057 Enoch Estate - Part 1 - Mark’s POV

  If there’s a circle of hell specifically reserved for uphill hikes with luggage, I’m pretty sure we just passed the welcome sign.

  “Who builds a manor there?” I asked no one in particular, glaring up at the towering silhouette of Enoch Estate, perched dramatically like some gothic buzzard on the highest point of the island.

  “This is what I get for trusting maps drawn in the 1800s,” Professor Merrick called back, sounding way too cheerful for a man leading us up a slope that could double as a vertical treadmill.

  We had taken a speedboat to this forsaken island, which had been kind of fun—wind in my hair, sea spray in my face, a brief illusion of freedom. Then we docked and reality slapped us with a steep, winding dirt path that hadn’t seen maintenance since the invention of dirt.

  “WHO EVEN DOES THIS?!” Mirai yelled behind me, dragging her suitcase like it personally offended her. The wheels weren’t rolling so much as bouncing from rock to rock, like she was leading a very uncooperative suitcase-goat.

  “Nature hike, she said. It'll be fun, she said,” Mirai muttered darkly.

  “Pretty sure you said that,” I replied, wiping sweat from my forehead. My own duffel bag was slung across my back like an overfed toddler. Every time I shifted it, I swore it gained weight.

  “No, that was sarcasm, and if you thought otherwise, you’ve officially been spending too much time with Karl.”

  Speaking of Karl, he was… shockingly fine. Sure, his shirt was already halfway unbuttoned and clinging to his chest like a dramatic wet napkin, but he carried his gear like some sexy mountain goat. I hated how effortlessly he adapted to terrain like this. Probably one of those freaks who “enjoy hiking.”

  Greg, on the other hand… was thriving?

  “Great weather for a stroll, huh?” he chirped, hauling a suitcase in each hand like they were gym bags. “I read a study that uphill movement stimulates creativity and digestion!”

  “Can’t wait to creatively digest my suffering,” Mirai grunted.

  He caught up with Professor Merrick, the two of them chatting about the historical implications of Enoch Estate and whether the ley lines intersecting below it were naturally occurring or constructed. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was pretty sure both answers sounded cursed.

  And then there was Elena.

  Her luggage floated behind her like a loyal servant, carried effortlessly by her Shadow Demon—long-limbed, faceless, and smug despite lacking a face. It looked like it was enjoying this a little too much.

  “You know,” I said, panting, “you could have offered to help the rest of us.”

  “I could,” Elena replied, not looking back. “But then I’d be robbing you all of this enriching experience.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “I’m also the driest. Look at your shirt, Mark. It’s crying.”

  Fair.

  After what felt like three minor life regrets and a mid-level existential crisis, we finally reached the top of the hill.

  The Enoch Estate stood before us like something out of a horror movie or an extremely dramatic real estate brochure. Blackened stone walls. Spiked towers. Windows like judgmental eyes. And the massive steel gates at the front didn’t help—towering, rusted, and ominously closed.

  “Giant steel gates,” Greg noted. “Very welcoming.”

  “I’m starting to think we were invited here for a murder mystery dinner,” I said, dropping my bag and stretching my spine back into human shape.

  “Wrong genre,” Mirai muttered, kicking a rock that promptly rolled down the hill like it, too, wanted to escape.

  Merrick stepped forward and pressed his hand to the gate. For a second, nothing happened—then the metal groaned like it hadn’t been touched in decades. Slowly, painfully, it creaked open.

  “Welcome,” Merrick said with a twinkle in his eye, “to Enoch Estate.”

  The gate groaned again.

  “…Did it just say ‘turn back now’ in gate language?” I asked.

  Elena smirked. “That’s just the welcome mat for cursed locations.”

  And with that, we walked in.

  Probably to our doom.

  Or, if we were lucky, just really uncomfortable beds.

  The gates closed behind us with a clang that echoed like a final warning—or maybe that was just the sound of my optimism giving up. A winding gravel path stretched before us, leading to the manor’s main entrance: an intimidating double-door setup made of dark, weatherworn wood. Massive. Ornate. Definitely vampire-adjacent.

