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Dear Lilith, 

I’ve been overcome with grief these last few days, and I assume you do not care. You’ve scarcely written back; when you do, you write only a few words. I remember the day I departed and the sweet words you left me that no longer ring true. You promised that nothing would change, despite the things I’ve done. Do you lie? Do you hold your resentment over me when I am so undeserving? Do not forget, you played a role in this as well. 

Forgive me, I’ve been cooped up in this ghostly castle. The family that hosts me, the Grimwalds, keep to themselves. There are only Miss and Mister Grimwald. Their small child, Grimwald, passed away just a few months before my arrival. I rest in his room, as they do not have any proper guest rooms. I long for your society. The lively parties at Verenda, and the polite people willing to offer their rooms if you ever were in need. 

Do not take this as the Grimwalds are impolite, though they are unlike the people you and I know. My room is forever cold. Atop the somber fireplace, a singular picture of Grimwald rests on top. I insist that the maid, Lorenza, throw more wood into the fireplace. I even offer to cut off a tree myself to find better wood, as no matter how much wood is thrown into the fireplace, goosebumps run along my arm, and I continuously shiver. Write soon.

L. Taylor

March 1798

Dear Lilith,

The days here at Grimwald Manor have been dim. The Grimwalds hardly let me out, seeing fit that I stay within the range of the manor. Miss Grimwald keeps to herself in the library, often knitting or reading from early morning to late evening. Mister Grimwald locks himself up in his study. I tried to enter, but Lorenza quickly shooed me away. I busy myself with studying, but with few companions, I have become bored, and fear that my stay may come to an end sooner than I would like. 

How is Blackwell? You mentioned in your letter that he has fallen ill. Please do send him my regards. I hope to come home soon. I will write again when I have more to say. 

L. Taylor

March 1798

Dear Lilith,

The longer I stay here, the more something feels odd. The manor feels cold, even in the kitchen with Lorenza’s use of the oven to bake bread, or occasionally porridge on Sundays after mass. I feel as though I am seeing things. Perhaps the lingering dark spaces within the manor are playing with my eyesight.

Do not be quick to judge my state of mind when I share this with you. I have not told the Grimwalds of what I have seen, for fear of bringing further pain into their grieving hearts. The other night, as I left my room in hopes of finding Lorenza to request a cup of tea, I heard a small child’s voice. Unnerved, my movements paused. Holding tightly onto the candelabrum, I looked around the hallway, but all I could see was my shadow. The wall lined with family portraits, my eyes landed on the portrait of Grimwald, his being the largest of all. His skin was ghostly white, and his large brown eyes seemed to follow me whichever way I tread.  

Determined, I continued my search for Lorenza. As I walked down the hall, I feared I might hear the small child’s voice again. Have the Grimwalds another child they kept locked away, and somehow, had escaped? I brushed these silly thoughts, Lilith, as while the Grimwalds were queer, they were not monsters. Turning to head down another hallway, I tripped over something, and my candle nearly went out. I immediately apologized for thinking I must have bumped into Lorenza. She’s known to stay awake most nights and scurry around the manor in hopes of completing any work she may have missed. 

My eyes fell upon a small child. It’s the younger master! He was crying, and I found fault in myself. Perhaps I hurt him with my near fall. But Lilith, how could he be there? Was he not dead, as the Grimwalds said upon my first arriving here? I bent down, inquiring why the small child was crying. 

“Where’s my mommy and daddy? I’m so cold. The snow is cold.” Grimwald told me. 

I was bewildered. We were inside. There was no snow. I shivered too as he spoke. I reached out my hand towards Grimwald. As Grimwald’s cold fingers wrap around my finger, Lorenza’s voice rings out, and the small child disappears. 

“Mister Taylor, it is far too late to be wandering about the manor!” She nearly shrieked. 

I stayed in my spot momentarily, looking around for the small child. Where had he gone? 

“Did you see the young master?” I asked Lorenza, surely, that the apparition that appeared in front of me was true. 

Her face turned white at my words. “Young Master Grimwald is dead, as you know, and I’d rather you keep such odd thoughts to yourself.” 

Lorenza reached me, grabbed my arm, and escorted me back to my room. I did not bring up the small child to her again. 

L. Taylor

April 1798

Dear Lilith,

I fear this is my last letter to you, as I have suddenly fallen ill after I sent out my last. You have failed to respond since the first one, and your communication is what allows me to continue. You must be wondering why I have fallen so ill and sullen. One can deduce that it was from Young Master Grimwald’s appearance. I’m sure that is what you would assume. I will not dance around the subject. Since my first encounter with the young dead master, his ghostly form appears more often. Three nights ago, he appeared with a ball and begged me to play with him. Out of fright, I obliged, though he soon became upset that he could not catch the ball between his transparent fingers. I attempted to soothe him, and he calmed down. He curled up on my lap and fell asleep. Somehow, I had also fallen asleep. Perhaps, as he was my only companion in Grimwald Manor. When I had awoken, Lilith, he had gone. 

Every night since, I keep this ghost companion, keeping our interactions solely between you, me, and Young Master Grimwald. It was not until last night that I decided I could no longer stay here in Grimwald Manor. I was utterly consumed by fear that I had succumbed to a fever. Never mind my illness; I must go, but first, I must share why. You have known this much up to now, and it is only fair that you end this horrid nightmare with me. 

I had been caught up in a book I borrowed from the Grimdwald’s library. It’s one I’m sure you have read. I recall seeing you read it by the fireplace as Lord Henry and I spoke about affairs that I cannot remember now. Never mind that now, let me continue. I was reading Carmilla, and when I reached for my cup of tea, it was cold. This could be with my mind being consumed by the dark, foreboding tale that lay in front of me, but my tea had been quite hot moments prior. The black curtains billowed, and cool, fresh air flowed into the room. 

I stood up and walked towards the window to close it. As my hands grazed the glass, a sudden knocking echoed from the door. I tell whoever is there to come in, but they do not. Instead, the knocking grows louder, and my ears ring from the sound.  I shout over the knocking, but my voice cannot be heard, which I suspect as the person continues to knock. Suddenly, I heard the dead young master’s voice, and goosebumps ran along my arm. I contemplated what to do. Should I let him in? Should I shut myself in? I should– 

My thinking was interrupted as the door began to open. His tiny fingers peeked into the room, and I screamed when he entered. He had not looked as he had in all those encounters before.  Instead, his face was grey and decayed. His fingernails were caked with dirt, as if he had climbed out of his grave himself. He could not even take a step towards me before I had presumably passed out. When I had awoken, I was in bed with Lorenza standing over me. She told me I had suddenly come over with a fever sometime during the night. I did not ask if she had seen the dead young master, nor did I tell her I would be leaving that night. I wonder if he walks among the manor at night, or if Miss and Mister Grimwald know. Perhaps they do and find comfort in the ghost of their only child, who is long gone. I do not know and hope not to find out.

I will soon come home. Please be well. 

L. Taylor

April 1798

This was written by our contributing writer, Nya Rowe.