Brice Manor

15. I'll Be

As the moon rose high into the sky, it cast an eerie glow over the old Brice Manor. Its silver light illuminated the intricate carvings on the stone pillars and danced across the overgrown garden, highlighting the cracks in the cobblestone pathway.

Tents were scattered across the lawn bathed in endless darkness as its occupants slept with nothing to worry about.

But while the outside of the manor was shrouded in quiet stillness, the inside was a different story altogether. On the second floor, Emily sat solemnly on her bed and gazed at her suitcase. She had been released from the hospital that afternoon and though she was apprehensive to enter her room given the recent events, she had no choice. None of her coworkers showed compassion. Jamilla had been dismissed. No one acknowledged her when they had dinner. It felt like she was a ghost who sat there and could only eat in silence.

The weight of her recent conversation with the owner of Brice Manor hung heavily on her shoulders.

As she recounted the discussion in her mind, tears trickled down her cheeks. The old man had been furious with her, his anger boiling over like a pot left unattended on the stove. He had belittled and insulted her, demanding that she produce a perfect presentation of her plans for the third floor within just two short days, warning her that it was the only chance she had to redeem herself. The old man also stated that he was willing to back up the company regarding Emily's misdemeanor if she held firm in her resolve to quit her job.

Emily had neither an apartment nor a house to return to, and her lack of family support left her in a difficult position. With only ninety dollars in her bank account, leaving her job would leave her with no income and potentially ruin her chances of being hired elsewhere. She feared that even a job as a waitress or a similar position would be hard to come by. Additionally, her suggested misdemeanor and bond with the company could lead to a legal battle and she had no means to hire a lawyer. Emily was acutely aware of her dire situation and felt helpless.

She's so fucked, she mused.

"Provide a clear and precise depiction of the third floor," she whispered, her voice heavy with defeat. Emily realized the enormity of the challenge ahead. She had just started taking inventory of the furniture on the third floor, two days wasn't enough to fulfill the owner's request. Anxiety crept up on her, weighing her down, while the moon's silvery glow seemed to taunt her, accentuating the hopelessness etched on her face.

She sat on her bed, tears streaming down her face. But then, a shift occurred within Emily. A spark of determination ignited, and she realized she couldn't give up without a fight. Something wasn't right. She had been wronged, and she needed to prove it. With wounded pride, she tightly clutched her suitcase, opened it, and spilled its contents onto the bed.

She is Emily Hudson, since when did she accept defeat so easily? She will not go down without a fight. With the moon as her witness, Emily made a silent promise to herself that she would figure out what happened and find out who the fuck, put that damn vodka bottle on the third floor.

It wasn't hers. If only she could prove that that damn bottle wasn't hers and that she truly saw an apparition...

Emily suddenly stopped her musings. She looked around her room. Ghosts, she thought. "Damn ghosts," she muttered. Whether what she experienced was true or not she couldn't care less. She needed to...

Then a thought crossed her mind.

Hastily she went to her cabinet and took out the key to the third floor and an old flashlight. She gave her belongings one last look and then headed for her bedroom door.

With each step she took, the moonbeams danced across her face, highlighting the determination and strength that burned within her.

After one last cry of profanities, mocking ghosts, stupid workers, and vodka bottles, Emily marched out of the room.