Читати книгу - "Secrets of the Ancient Estate, Kyuriym"

With the last of his strength, Sam grabbed the knife from Pritchard’s hand and thrust it into the ground, breaking the ritual circle that had been drawn in chalk around the altar.

A deafening roar echoed through the chamber as the circle shattered, the candles flickering wildly. The ground shook beneath their feet, and Pritchard let out a scream of rage and terror as the power of the ritual unraveled. And then, everything went still.

The blood moon, which had just begun to rise over the horizon, was suddenly obscured by dark clouds, its crimson light fading from the sky.

Sam collapsed to the ground, his vision fading. But even as the darkness consumed him, he felt a sense of peace.

The ritual was broken. The curse was over.

And finally, after so many generations, the Colton family was free.

End of Chapter 7.

Chapter 8: The Final Revelation

Sam awoke to the sensation of something cold and sharp pressing against his side. His eyes flickered open, his vision blurry as pain pulsed through his body. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was—the world seemed fractured, his mind hazy from the blood loss. But as his senses gradually returned, the events of the last few hours came flooding back: the confrontation with Pritchard, the broken ritual, and the knife that had plunged into his side.

He blinked hard, focusing on the room around him. He was no longer in the mausoleum. Instead, he found himself lying on the floor of the grand hall of the Colton estate, the vast, cold space dimly lit by the faint glow of the blood moon, now fully risen and casting a sinister red light through the tall windows.

Sam tried to sit up, but his body screamed in protest. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push through the pain. As he struggled to his feet, he became aware of a figure standing at the far end of the hall, silhouetted against the eerie red light. The figure was tall and imposing, watching him with an unsettling stillness.

“You should’ve stayed down, Detective,” the figure said, their voice calm and composed. “It would’ve been easier for both of us.”

Sam’s heart sank as he recognized the voice. It was Doyle, the estate’s groundskeeper—the man who had been at his side since the beginning of the investigation. The man he had trusted.

“You,” Sam rasped, his voice hoarse. “You’ve been behind this the whole time.”

Doyle stepped forward, his face illuminated by the crimson moonlight. His expression was cold, calculating—completely different from the nervous, deferential persona he had shown Sam earlier.

“You didn’t think I was just the hired help, did you?” Doyle sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. “I’ve been with the Colton family for years. I’ve watched them, studied them. And when the time came, I made my move.”

Sam’s head spun, a mix of confusion and anger swirling in his mind. “But why? Why go through all this? The murders, the rituals—it doesn’t make sense.”

Doyle’s eyes glinted with something dark, something unhinged. “Because the Coltons were weak. They had the power, the wealth, and the influence to control this village, to shape its future. But instead of using that power, they squandered it. They were prisoners of their own curse, too afraid to embrace the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” Sam asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

“That the curse isn’t real,” Doyle said, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “It never was. The so-called ‘blood debt,’ the sacrifices—it was all a lie, a convenient story to control the family, to keep them bound to the whims of the society. But I saw through it. I knew that if I could manipulate the right people, I could take control of the Colton legacy.”

Sam’s mind reeled as the pieces fell into place. The society, the rituals, the murders—it had all been a carefully constructed facade, designed to maintain control over the Colton family and the village. And Doyle had been pulling the strings from the shadows, using the fear of the curse to bend others to his will.

“You killed Mrs. Taylor,” Sam said, his voice steady despite the pain. “And you orchestrated Lord Andrew’s disappearance. All to keep the illusion of the curse alive.”

Doyle shrugged, as if the lives he had taken were nothing more than pawns in his game. “Mrs. Taylor got in the way. She was too loyal to the family, too willing to speak out. As for Andrew, he was never strong enough to do what needed to be done. He couldn’t bring himself to make the sacrifices, so I did it for him.”

Sam’s blood boiled. “You think you’re a hero? That you’ve saved this village?”

Doyle’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t care what you think of me, Detective. I did what had to be done. The Coltons were a dying breed, trapped in their own history. I freed them.”

Freed them. Sam almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Doyle hadn’t freed anyone—he had condemned them. Lord Andrew, the Colton family, the village itself—they were all victims of Doyle’s ambition, his twisted desire for power.