Horses and carriages flitted by, rushing along the dirt path that ran through the middle of the town. The clip-clopping and the tumbling of wheels were the rhythm behind the chatter that engulfed the town in the background, everyone idly gossiping and tottering around, waiting to see someone they knew. It was to be expected in such a rural and isolated town such as Plynth, yet I did not enjoy the prospect of them now having something else to idly gossip about.
"Aye," the old farmer said as he adjusted his strong grip upon the wheelbarrow cart, tipping his head back as though to see the document in my hand clearer by doing so. "Nee-one has heard of sucha place, am afraid. It doesn't exist."
Though my distaste at the colloquial speak of the poor left a sour taste on my tongue, I was more disgruntled at how quickly the old man attempted to get away from me after piercing my very soul with his beady, knowing eyes. I had never come across such discourtesy before, not even from the lower classes. Yet, I had other priorities to deal with other than rudeness.
Placing the documents in the inner coat pocket, I patted the place as I gulped down the unease that wriggled its way through my veins. Suddenly, as I walked through the dark town, it felt as though the dark grey clouds were becoming stormy, the cackle of thunder echoing from beyond the hills.
Uncertainty wrapped around me, placing me into a stronghold that I couldn't break out of. Raindrops splattered onto my face as I made my way through the town, the name of the estate and the words that the old farmer had told me clanging in my head, a bell that kept ringing and clashing against the edges, unstoppable.
Perhaps this venture had been a mistake from the moment I was informed about Thornville Estate. After all, a long-lost relative seemed as though it were a stretch considering I had never heard of the person.
Then, as I wandered through the rain aimlessly, I came upon an old graveyard. The headstones were lopsided, some made from stone and engraved whilst others were wooden crosses. It was one way to differentiate between the rich and the poor, I had to admit.
Staring at the overgrown weeds and the ugly flowers that wound themselves around the graves, I found myself intrigued by the place. It was neatly tucked away from the rest of Plynth that it was easy to dismiss the grounds with its small cottage in place of a church. Yet, that wasn't what had caught my eye about the graveyard. Written upon the metal gates, moulded to spell out the grounds name, Thornville Graveyard.
My blood ran cold through my body as I looked at the deeds, plucking them gently from my pocket and then looking at the graveyard. This couldn't be the grounds that were left to me, could it?
Word count = 496
Written for GothicLit's prompt for the Halloween Vault 3D