Kyuriym - Secrets of the Ancient Estate, Kyuriym

His pulse quickened. He examined the surrounding area, feeling for any loose floorboards or hidden compartments. After a few minutes of searching, his hand brushed against a slight indentation in the wood. Pressing down, he heard a faint click, and a section of the floor slid open to reveal a narrow compartment.

Inside was a small leather-bound journal, its pages worn and yellowed with age. Sam carefully removed it from the compartment and flipped it open. The handwriting was neat and precise—Lord Andrew’s, if he had to guess. The entries were brief, but they chronicled the last few months of Lord Andrew’s life. As Sam skimmed through them, one phrase jumped out at him: “I fear the curse may be real after all.”

Sam’s heart raced as he read the words again. The entries that followed were erratic, the handwriting more hurried, as though Lord Andrew had been increasingly paranoid. He wrote about strange noises in the night, shadows that moved when no one was there, and an overwhelming sense of being watched. The final entry, dated the night before his disappearance, was just three words: “They’re coming tonight.”

Sam closed the journal, his mind spinning. The curse—whether real or imagined—had clearly weighed heavily on Lord Andrew’s mind in his final days. But who were “they”? And what had he meant by “coming tonight”?

Determined to find answers, Sam left the study and made his way to the servants’ quarters, where he hoped to speak with the rest of the staff. He found Mr. Doyle in the small sitting room, polishing an old brass candlestick. The groundskeeper looked up as Sam entered, his face a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

“Mr. Doyle, do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Detective,” Doyle replied, setting the candlestick aside. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve just come from Lord Andrew’s study,” Sam said, watching Doyle’s reaction carefully. “I found something interesting—a journal. It seems Lord Andrew was becoming increasingly concerned about a... curse.”

Doyle’s face hardened. “The curse again,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I told you, Detective, it’s just village gossip. People love to talk, especially when they don’t understand something.”

“But Lord Andrew believed it,” Sam pressed. “He wrote about hearing things, seeing shadows. He believed someone—or something—was coming for him.”

Doyle sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “His lordship had been under a lot of stress lately. He wasn’t himself those last few weeks. I tried to talk to him about it, but he wouldn’t listen. He said the house was alive, that it was watching him.”

“And you didn’t think that was cause for concern?”

Doyle’s jaw tightened. “I’m a practical man, Detective. I don’t believe in curses or ghosts. Lord Andrew had been through a lot—losing his father, managing the estate on his own. It’s enough to make anyone feel isolated.”

Sam wasn’t convinced. There was more to this than just stress or

 paranoia. “What about the other staff? Have they noticed anything unusual?”

“There’s only me, Mrs. Taylor, and Alice—she’s Lord Andrew’s cousin, distant relation, but she came to stay at the estate about a month ago. Said she wanted to help with the house. I’ll fetch her for you.”

Doyle disappeared down the hall, leaving Sam alone in the sitting room. A few minutes later, he returned with a young woman in tow. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, with dark hair pulled back in a loose bun and a wary look in her eyes.

“Detective McAlister,” she said, her voice soft but guarded. “I understand you’re here to find out what happened to Andrew.”

“That’s right,” Sam replied. “And any information you can provide would be helpful.”

Alice nodded, though she seemed reluctant to speak. “I don’t know what more I can tell you. Andrew was... troubled. He didn’t talk about it much, but I could see it in his eyes. Something was haunting him.”

“Did he mention anything to you? Anything specific?”

She shook her head. “No, but I could hear him sometimes—late at night, pacing in his study. He barely slept. And when he did, he had nightmares. He’d wake up screaming.”

“Screaming about what?”

Alice’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He never said. But whatever it was, it terrified him.”

Sam thanked her and Doyle, his mind racing as he left the servants’ quarters. He now had three people who all seemed genuinely unsettled by Lord Andrew’s disappearance. Whether they believed in the curse or not, something strange was happening at the Colton Estate.

The journal burned in Sam’s pocket as he made his way back to his room. Whatever Lord Andrew had been afraid of, it had consumed him in his final days. And Sam had the sinking feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t done with the estate yet.

As night began to fall and the shadows deepened, Sam felt the weight of the silence settle over the manor once again. The house was a witness to something—something dark, something dangerous. And it was only a matter of time before it revealed its secrets.