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The Night Of Horror
Astor sat at his desk, his fingers tapping against the keyboard as he scrolled through page after page of information. His usually sharp, focused expression was tinged with something else, determination, yes.
Charlotte’s story wouldn’t leave his mind.
The way her voice had trembled when she spoke about her mother, the pain etched in her features, it had stayed with him long after she’d left the room. And now, he wants answers, he wanted to know what really went wrong.
Astor leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning an old map of Charlotte’s hometown. The town was small, almost forgotten, nestled near a dense forest. He had never heard of it before tonight, but the more he dug, the more questions he had.
He opened another tab and began typing, searching for any records, articles, or mentions of the area. His fingers moved swiftly over the keys, his mind racing.
Just then, something familiar cut his attention, he sat up and moved closer, THE ZONE, he zoomed it as though, answers were hidden in it.
“I've heard this somewhere..” Astor muttered to himself, tapping his head gently.
\---
Meanwhile, Charlotte stood by the window in her room, staring out at the darkened gardens below. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her mind spinning with thoughts she couldn’t quite untangle.
Astor had surprised her tonight. The way he had listened, the way he had cared, it was so unlike the guarded, stoic man she had come to know.
And yet, it scared her.
She had spent so much of her life protecting herself, building walls around her heart to keep from getting hurt. But Astor... he made her want to let those walls down. And that terrified her more than anything.
Jasmine’s soft breathing filled the room, grounding her as she glanced at her sleeping daughter. Charlotte smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from Jasmine’s forehead.
“Sleep, my angel..” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
\---
Downstairs, Brandon was in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea. The house was mostly quiet, the staff having retired for the night.
“Can’t sleep either?” Belinda’s voice startled him, and he turned to see the older woman leaning against the doorway.
“Seems like it,” Brandon said, a smile creeping to his cheeks.
Belinda stepped into the kitchen, her hands on her hips. “It’s this house,” she said. “Always something brewing, we always have something to feel and say.”
Brandon chuckled softly. “You make it sound haunted.”
“Sometimes it feels that way,” Belinda said, her tone more serious than he expected.
Brandon sipped his tea, his thoughts wandering. “Do you think Mr. Harrington’s okay?” he asked after a moment.
Belinda raised an eyebrow. “Astor? That man’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for years. He’s strong, but even he has his limits.”
Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “No doubt to that, I just hope he fixes all these.” He said.
\---
In the study, Astor’s eyes narrowed as he clicked on a link to an old local newspaper archive. The page loaded slowly, the pixelated text making his head ache, but he didn’t look away.
He scrolled through articles, his focus unwavering as he searched for anything that might give him a clue.
Finally, he found it.
The headline was simple but scaring: “Tragic Accident Claims Life of Local Mother.”
Astor clicked on the article, his heart pounding as he read.
\---
In her room, Charlotte paced the floor, her thoughts racing. She couldn’t sleep, not with everything going on in her mind.
She thought about her mother, about the nights she had spent crying herself to sleep as a child. And now, for the first time in years, she was allowing herself to hope that there might be more to the story.
But hope was dangerous.
Charlotte shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She needed to focus on the present, on Jasmine, on keeping her safe.
But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept circling back to Astor.
\---
Astor leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as he read the article again. The details were sparse, almost deliberately vague.
The article described the night Charlotte’s mother went missing, mentioning the doll she had been searching for and the woods where her body was found. But there was something else, something that didn’t sit right with him.
A witness.
The article mentioned a local man who claimed to have seen Charlotte’s mother that night, arguing with someone near the edge of the woods. The man’s account had been dismissed, written off as unreliable, but Astor couldn’t ignore it.
His jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair, his mind racing.
Outside the study, Belinda passed by on her way to her room, her steps slowing as she noticed the faint light under the door. She frowned, hesitating for a moment before continuing down the hall.
In the kitchen, Brandon finished his tea and glanced at the clock. It was late, but he had a feeling sleep wouldn’t come easily that tonight.
Charlotte finally sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. She felt like she was on the edge of something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what.
Her thoughts drifted back to the way Astor had looked at her earlier, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t name.
She shook her head, letting out a soft sigh. “Get it together, Charlotte,” she muttered to herself.
\---
Astor stared at the article for a long moment before grabbing his phone. He typed the witness’s name into a search engine, his frustration mounting as he came up with nothing.
The man had vanished, it seemed, just another dead end.
But Astor wasn’t one to give up easily. He clicked back to the article, scanning it again for any detail he might have missed.
And that’s when he saw it.
A single line buried near the bottom of the article: “Authorities declined to comment on rumors of foul play.”
Astor’s blood ran cold.
Foul play.
It was just one phrase, but it changed everything.
He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. This wasn’t an accident, not entirely.