Chapter 9 "The Ashcroft Legacy"
EMBER
Ember woke in the middle of the night to find Maya sitting up in bed, staring at her.
"Maya?" Ember's voice was groggy. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Go back to sleep."
But Maya didn't look away. Even in the darkness, Ember could feel her gaze, heavy and assessing.
"Are you okay?" Ember asked, more awake now. "You've been acting really weird."
"I'm fine," Maya said. But her voice shook.
Ember sat up, reaching for her bedside lamp. Maya flinched when the light came on.
"Maya, seriously, what's going on? Did something happen? Is it Jordan?"
"No. Jordan's fine. Everything's fine." Maya's eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying. "I'm just stressed. About school and everything."
"Is this about Tyler? About what happened Friday?"
"No," Maya said too quickly. "Why would it be about that?"
"Because you keep looking at me like I don't know. Like you're scared of me or something."
The words hung in the air between them.
Maya opened her mouth, closed it, then finally whispered, "I'm not scared of you. I'm scared for you."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. I'm just, I'm being stupid. Forget it." Maya lay back down, turning away from Ember. "Go to sleep. We have class in the morning."
Ember stared at her roommate's back, confusion and hurt warring in her chest. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
But she had no idea what.
After a long moment, Ember turned off the lamp and lay back down. Sleep was a long time coming.
MAYA
Maya lay in the darkness, listening to Ember's breathing even out into sleep, and tried not to cry.
She'd spent all evening researching. Possession. Demonic influence. Curses. Every search had led to more questions and no answers.
The phrase Ember had spoken "sanguis pro sanguine" kept echoing in her head. Blood for blood. What did that mean? Whose blood?
And those eyes. Those horrible, empty, black eyes.
Maya wanted to tell someone. Kelly, maybe. He was smart, rational, and he cared about Ember. But what would she even say? Hey, I think our friend might be possessed by something evil?
He'd think she was insane.
Maybe she was insane.
Maybe she'd imagined the whole thing. Maybe it had been a dream, or a trick of the light, or
But no. She knew what she'd seen. Ember sitting up like a corpse, eyes completely black, speaking in a language that shouldn't exist in her mouth.
Something was wrong with Ember.
Something terrible.
And Maya had no idea how to fix it.
She rolled over, watching Ember's sleeping form in the darkness. Her best friend. Her roommate. The girl who'd been there for her through her worst breakup, who studied with her until 3 AM before exams, who made terrible jokes when Maya was sad.
I won't let anything hurt you, Maya thought fiercely. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out. I promise.
But even as she made the promise, doubt crept in.
What if it was already too late?
DETECTIVE SARAH MONROE
Wednesday morning, Sarah stood outside the Ashcroft Historical Society, steeling herself.
The building was old genuinely old, not college town pretending to be historic old. Red brick, ivy-covered walls, windows with actual wavy glass. A small plaque beside the door read: Est. 1886 - Preserving Hollow Creek's Heritage.
Sarah pushed open the door and stepped into what felt like a different century.
The interior was all dark wood and dusty books, display cases filled with artifacts, walls covered in sepia-toned photographs. It smelled like old paper and furniture polish.
"Can I help you?"
Sarah turned to find an older woman emerging from a back room. She was elegant, well-dressed, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Mrs. Crane?"
"Ms. Crane, actually. But please, call me Margaret." She extended a hand. "And you are?"
"Detective Sarah Monroe, Hollow Creek Police." Sarah shook her hand, noting the firmness of the grip. "I'm hoping you can help me with a case I'm working on."
"A case involving history?" Margaret's eyebrows rose with interest. "How intriguing. Please, come sit."
She led Sarah to a small sitting area near the back, gesturing to an antique chair that creaked alarmingly when Sarah sat.
"What can I help you with, Detective?"
Sarah pulled out her notebook. "I'm investigating some unusual deaths in Hollow Creek. In the course of my investigation, I came across a reference to a local folk tale something called the Scarlet Woman. I was hoping you might know something about it."
Something flickered across Margaret's face too quick for Sarah to identify. "The Scarlet Woman. Yes, I'm familiar with that particular legend."
"Can you tell me about it?"
Margaret leaned back, steepling her fingers. "It's a cautionary tale, really. Local folklore dating back to the early 1900s. The story goes that a young woman was accused of adultery and witchcraft. She was cursed by the wronged wife's family, and after that, any man who... was intimate with her would die mysteriously. All of them died the same way, marked by the curse."
"Marked how?"
"A scarlet rose on the forehead. Like a brand, but not quite. The stories say it appeared after death, proof of her evil." Margaret's tone was neutral, academic. "Eventually, the woman took her own life. But some versions of the story claim the curse didn't die with her. That it could... pass on, reincarnate, find new hosts."