  Waiting in front of those doors, standing as straight and still as a statue, was a girl.

  Or, well, technically a woman—but just barely. Late teens, maybe. Long, silver-gray hair flowed over her shoulders, not a strand out of place. Her dress was old-fashioned—lace, velvet, the works—like she’d time-traveled out of a Victorian tearjerker. You know the type. The ones where everyone catches a cough and dies tragically under soft piano music.

  The girl bowed her head gently. “Good afternoon. I am Ash Enoch. I bid you welcome to my family’s estate. You have my gratitude for your timely arrival.”

  I blinked.

  She sounded exactly like she was auditioning for a period drama. Like, I half expected a butler to roll out and announce the arrival of the Queen. Her voice was calm, precise, touched with that old-school elegance that somehow made me feel like my tracksuit was committing a fashion crime just by existing.

  Mirai lit up. Not visibly—she wasn’t the type—but I caught the subtle sparkle in her eye. She loved this stuff. I’d seen the way she devoured whole seasons of "Victorian Vendetta" like they were episodes of life itself.

  And because I’m a certified idiot with an artificial crush and a very persistent mother, I’d been watching with her. Homework, as Mom called it. "Learn her interests," she’d said. "Show you care." So yeah, I recognized the cadence. The slow, almost musical pacing. The dramatic pauses. The tragic mystery backstory practically oozing out of every sentence.

  Ash continued, giving us each a nod as if knighting us. “It is an honor to have your protection during these times. I do not take lightly the efforts you have undertaken on my behalf.”

  Mirai gave me a side glance. I gave her the smallest shrug like, Yeah, I get it now. She smirked. Success.

  Greg leaned toward Elena and stage-whispered, “You two would get along real well. I can already picture it—'The Shadow Countess and the Melancholy Heiress.'"

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Elena didn’t dignify him with a response. But her Shadow Demon shifted ever so slightly closer to Greg in a way that screamed, Careful now.

  Karl adjusted his sunglasses like this was just another Tuesday.

  Where did he even get his sunglasses?

  Merrick stepped forward with a polite bow that seemed just archaic enough to match the tone. “Miss Enoch, we are honored to be here. My team and I will do our utmost to provide you with the protection and discretion required.”

  Ash nodded, her hands folded perfectly in front of her. “I trust in your reputation, Professor. And I hope the estate proves comfortable for you all during your stay.”

  I glanced at the looming mansion. “Comfortable” wasn’t the word I’d use. “Haunted-looking” came to mind. Possibly also “knife collection in every hallway.”

  “May I ask,” Mirai said, stepping forward with just a touch of her usual curiosity, “how many people live here?”

  Ash tilted her head in that elegant, slightly unsettling way. “At present? Only myself and the help. The family… has scattered. As has often been the case in the latter generations.”

  Scattered. Not ominous at all.

  I felt something shift in the air—couldn’t explain it. Like the island was watching us. Like the house itself was exhaling now that we were inside the gates.

  Merrick turned to us and clapped his hands once. “Let’s get settled in. Ash, if you’d be so kind?”

  “Of course. Please, follow me.”

  She turned and walked toward the doors. They creaked open—on their own—and I swear the temperature dropped at least five degrees.

  Greg leaned toward me. “Place gives off major ghost-vibes, huh?”

  I muttered back, “I’m just hoping the Wi-Fi’s not possessed.”

  And with that, we stepped into Enoch Estate.

  Our new home for the week.

  May the ghost dramas be ever in our favor.

  The moment we stepped into Enoch Estate, I braced myself for a wave of cold musty air and maybe a candelabra that would try to kill us. Instead, the inside was… weirdly beautiful. High ceilings. Velvet drapes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Chandeliers that sparkled like they were judging me. A mix of gothic and techy, like if a haunted castle married a spaceship and they had tasteful designer children.

  Click. Whirr.

