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

And Sam had the sinking feeling that he was running out of time.

Later that evening, Sam sat at the small desk in his room, the photograph of Lord Andrew and the cryptic note spread out before him. His mind churned over the new information, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces were starting to come together, but there were still too many unanswered questions.

He glanced out the window, where the full moon was just beginning to rise, casting a pale glow over the misty grounds. In a few days, that moon would turn red, and the blood moon would rise.

Whatever was going to happen, it would happen then.

Sam was certain of one thing: Lord Andrew’s disappearance wasn’t just a matter of a man going missing. It was part of something much larger—something ancient and dark, tied to the Colton family’s bloodline.

But what was the purpose of the meeting under the blood moon? And who else was involved?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He turned to find Alice standing in the doorway, her face pale and her eyes filled with worry.

“Detective McAlister,” she said quietly. “We need to talk.”

Sam gestured for her to come in, his pulse quickening. He had been waiting for this moment—waiting for someone to break the silence that had gripped the estate since his arrival.

Alice entered the room, her movements cautious, as though she was afraid of being overheard. She sat down across from Sam, her hands trembling slightly.

“What do you know about the blood moon?” Sam asked without preamble, holding up the photograph and the note.

Alice’s face went white, and for a moment, she looked as though she might bolt from the room. But then she nodded, her voice barely a whisper.

“It’s all true,” she said. “The meeting... the ritual... it’s been planned for generations. It’s part of the curse.”

Sam’s heart raced. “Tell me everything.”

And as Alice began to speak, the final pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place—pieces that would lead Sam deeper into the darkness of the Colton family’s past, and closer to the truth about Lord Andrew’s disappearance.

But the closer he got to the truth, the more dangerous it became.

And Sam knew that whatever was coming under the blood moon, it wouldn’t end without a fight.

End of Chapter 4.

Chapter 5: The Vanished and the Dead

The first sign that something was wrong came with a frantic knock at Sam’s door, rousing him from a restless sleep. It was still dark outside, and the faint light of dawn had yet to creep over the horizon. He glanced at his watch—barely five in the morning. The knock came again, more urgent this time, accompanied by a voice calling his name.

“Detective McAlister! Please, wake up!”

Sam shot out of bed, his heart already racing. It was Doyle, the estate’s groundskeeper, and from the tone of his voice, Sam knew something terrible had happened. He yanked open the door to find Doyle standing there, his face pale and drawn, his hands trembling at his sides.

“What is it?” Sam asked, already fearing the worst.

“It’s Mrs. Taylor,” Doyle said, his voice shaking. “She’s dead.”

Sam felt his stomach drop. Mrs. Taylor—the housekeeper who had seemed nervous but harmless—had been with the Colton family for over two decades. She was a quiet woman, always keeping to herself, but Sam had seen no reason to suspect that her life was in danger. Now, standing in the hallway, he could see the terror in Doyle’s eyes. This wasn’t just an accident.

“Where is she?” Sam asked, grabbing his coat and flashlight, already heading for the door.

“In the kitchen,” Doyle replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I found her just now... I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

Sam didn’t waste any more time. He followed Doyle down the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, the cold stone walls pressing in on him as they moved toward the kitchen. His mind raced with questions—how had she died? Who could have done this? And was it connected to Lord Andrew’s disappearance?

As they neared the kitchen, the faint smell of something metallic reached Sam’s nose—blood. The moment they stepped inside, Sam saw her.

Mrs. Taylor lay sprawled on the floor near the kitchen table, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. Her apron, once crisp and clean, was soaked in blood, which pooled beneath her on the cold stone floor. Her throat had been slit, the wound deep and vicious, as if whoever had done it had wanted to make sure there was no chance of survival.

Sam knelt beside the body, his heart pounding in his chest. Her face was frozen in an expression of shock and terror, her eyes wide open and staring blankly at the ceiling. There were no signs of a struggle, no overturned chairs or broken dishes. It was as if someone had taken her by surprise, killed her quickly, and left just as silently.