Kyuriym - Secrets of the Ancient Estate, Kyuriym

“And no one’s seen him since?” Sam pressed.

Doyle shook his head. “Not a trace. It’s as if he vanished into thin air.”

Sam had heard about the locked-room mystery before he even left New York. It was the kind of detail that had piqued his interest in the case—the idea that a man could simply disappear from a sealed room, leaving no clues behind. It was the stuff of old detective novels, but this was no fiction.

“Let me guess,” Sam said, “the village has its theories.”

Doyle gave him a grim smile. “They always do. Some say it’s the curse.”

“The curse?” Sam raised an eyebrow. He had expected local superstitions, but not this.

“Aye. The Colton family has always been... different. There’s talk of dark things in their past—things that go back generations. Some believe Lord Andrew’s disappearance is part of that history.”

Sam didn’t respond. He wasn’t one for ghost stories, but he knew better than to dismiss local legends outright. People believed what they wanted to believe, and sometimes those beliefs held a grain of truth. He grabbed his suitcase and followed Doyle up the stone steps to the massive oak doors of the manor.

The inside of the estate was just as cold and unwelcoming as the exterior. The entrance hall was vast, with high ceilings and dark wood paneling that gave the space an oppressive feel. Dust covered the furniture, and the air smelled faintly of mildew and decay. A grand staircase curved upward, its steps creaking underfoot as Sam ascended.

Doyle led him to the second floor, where he would be staying during his investigation. The room was sparse but functional—a bed, a wardrobe, and a small desk by the window. The view overlooked the grounds, where mist curled around the base of the trees like spectral fingers.

“Dinner will be served at seven,” Doyle said, lingering in the doorway. “If you need anything, just ask. But I’d advise you not to go wandering around after dark.”

Sam glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

Doyle didn’t meet his eyes. “This place... it’s not like other places. Best to stick to your room when the sun goes down.”

With that, the groundskeeper turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Sam stood there for a moment, absorbing the weight of Doyle’s words. He wasn’t the type to scare easily, but there was something about this place that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

After unpacking his things, Sam sat at the desk and pulled out the case file. He flipped through the documents again, searching for anything he might have missed. Lord Andrew Colton, aged fifty-six, had been the last surviving member of the Colton family. His father had passed away years earlier, and his mother had died when he was a child. The family had always been reclusive, with rumors swirling around them for as long as anyone could remember.

But none of that explained how a man could vanish from a locked room with no sign of struggle, no indication of foul play.

Sam rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the case settle on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what he had expected when he took the assignment, but it wasn’t this. The silence of the manor, the strange atmosphere, the unease that hung in the air—it all pointed to something bigger than just a missing person.

As the rain continued to patter against the window, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. There was something—someone—watching him, just beyond the edge of his awareness. He turned to look out the window again, but all he saw was the fog creeping over the grounds, thickening with each passing minute.

Whatever secrets this estate held, they weren’t going to give themselves up easily.

And Sam had the distinct impression that uncovering them might come at a cost.

End of Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: The Silent Witness

Sam woke early the next morning, the chill of the night still lingering in the air despite the thin streams of pale sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains. The quiet of the estate was unsettling, almost oppressive, as if the very walls were holding their breath. He dressed quickly, his movements deliberate, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled in his bones the moment he arrived. Today, he would begin his real work—talking to the people who knew Lord Andrew Colton best.

The first person on his list was Mrs. Agnes Taylor, the housekeeper. According to the file, Mrs. Taylor had been working for the Colton family for over twenty years. She lived in the small cottage at the edge of the estate grounds, close enough to the manor to be on call at all hours but far enough to maintain her own space. Doyle had mentioned that she was a reliable woman, but in the same breath, he had also hinted that she was prone to nerves, especially since Lord Andrew’s disappearance.