trying to get a better look at him.

He stumbled backwards, his shoulder striking his bedroom door. He reached behind him for the handle without taking his eyes off the figure, but his trembling fingers struggled to find it.

The figure slowly raised its head. And then Elliot saw its face.

His breath caught. His fingers went numb against the door handle, and for a moment, he couldn't even remember how to turn it.

It was his grandfather.

The same face. The same sunken cheeks. The same eyes he remembered from childhood.

But his grandfather had been dead for three weeks.

The figure's lips parted.

“Elliot?”

He wrenched his bedroom door open and stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him. For several seconds, he stood with his back pressed against the door, struggling to catch his breath.

Then someone knocked from the other side.

Three slow, familiar knocks.

And his grandfather's voice whispered,

“Open the door, son. It's cold out here.”