Published at 12th of August 2024 7:40 am

Chapter 119 Nyctophobia And Ghost Stories? Not A Good Combo

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Sally Hall

The stairs creaked softly as Sally Hall walked down it in an attempt to reach the kitchen on the ground floor of her silence-ridden mansion.

She was dressed in a pink petticoat for her nightwear, while the brown hair on her head was completely frizzled so much that the curly state it always had was nowhere to be seen.

Although, she had only just woken up, so such haggard appearance of hers was justified. Still, with one hand holding the skirt of her gown, her tall and slender figure presented her in a very bewitching form.

As praised by the countless men who had tried to make their ways into her bed, she was a beauty befitting of the Heavens itself.

None of those men had had a whiff of her though, besides her usual Herman strawberry cologne while she entertained them at gatherings or the sort. The one who had—whom she had married—was a man who went by the name, Dustin. Dustin Hall. A gentleman who had owned a diamond jewelry business.

Though his gentlemanliness had only lasted for a year.

Apparently he felt threatened by how men gawked at his wife, and decided to curb any outcome of her cheating on him by making a dent on her beauty.

Sally had always managed to protect her face, sacrificing her body in its stead. But she could only take so much beating before her anger got to her.

She’d killed him one night, stabbing him six times in his bowels, and made it seem as though he had been attacked by robbers during his return home from his workplace.

Dustin’s family had condemned and pointed fingers at her, but those whom she had hired to take care of her husband’s dead body had done such a fine job that not a single clue that could be traced back to her existed.

As per Dustin’s decision—a will he had drafted up when he’d still had his wits about him—she had inherited his mansion and his jewelry business from the properties he’d had, his family taking all else.

The rest of her life had been secured for her, but she knew not to dwell too much on the stability lasting forever.

She had to broaden her grasps.

And that was why she had sought out investing in Cleavenger’s Dark and Milk Chocolate. But the events which had occurred with an uninvited guest, who called himself Willy Nimblewick, had changed her mind—and her taste buds.

Sally shivered suddenly on the couch she was seated upon in the mansion’s tea room, though not because of the night’s cold as the windows were shut tight.

Too sweet…! She exclaimed inwardly, pushing the cup of tea she had made away from her mouth as though she was repulsed by it. Did I put too much sugar…?

Ever since she had tasted that man’s chocolate, she’d grown to have such a high craving for sugar that she could not keep herself in bed at midnight. But even as bad as it was, it was due to that that she’d decided to invest in his own chocolate instead.

Only…

Under the soft light of the gas lamps, she scrutinized the newspapers she had bought today, one each from the Morning Crier, Ur’s Tribune, and Ur’s Super Bugle, but still… she’d found nothing.

It’d been three days already and she was yet to see anything that would direct her to that weird man as he had promised on the window sill.

Did he change his mind…? Sally Hall thought as she hesitantly took another sip of her sugary tea. I doubt that… Someone who could make such magnificent chocolate wouldn’t be so weak-willed… I should probably give him some time; maybe he’s still settling some things…

All of a sudden, as she leaned back to relax on the couch she was on, the light of the gas lamps in the tea room began to flicker eerily.

Her brows fell down quickly and an agitated demeanor took over her expression. Sally Hall sat up quite uncomfortably in an instant, her touch of elegance faltering noticeably.

What is happening…? She thought, trying her best not to focus on the stories she’d heard from the lady tea club she was a part of on how some widows got haunted by the spirits of their late husbands.

But she had never had a greater failure when the lights of the gas lamps vanished all at once with a ‘poof’. Her body was instantly flooded with so much tremors that the tea cup she was holding fell to the floor and shattered, spilling tea all over its rug.

Oh, Chronos, please listen to my call… Immediately, with rasping breaths, Sally clasped her hands together, shut her eyes, and began to pray.

It could just be a minor fault in the gas pipes, or something of a similar nature, but Sally had always been too afraid of the dark, and, as such, her ability to think straight had faded away.

Although, it was because of her nyctophobia that she was a certain percent sure that her previous thought was false.

Sally Hall never slept without lights. And so that such would never happen, she always had her gas lamps checked everyday, along with any subsequent connections related to it.

She’d been engaging in such consistently even while married to Dustin Hall, and she recalled doing the same during the day of her current hour. That was why the darkness now troubled her on a scale higher than the physical one.

Something was wrong. Was she really being haunted? By her husband? Was it because she had killed him? Was this… his spirit seeking revenge?

Those thoughts made Sally’s pulse race, and before she knew it, her frantic prayers had ceased and her eyes had flung open to a bulging state.

The silence crept onto her skin then, and her petticoat could not keep out the shivering cold of winter’s night all of a sudden. It felt as though every single of her windows had been opened.

For someone who was afraid of the dark, her best pieces of fiction were thrillers, mysteries, and horror. Having listened to and read so much, her current situation felt oddly similar to what always happened in the ones she’d engaged with.

And it wasn’t one bit pleasant.

A rhythmic tapping suddenly manifested upon the window across from her, forcing her into a shudder.

It was utterly frightening that she could call for no one—no one at all. Her maid servants were not on-site workers, and so the mansion was her private space whenever night came.

At this moment, she wished it wasn’t.

Shaking her head, Sally clasped her hands together to pray once again where she was frozen on the couch. But just as her lips parted to mutter her prayers, a figure appeared into view behind the oriel window of her tea room, in the garden outside.

Her breath hitched instantly, and the sound of her heartbeats began to thrash in her ears. She could conjure no coherent thoughts, nor sounds, nor the strength to pick herself up and run.

Someone was really outside her home.

Would they come in? Attack her? Was it a ghost or a person, or was it actually… her husband?

Through her harried state, the figure on the outside of her home, shrouded in darkness by the night, slowly raised into view an object which Sally discerned to be none other than a kitchen knife.

Her chin clenched abruptly, and her breath rose and rose as her vision turned dizzy by the second. Then suddenly her eyes flew sharply into the back of her head as she fell backward limply onto the couch.

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