I and the Witch of Time Who Seeks the Past

The Old Manor (2)

The legend surfaced in my mind and a chill ran through me. The connection to my own situation felt too precise to be coincidence.

Having dreamed the same dream for nearly ten years was strange enough.

But now that I was here, retreat was impossible. I had to unravel the strange mystery that had been following me.

I quickened my pace into the forest, the pistol clutched in my hand. I had a small packet of spare rounds in my bag—hopefully I wouldn’t need them.

My palms were sweaty; nervousness and excitement betrayed themselves.

The woods were dim and eerily quiet; all I could hear was the soft crunch of leaves beneath my boots. The deeper I went, the darker it grew; my vision narrowed with every step.

I pulled out my phone to use the camera’s flash as a light. But the darkness was so absolute the flash only showed me the ground directly ahead. There was nothing to do but press forward, gun in hand, lighting my path with the phone.

After an unknown stretch of time, a slant of sunlight broke through the canopy. In the gloom it looked impossibly alive—I knew then I was close. I headed toward that light, and suddenly felt a sharp sting along the left side of my face.

“Thorns?”

At last I had reached the thicket of thorns. My winter coat was thick, so I pushed through slowly. When I finally freed my hat from the tangle and saw what lay beyond, the sight stole my breath.

Snow tried to hide the manor but could not conceal its presence. A dignified gate and a beautiful courtyard stood before me. I lingered, letting the image sink in.

“My God.”

I stepped out of the thorns onto the deep drifts and wanted to quicken my pace, but the snow made every step slow. I opened the iron gate surrounding the manor and walked into the mysterious, haunting garden.

For ten years that dream had haunted me, and now the dream stood before me in reality. Joy rose in me, but the old man’s story returned to my mind, and unease followed. Perhaps the girl from my dream was—

“The witch?”

I stopped admiring the scene and walked straight to the manor’s resplendent gate, which glimmered even under the snow. The door was heavy; I had to grab the handle and pull with my body to heave it open. After a few long moments, it yielded.

I peered into the blackness and switched on my phone again.

“The place is oppressive,” I thought as I stepped inside.

Everything matched the dream. My light fell on golden ornamentation that gleamed as if waking from a hundred-year sleep. And there were the statues—solemn guardians spaced every few steps. Each wore armor and bore a humanlike, expressive face; but their ashen color made me doubt whether they were alive.

Curiosity and astonishment tightened in me, but so did a wary fear—they felt as if they could come to life at any moment. I had to reach the door at the corridor’s end and open it. My gut told me it would not be simple.

I shone my light ahead and finally saw the marble gate. It seemed to swallow my beam, making my already weak flash dim further.

“How strange,” I murmured, and instinctively turned my head.

…All the statues had tilted their heads toward me.

“What—”

Cold sweat broke out across my skin; a chill run through my chest.

No—stay calm.

I moved slightly, but they didn't react.

“It’s truly eerie in here.”

I threw my weight against the great door, but it didn’t budge.

“Damn it!”

This wasn’t how it had been in my dream. I needed to get away—unless the gate had some mechanism. Pressing close to the stone, I kept an eye on the statues while feeling along the wall for a switch.

Click!

The sound was unnervingly clear. I looked toward its source and saw a small recess where the wall met the door.

Thud… thud…?

I heard stone grinding. Without even looking, I knew. The statues were moving!

Panic rose. I slammed into the door and pushed with everything I had. The ancient gate had been triggered but, being so old, it could only be opened by sheer force.

“Come on!” I grunted, pushing with all my strength as the stone figures slowly advanced.

“Faster, faster!”

They closed in while the gate creaked open inch by inch. When the gap at last was large enough for me to slip through, a pair of hands grabbed me.

Fear and panic swallowed me whole.

No, stay calm! Shoot!

I turned my head and, sure enough, it was one of the statues.

I turned and fired. My shots landed; the statue’s grip loosened. I wrenched forward into the dark beyond the door and, with every last ounce of energy, pushed the gate shut behind me, trapping the stone statues outside.

Bang!

The sound reverberated. The lock within the door clicked into place. I let out a shaky breath, though I could still hear muffled movement from the other side.

I was trembling, but I forced slow, steady breaths to keep from losing my wits. This was impossible—were those statues alive? Magic from a Western fairy tale? Was any of this real?

I slumped against the door, fatigued from the struggle. There was no easy way out; I might be trapped inside.

"Well, I might as well look around first."

I finally took in the vast interior. Just as in the dream, a single broad shaft of light fell on an enormous clock—so massive it felt like a building. The rest of the space was swallowed in darkness; the clock was all I could make out.

According to my dream, a black robe should have floated down from the air. But there was nothing. I took a few steps forward, testing for exits. All I heard was the clock’s tick.

Tick.

Then I saw the clock’s hand point to twelve.

“What? Is the clock wrong? It’s daytime out there.” I glanced at my phone.

12:00 a.m.

Impossible—there had been sunlight earlier. Then I realized the illumination on the clock was not sunlight.

It was moonlight.

What was happening? The hand stopped. A breeze brushed my cheek. Wind? This chamber was sealed and underground except for that shaft of light. I glanced back; the gate was closed and the statues had fallen silent.

As I turned my gaze up, a black robe flashed before my eyes. Not as in the dream—the robe unfurled in the air like a dark blossom.

And within its folds—the girl who had haunted my dreams for years—appeared. Her hair was black, but her eyes were no longer deep onyx; they were a sorrowful pale blue.

She floated like a celestial being, unafraid of falling, and reached out with a calm hand. Her eyes were like deep water, glass-clear.

Was she reaching for me?

In that instant, as the black petals of fabric slid down, she embraced me. I was stunned, then instinctively wrapped my arms around her. The dark blossom closed, reforming once more into her robe.

That was how we met—at the stroke of midnight.