Chapter 3: The Arrival

Montclair revealed itself slowly, as though reluctant to be seen. The winding road leading to the estate cut through dense, brooding woods, the trees leaning toward the car like curious onlookers. As they emerged from the shadows, the mansion loomed ahead, its turrets stabbing into a gray sky, its ivy-covered facade radiating an unsettling grandeur.

James, seated in the back of the car with Joufua’s journals clutched tightly in his lap, felt the weight of the mansion before they even reached its gates. It wasn’t just big—it was alive. Every window seemed to watch them, and the towering oaks that framed the property looked less like sentinels and more like conspirators.

“Well,” Venus said as the car came to a stop in the gravel driveway, “it’s… impressive.”

“Impressive,” Jeun-Pierre Jr. echoed, though with considerably less enthusiasm.

James stared at the house, saying nothing.

The First Impressions

The mansion’s front doors were enormous, their dark wood intricately carved with patterns James couldn’t quite decipher. As Jeun-Pierre fumbled with the keys—part of a heavy ring Joufua had left in a small lockbox labeled “For the Brave”—the door let out a long, low creak, as if reluctant to admit them.

Inside, Montclair was no less imposing. The entry hall stretched upward into a shadowy ceiling, its walls lined with dark wood paneling and faded portraits of unsmiling ancestors. A massive chandelier hung above them, its crystal pendants glinting faintly in the dim light that filtered through the stained-glass windows.

The air inside was heavy, as though it hadn’t been disturbed in decades. Dust motes danced lazily in the faint beams of sunlight, and every step they took echoed ominously, as if the house itself were listening.

“Well,” Venus said, setting down her handbag and glancing around with narrowed eyes, “it’s certainly… atmospheric.”

Jeun-Pierre tried to sound optimistic. “It just needs a little TLC. Some new curtains, a deep clean—”

“And an exorcism,” Venus interrupted, brushing cobwebs off the banister with a look of disgust.

The House Reacts

James wandered a few steps away from his parents, drawn toward a long corridor that disappeared into shadow. As he stepped onto the worn rug, the house seemed to shudder. A faint groan echoed through the walls, and the floorboards creaked beneath his sneakers, though he was sure he hadn’t moved enough to cause it.

He froze.

The groan grew louder, deep and resonant, like a sigh from deep within the house’s bones. A draft whispered past him, cold and damp, carrying the faintest scent of decay. James clutched the journals tighter, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his parents were still nearby.

“James?” Venus’s voice cut through the stillness. “Don’t wander off. We don’t know what’s in here yet.”

He nodded, retreating quickly to her side.

Venus surveyed the house with the practiced eye of someone who could assess the value of a room with a single glance. “It’s grand,” she admitted, her tone grudging. “But it’s also clearly been neglected. This will take work.”

“That’s what makes it an adventure,” Jeun-Pierre said, attempting a grin.

Venus shot him a look that could have stripped paint from the walls. “Adventure is not the word I would use.”

The Rooms That Waited

The family split up to explore, though none of them ventured far. Venus focused on the grand staircase, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she muttered about the dust and the likelihood of rot. Jeun-Pierre wandered into what appeared to be a sitting room, examining the furniture with a mix of curiosity and dread.

James stayed in the entry hall, unwilling to venture into the labyrinthine corridors just yet. The house seemed to breathe around him, its groans and sighs unsettling in their consistency.

Above him, the chandelier swayed slightly, though there was no breeze.

He glanced at the portraits lining the walls. Each one depicted a stern-looking Blackman, their gazes cold and accusatory. James couldn’t help but feel they were watching him, their painted eyes following his every move.

When he turned away, he could almost hear the faint rustle of fabric, as though the figures in the portraits were shifting in their frames.

Dinner Plans

By evening, the Blackmans regrouped in what appeared to be the dining room. The massive table was covered in a sheet that Venus removed with a sharp tug, revealing a surface so polished it reflected the flickering light of the candelabras they had lit for lack of functional overhead lighting.

Jeun-Pierre had managed to find a box of provisions they’d brought with them, and they dined on sandwiches and bottled water, their voices echoing faintly in the cavernous space.

“This isn’t so bad,” Jeun-Pierre said between bites.

“It’s worse,” Venus replied, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “But we’ll manage. As long as Marlo stays far, far away.”

James ate in silence, his eyes flicking between the shadows that pooled in the corners of the room. The house seemed to grow louder as night fell—the creaks sharper, the groans deeper, the sighs closer.

“James?” Venus’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You’re quiet.”

“Just… tired,” he said quickly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to explain what he felt.

Venus gave him a long look but said nothing, turning her attention back to the table.

The First Night

When the family retired for the evening, James was given a small room on the second floor, its walls covered in faded wallpaper that depicted ivy and roses. The bed creaked as he sat on it, the mattress sagging beneath his weight.

He placed the journals on the nightstand and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Every sound the house made seemed amplified in the darkness—the distant clatter of a door closing, the whisper of wind through the rafters, the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere below.

He pulled the blankets tighter around himself, his heart racing with every unexplained noise. Montclair was more than a house. It was alive, and it didn’t seem particularly pleased to have them there.

As sleep finally overtook him, James thought he heard a faint, hollow laugh echo through the halls.

Montclair was waiting. And it was watching.