Sarah's skin prickled. "Do you know if there's any historical basis for this story? Actual deaths that match the pattern?"
"I'm sure there were deaths," Margaret said carefully. "Hollow Creek was a small Puritan community. Suspicious deaths would have been blamed on witchcraft, curses, sin. Whether those deaths actually had a supernatural cause or were simply misunderstood medical conditions..." She shrugged. "That's a matter of interpretation."
"Do you have any records? Newspaper articles, church documents, anything from that time period?"
"Possibly. The archives are extensive." Margaret stood. "But Detective, may I ask why you're interested in a century-old folk tale?"
Sarah hesitated. "I'm investigating some unusual deaths. The details match the folk tale. I'm trying to determine if someone might be... recreating the legend."
"A copycat killer?" Margaret's expression was unreadable. "How disturbing."
"If I could look at those archives"
"Of course. But I'm afraid it will take time to locate the relevant documents. The filing system is... antiquated. Why don't you leave me your card? I'll call you if I find anything useful."
It was a polite dismissal. Sarah stood, pulling out her card. "I'd appreciate that. And if you think of anything else about the Scarlet Woman legend any details, any names please let me know."
"Absolutely, Detective."
Margaret walked her to the door, her smile pleasant and completely opaque.
Sarah stepped out into the grey morning, frustration building in her chest. That conversation had raised more questions than it answered.
Margaret Crane knew something. Sarah was certain of it.
But proving it was another matter entirely.
MARGARET CRANE
Margaret locked the door behind Detective Monroe and allowed herself a small smile.
So. The police were investigating. Asking questions. Making connections.
That complicated things, but it wasn't unexpected. Two deaths would draw attention. That's why Margaret needed to act quickly identify the host before more men died, before the pattern became impossible to ignore.
She moved through the historical society to her private office in the back, unlocking a drawer in her desk. Inside was a leather-bound journal, passed down through generations of Ashcroft women.
Margaret opened it to a page marked with a black ribbon. Her great-grandmother's handwriting, faded but still legible:
The curse is bound in blood and will. So long as an Ashcroft woman lives, the curse lives. Rosanna Vale will never be free. If she dares return if her corrupted soul dares inhabit another vessel the curse will activate. Every man she touches will die. Every man she ruins will bear our mark.
This is our legacy. This is our duty. The Ashcroft women are guardians. We protect this town from her evil.
Margaret traced the words with one finger. Her grandmother had taught her the truth when she was sixteen. Had shown her this journal, had explained the family responsibility.
At first, Margaret hadn't believed it. Curses weren't real. Magic wasn't real.
But then her grandmother had shown her proof old photographs, death certificates, testimonies from the 1900s. All those men, dead the same way, all bearing the same mark.
The curse was real.
And now Rosanna had returned.
Margaret closed the journal and pulled out a map of Hollow Creek. She'd been tracking the deaths Tyler Brett first, then Rayan Walsh.
Two men, two locations. But what was the connection?
She needed more information. Needed to identify the host body.
Margaret picked up her phone and dialed a number she'd memorized years ago. It rang twice before a male voice answered.
"Adrian. I need you to do something for me."
EMBER
Thursday morning arrived with rain and a sense of creeping dread Ember couldn't shake.
She sat in her 9 AM lecture Victorian Literature but couldn't focus on Professor Barrett's discussion of Jane Eyre. Maya had left early that morning, mumbling something about a study group, and hadn't come back.
Ember had texted her three times. No response.
Something was very wrong, and Ember had no idea what.
The professor's voice droned on: "...and we see Jane's struggle between passion and principle, between her desire for Rochester and her moral conviction..."
Ember's phone buzzed. Finally.
But it wasn't Maya. It was a number she didn't recognize.
Hi Ember, this is Adrian Crane. We have Sociology together? I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime and study? Finals are coming up and I could use a study partner.
Ember stared at the message. Adrian Crane. She knew who he was everyone did. Basketball star, senior, impossibly handsome. They did have Sociology together, but they'd never spoken. She usually sat in the back, he sat in the front surrounded by teammates and admirers.
Why was he texting her?
Before she could overthink it, Ember typed back: Sure, that sounds good. When were you thinking?
His response came immediately: Today? Around 3 at the campus coffee shop?
OK see you then
Ember pocketed her phone, a small flutter of something nervousness? excitement? in her stomach. Adrian Crane wanted to study with her. That was... unexpected.
But nice. Normal. A normal college interaction with a normal guy.
Maybe things were finally looking up.