Detective Jane Marshall had seen it all in her twenty years on the force, but the eerie silence that enveloped the old mansion on Ravenswood Lane sent a chill down her spine. The call had come in just after midnight: a blood-curdling scream, then nothing. Jane arrived to find the house dark, save for a single flickering candle in the window.
She knocked on the heavy oak door, and a moment later, it creaked open. Standing there was Mrs. Eliza Thornton, her face pale and eyes wide with fear.
“Detective Marshall, thank goodness you’re here,” Eliza said, her voice trembling. “Something terrible has happened.”
“What did you hear, Mrs. Thornton?” Jane asked, stepping inside. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and something else – something metallic.
“It was around midnight,” Eliza began, wringing her hands. “I heard a scream coming from the library. I rushed in, but there was no one there. Just… silence.”
Jane nodded, her eyes scanning the darkened hallway. “Show me the library.”
Eliza led the way, the candle casting long shadows that danced eerily on the walls. They reached the library, a room lined with ancient books and a grand fireplace. On the floor, near the fireplace, was a pool of blood.
“Good Lord,” Jane muttered, kneeling to examine the scene. “Is this where you heard the scream?”
“Yes,” Eliza whispered. “But there’s no body, no sign of a struggle. Just… blood.”
Jane stood up, her mind racing. “Who else is in the house?”
“Just me and my husband, Charles,” Eliza replied. “But he’s been… strange lately. Talking to himself, disappearing for hours.”
“Where is he now?”
“In his study, I think. He hasn’t come out all night.”
Jane nodded. “Stay here, Mrs. Thornton. I’ll talk to him.”
She made her way to Charles Thornton’s study, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet house. She knocked on the door.
“Mr. Thornton? It’s Detective Marshall. I need to speak with you.”
There was no answer. She tried the door – unlocked. Pushing it open, she found Charles slumped over his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
“Mr. Thornton,” Jane called, stepping closer. “Charles.”
He stirred, lifting his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn.
“Detective,” he slurred. “What brings you here at this ungodly hour?”
“I need to ask you about the scream your wife heard. And the blood in the library.”
Charles blinked, then laughed – a harsh, mirthless sound. “The scream, yes. And the blood. It’s all her fault.”
“Whose fault?” Jane pressed, her eyes narrowing.
“Amelia’s,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “My late sister. She’s haunting this house.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “Your sister? But she’s been dead for years.”
“Yes,” Charles muttered, “and she’s angry. Angry because I… I…”
“What did you do, Charles?” Jane demanded.
“I took her life,” he confessed, tears streaming down his face. “It was an accident. But she’s never forgiven me.”
Jane’s mind whirled. A ghost? It was hard to believe. But the fear in Charles’s eyes was real.
“Show me where it happened,” she said firmly.
He led her to the basement, the air growing colder with each step. They stopped at a door, behind which was a small, dark room.
“Here,” Charles whispered. “This is where she died.”
Jane stepped inside, her flashlight illuminating the small, cramped space. In the corner, she saw something glinting. Kneeling down, she picked up a locket, its chain broken.
“This belonged to her?” Jane asked, showing it to Charles.
He nodded. “Yes. She never took it off.”
Suddenly, the temperature dropped even further, and Jane felt a presence behind her. She turned slowly, her heart pounding. There, standing in the doorway, was a faint, glowing figure – a young woman with sorrowful eyes.
“Amelia,” Charles gasped. “Please, forgive me.”
The ghost of Amelia looked at her brother, then at Jane. Her lips moved, forming silent words: “Help me.”
Jane took a deep breath. “How can I help you, Amelia?”
The ghost pointed to a small chest in the corner of the room. Jane opened it to find old letters, detailing a tragic love affair and a bitter betrayal. It was clear Amelia’s death had been a terrible accident, but one fueled by a broken heart and lost hope.
“I’ll make sure the truth is known,” Jane promised.
Amelia’s ghost smiled faintly before fading away. Charles fell to his knees, sobbing.
Jane placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s over now. She can rest in peace.”
As she left the mansion, the first light of dawn breaking the horizon, Jane knew this was a mystery she would never forget – a tale of love, loss, and redemption that spanned the divide between the living and the dead.
The Momma Clan 
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