  Something small rolled past my foot.

  I turned and nearly tripped over what looked like a sentient bowling ball with arms. About waist-high, metal-bodied, with a polished chrome finish and glowing blue eye in the center. It beeped politely and extended two stubby little claws to grab my duffel bag.

  “What the hell—?”

  Before I could finish the sentence, more of them rolled in—half a dozen little ball-bodied bots gliding along the marble floor like Roombas with ambition. They started scooping up our luggage with impressive efficiency. One even wrestled Karl’s suitcase out of his hands mid-sentence. He didn’t even flinch. Honestly, might’ve been into it.

  “Okay, what is this?” Mirai asked, eyebrows lifted as one bot clumsily dragged her suitcase while chirping like a happy R2-D2.

  “They’re the help,” Elena said dryly, arms crossed. “Obviously.”

  She said it like… duh… But I saw her eyes narrow ever so slightly, like she was trying to figure out which model line they came from. Shadow Demon hovered protectively near her, as if even the bots were on the suspicion list.

  Ash gave a small, humble shrug, like someone being modest after revealing she had a robot army.

  “A recent pursuit of mine,” she said. “Engineering. Robotics. I find it a stimulating exercise for the mind.”

  She said it so casually, like she hadn’t just built a fleet of adorable but potentially deadly vacuum-bots.

  Mirai’s eyes lit up. “You built them yourself?”

  “I designed the framework. I admit, I had some help with the hardware. But the programming? That’s mine. I’ve found it quite fun—problem-solving with a touch of personality.”

  One of the bots whirred around Ash’s feet like a loyal pet and let out a happy beep. She smiled down at it like it was a beloved goldfish.

  Elena, meanwhile, was staring very hard at a particularly sleek-looking model that had just stolen her overnight bag. Her ears went a little pink.

  Ash tilted her head slightly. “Of course, we also employ human staff. They’re merely preoccupied at the moment. Preparing a banquet in your honor.”

  Elena blinked. “Ah.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her cheeks flush slightly deeper. Not red-red, but like… soft embarrassed cherry. I bit my lip to stop a grin. It seemed Elena was human too, regardless of how I initially perceived her.

  Mirai leaned over and whispered, “Was that a roast?”

  “Oh, that was definitely a roast,” I whispered back.

  Ash didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she did and just didn’t care. Instead, she spun on her heels, hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Now then! Shall we begin your tour?”

  She practically glided down the hallway, which didn’t help the whole "regal ghost" image she had going.

  “You don’t have to, really,” Merrick offered politely.

  “Nonsense,” Ash replied brightly. “I’ve been practicing. You’re my guests. It’s only right that I give you the grand experience.”

  And so we followed her deeper into the manor—down long corridors lined with strange portraits, old armor sets, and the occasional security camera tucked between gargoyle sconces. The place was a contradiction on legs.

  Ash gestured to a sprawling parlor. “This is the Moonlight Salon. Don’t ask about the name. It’s cursed. That’s a joke. Probably.”

  Mirai gave me a delighted look, the kind she usually reserved for surprise coupons or good murder mysteries.

  We moved on.

  “This is the Observatory. It is off-limits, unless you enjoy sudden altitude loss and poor footing.”

  Then down another hall.

  “This,” Ash said with a flourish, “is the dining hall. Where the banquet shall be held tonight. Please let me know if you have any food allergies. Or culinary enemies.”

  She was… actually kind of fun. For someone who was rumored to have reincarnated seven times over and inherited psychic powers from every past life, she had the energy of a nerdy camp counselor crossed with a haunted house host.

  “Hard to believe she’s some kind of ancient soul,” I muttered.

  “She doesn’t sound like an old woman,” Mirai agreed, watching Ash zip around a corner like a kid on a field trip.

  “She sounds like a steampunk anime character who decided to become an overachiever,” I said.

  “Yeah. I think I like her.”

  I paused, then glanced at Mirai. “As a person, or like… as a person-person?”

  She gave me a look. “Don’t push it.”

