The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

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could hear Lady Mordemag’s oily praises all the way up the stairs, echoing down the
long, rotting halls.
Annabelle would not speak to her; she was in one of her own capricious moods, the
only time when Darya could see a resemblance between the little girl and the lady of
the house.
Darya lay awake for hours that night, unable to sleep, waiting for the moment when
her bedroom door would open and an apparition from her past would come in. But in
the morning, it was only Lady Mordemag whom she saw, telling her to make the threemile
trek into town and place an advertisement for a new chef. Darya thought about
asking what had happened, but she could see by the twinkle in Lady Mordemag’s eyes
that the lady knew that she had her. How she had found out, Darya didn’t know. But it
didn’t matter. They were all slaves to the estate now.
As she threw on her jacket, and tied it about her waist, Darya turned once more to
look at Lady Mordemag, seated at the dusty dinner table, a bit of embroidery in her lap.
She didn’t know the top of the needle from the bottom, but she still liked to make a
show of wasting her own time, as if that would recall to mind her high breeding, even
in the midst of such disrepair.
“Is there anything I should know,” Darya said, choosing her words carefully. “About
anyone in town.” She paused. “Who might know me.”
“Hmm?”
“If someone knows me…” Darya hesitated.
“You would fear for your safety.”
“Yes.”
“My dear.” Lady Mordemag smiled thinly up at her. “What does that have to do with
me?”