The Last Heir of Wraithmoor

By Evelyn Hartwood

In the shadowed halls of Wraithmoor Hall, Eleanor Rigby, a struggling novelist, inherits more than just an ancient estate—she inherits a mystery wrapped in a centuries-old curse. Tasked with breaking the chain that has ensnared her family's legacy, she delves into the manor's tragic past with the help of Lucas, the spectral last heir, and Thomas, a local historian with secrets of his own. Together, they confront dark entities and uncover family secrets that challenge everything Eleanor believed about her lineage. As they battle the curse, Eleanor's journey becomes one of self-discovery, redemption, and the search for true liberation. "The Last Heir of Wraithmoor" is a gothic tale of darkness and light, of haunting pasts and hopeful futures. Join Eleanor as she attempts to rewrite the destiny of Wraithmoor Hall, turning its sinister legacy into a beacon of hope and creativity for all who enter its doors. This novel is a testament to the power of courage in the face of despair and the unbreakable human spirit's capacity to heal the deepest of wounds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crimson Quill Publishers
• Release date: Feb 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224559565

Book preview

The Last Heir of Wraithmoor

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Shadows of the Past, Beacon of

the Future

Evelyn Hartwood

Copyright © 2024 by Evelyn Hartwood

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Copyright © All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

CONTENTS

The Last Heir of Wraithmoor

CONTENTS

THE INHERITANCE

ARRIVAL AT WRAITHMOO

THE GHOST OF LUCAS BLACKWOOD

EXPLORING THE MANOR

THE GARDEN MAZE CHASE

UNCOVERING THE PAST

THE MEDIUM'S WARNING

BETRAYAL  IN THE SHADOWS

THE CRYPT'S SECRET

THE ESCAPE FROM  THE CRYPT

THOMAS'S CHANGE OF HEART

THE RITUAL PREPARATION

THE STORMY  NIGHT CONFRONTATION

BREAKING THE CURSE

THE INHERITANCE

E

leanor Rigby sat in the dim glow of her desk lamp, surrounded by the comfortable clutter of her small apartment. Her world was a cocoon woven from stacks of dog-eared books and the stark black type of unfinished manuscripts. It was in this reclusive refuge she sought sanctuary from the world’s cacophony, yet found herself ensnared in the silence of writer's block.

The tap at her window was so faint, at first, she thought it was just the wind. But the persistent rapping drew her attention to the shadowy outline of the postman outside, his breath misting the glass in the chill of the evening air. She opened the window to a blast of cold, and he handed her an envelope with a nod, its edges crisp and the seal on the back still perfectly intact, wax imprinted with an emblem she didn't recognize.

Rare to deliver anything with a seal these days, he remarked with a curious tilt of his head before disappearing into the dusky haze of the city.

The letter in her hands was an anachronism, a whisper from an era long past, and it sang to her like a siren’s call. Her name flowed across the front in a script so elaborate it seemed to dance with an ancient grace. She turned it over and hesitated for a moment before breaking the seal, half expecting the contents to vanish the moment the wax was breached.

Dear Ms. Rigby,

It is with great honor and a sense of duty that I inform you of your recent inheritance. Wraithmoor Hall, an estate of considerable history and value located in the northern moors of England, has been bequeathed to you by the late Mr. Thomas Blackwood, a distant relative of yours. This inheritance comes with the entirety of the estate and all its belongings.

Your presence is requested at Wraithmoor Hall to discuss the particulars of your inheritance and to begin the process of transferring ownership. Please find enclosed a ticket for the Northumberland line, departing this Friday at dawn. A car will await you at the station.

Yours sincerely,

Mr. Henry Gravewood, Solicitor

The words seemed to leap from the page and swirl around Eleanor, whispering of ancient halls and forgotten tales. Wraithmoor Hall was an enigma, a name that evoked images of mist-shrouded landscapes and ivy-clad stones. Eleanor's fingers trembled as she traced the Blackwood name, a lineage unknown to her, yet now inextricably linked to her own.

She leaned back, the letter rustling softly as she placed it on the desk. Her mind, usually so disciplined, now raced with wild speculation. The Blackwoods were strangers to her; her family tree was modest, its roots shallow and stretching no further than the suburban life she had always known.

Eleanor's gaze drifted to the old photograph on her mantle of her parents, their smiles forever warm, yet tinged with the sorrow of their untimely departure from this world. They had left her with nothing but memories and a passion for storytelling. Could this be their final gift, a legacy unearthed from the dust of obscurity?

The notion was fantastical, a plot twist worthy of the novels she so loved to write but struggled to complete. Her latest work, a ghost story set amid the backdrop of Victorian England, had stalled amidst a cacophony of elusive characters and muddled narratives. Perhaps Wraithmoor Hall could provide the inspiration she needed, a muse dressed in stone and shadow.

With a newfound resolve, Eleanor rose from her chair. The tick of the clock, which had stopped long ago, seemed to echo in the room, marking the moment her life took a turn toward the extraordinary. She moved about her apartment, gathering items with a sense of purpose she hadn't felt in years.

She packed carefully, selecting clothing that would suit the unpredictable weather of the northern moors and tucking away her favorite writing supplies—her late father's fountain pen and the leather-bound journal her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday. They had always encouraged her to chase her dreams, however distant they might seem.

As dawn painted