  Fair.

  Ash popped back into view. “And here we are—your rooms! I do hope the sheets aren’t haunted this time.”

  She smiled.

  I could not tell if she was kidding.

  Ash eventually left us to our own devices, which was a relief—I could only process so much haunted manor tour guide energy in one sitting. She gave a deep, dramatic bow at the top of the stairs and promised to “reconvene in opulence” for dinner. I had no idea what that meant, but I was 80% sure it involved velvet and candlelight.

  The guest wing was spacious, high-ceilinged, and decorated with enough portraits of grim-looking ancestors to start a curse support group. At the end of a long corridor, we found our assigned rooms.

  Well, room, singular.

  We all stood just inside the doorway, looking at the scene in silence.

  Six beds. One room. No privacy. All of us.

  “This is… intimate,” Greg said cheerfully, already tossing his duffel on the bed closest to the window.

  Elena, standing perfectly still like she’d just been assigned a bunk on a pirate ship, turned to Professor Merrick. “Are we required to wear something formal for dinner?”

  Just as Merrick opened his mouth to answer, there was a knock at the door—three crisp raps. We all froze like someone had just said “Beetlejuice” a third time.

  “It’s open,” Merrick called, turning back.

  The door creaked open, and in stepped a young woman in a crisp black-and-white uniform, clipboard in hand and posture that could cut glass.

  “I am Cherry,” she said with the confidence of someone who’d probably murdered a man with a look before. “House staff. I’m here to inform you that in fifteen minutes, you will be escorted for your fitting appointments.”

  “Fitting?” I echoed. “Like… tailoring?”

  “Like tailoring,” she confirmed.

  “Fifteen minutes?” Elena asked, skeptical. “That’s not very much time.”

  Cherry smiled. It was terrifying. “That’s because I expect efficiency.”

  And then she didn’t leave. She just… stood there. In the doorway. Like a polite bouncer. Clipboard clutched like a holy relic. Watching.

  We all just kind of stared back.

  “Uh,” I said, unzipping my bag. “Guess I’ll… start unpacking?”

  “I suggest you hurry,” Cherry said sweetly. “I’m timing you.”

  I believed her.

  As I moved toward one of the beds, Elena’s voice cut through the tension like a well-aimed blade.

  “Why are there six beds… in a single room?” she demanded, frowning at Merrick like he’d personally arranged this out of spite. “There are six of us.”

  “That’s correct,” Merrick said, already tucking a book into the nightstand like he was settling into a cozy retreat. “I requested this arrangement in advance.”

  Karl groaned. “But why? I’d rather have a room of my own. Preferably one without snorers. Or Greg.”

  “Hey!” Greg said, sounding only mildly offended.

  Then Greg turned to me and Mirai with a devilish little smile. “I bet Mark isn’t complaining. Professor’s just being a professional… wingman.”

  Mirai coughed. I felt my face go hot like someone had lit a match inside my skull.

  Professor Merrick, however, looked genuinely puzzled. “Wingman? I’m afraid I don’t follow. I simply found it more practical to have you all in one room. If something were to go wrong, I’d rather not be running between hallways trying to locate you.”

  He said it with such genuine practicality that I could practically hear the wind deflate out of Greg’s smirk.

  Mirai, still unpacking her bag aggressively, muttered, “It’s fine. I’ve shared rooms before. Just don’t touch my stuff.”

  “No promises,” I said automatically, then immediately regretted it when she shot me a death glare.

  “Okay, okay,” Greg said, flopping onto his bed like a cat claiming territory. “We’re all friends here. What’s a little shared oxygen and awkward sleeping noises between comrades?”

  Karl threw a pillow at him.

  Cherry cleared her throat loudly. “Eleven minutes remaining.”

  And just like that, chaos resumed—everyone scrambling to get semi-presentable before the robot army showed up to drag us into formalwear hell.

  I muttered under my breath, “This is going to be the weirdest week of my life.”

  And given everything we’ve been through lately?

  That’s saying something.