A/N: This is my first attempt at a chaptered fic here- the prompt was a challenge from school, to write a Gothic based story. And without any further ado...

Challingford Hall

It is six years to the day since my aunt died. I never met her, and I had never even heard of her until the day I came home and saw my mother crying. Her name was Marissa Caswell. At my mother’s insistence, we are moving to her house. It is a mansion- Challingford Hall- on the outskirts of town.

“We don’t have to live there,” Mother had comforted me, when I began crying. “We’ll return to Charlottetown. I should like to see the house where my sister lived, that is all.”

It is now 4:30 in the afternoon, according to Father’s pocket watch. I sit on the train, my face pressed against the glass. It is cold, and I can hear the wind whistling outside. The rain beats down, and I wish that I could run outside, let the sky cry the tears I cannot cry. Who was this Aunt Caswell, and why do we now have to give up so much for her? It has been years since she died, why must we act now? Something similar to resentment swells in me, but I restrain myself. I must, for that is what is expected of pass. The puffing of the steam is repetitive, comforting. We depart the train; wait for a coach to arrive. Other than the steam train, the country has little means of transport. The horse is slow, but steady, and I fall asleep to the sound of clicking pebbles.

“Catherine,” my mother said, and I sleepily shifted to face her. “Welcome to Challingford Hall.”

What met my eyes was so different to anything I’d seen before that I could do nothing but gape. Grey walls of stone reached, it seemed, into the sky above- the clouds were low, and the pounding rain melded into the roof. There were windows- great, majestic things, with heavy curtain drapes behind. Who was this Aunt Marissa? How was it that I had never met her, I- now a ‘young woman’ (or so they say), of thirteen?

Come, Catherine.”

I followed my father and left the cab, struck mute. The great arch doorway floated over me, the heavy wooden door closed with a heavy clang. There was no way out. I could tell from that moment- although I may return to Forester in Charlottetown- Challingford Hall would be my home. I shivered at the thought.

---

Supper was a quiet affair.

Our maid, Hannah, served our meal, and fretted throughout. The hall was too draughty; the drapes were too dull- the Master and Mistress were not disappointed, were they? No? Why were they so silent? Was the Miss Catherine comfortable? The floor was dusty- surely one of us would sneeze! Had we been caught in the rain too long? Were we to catch cold on our first night here? How isolated we were from society!

I watched the candlelight flicker, and watched the shadows it created. It brought to mind a verse I had read whilst still in Charlottetown- “Life but a shadow, this fleeting world will pass”- and tore my eyes from the wall.

“Catherine, you have scarcely touched your supper,” my mother said severely, and I smiled and forced a little laugh.

“It is the sudden change,” I said, lighter than I felt. “Challingford is so different to Forester.”

My mother nodded, satisfied, and returned to her own food. I wondered at her and Father- how could they adjust to easily to life here?

A streak of lightning came hurtling into the fields about a mile away. I stifled a shriek, and grasped at Hannah. She dropped the soup ladle, and it clattered onto my plate.

“Catherine!” my mother admonished.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” I gasped. “Are you all right, Hannah?”

Hannah assured me she was fine- “’Tis nothing to worry over, ‘tis the sudden shock. The Miss jus’ needs to adapt- after all, ‘tis a fine ol’ house, an’ needs jus’ a little cleanin’!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell Hannah that this was not the case. The candles flickered once more, and I sensed something- a shadow- flitting past on the wall. I gasped and looked at my parents.

They had not seen a thing.

---

I tried to delve into my covers as the wind howled on. The storm had long stopped- storms cannot last forever- but the wind had not. I wished to God it had.

“Oh, Catherine, what a beautiful room!”

“Yes, the Miss should love this! See the view from the window? Miles and miles o’ fields- ‘ow beautiful!”

“It is beautiful, but- oh, Mother, mayn’t Hannah sleep here, and not in the servant’s quarters?”

“Catherine, do not be ridiculous! You must surely know how improper that is!”

Ridiculous! Improper!I tried to make myself comfortable in the four-poster bed, resplendent with red curtains around. The curtains frightened me- suppose the house was to catch fire? I should be doomed. All hopes of comfort window latch shuddered, and I wished I’d fastened it tighter. I was about to leap out and light a candle- the darkness was frightening me almost to my death- when there was a click. I saw my door unlatch itself, from the corner of my eye. There was a whisper of something- someone- in the room- then silence.

I buried my face in my pillow and cried.

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