Sisters of Shadow: Wednesday: Child of Woe, #6

By Francesco Santora

Enter Wednesday's World of Darkness with the sequel to The Haunted Clock the sisters continue their quest to understand mystery. Sent to Whiteface Lodge to uncover the nature of a hidden evil and madness that has plagued the area. Wednesday and Frigsday will be pressed to their limits as they face horror beyond the grave and forbidden knowledge from Eldrich Hrrors that test their sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francesco Santora
• Release date: Mar 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223336020

Francesco Santora

I learned long ago the best person to write the stroies I like is myself. If you want to come along too then welcom to my World of Darkness. 

Book preview

Sisters of Shadow

Wednesday: Child of Woe

Francesco Santora

Copyright © 2024 Francesco Santora

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Francesco Santora

Printed on demand

Dedicated to all those who dislike formulaic, industrial fiction and are drawn tothedarker shades of life.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue:

Chapter One: Whisper in the Gloom

Chapter Two: Nightmares Unleashed

Chapter 3: Chamber of Horrors

Chapter 4: Unexpected Revelations

Chapter 5: The Other Side

About The Author

Books By This Author

Character Art 1

Character Art 2

Character Art 3

Character Art 4

Character Art 5

Character Art 6

Prologue:

The spectral chill from the ornate grandfather clock lingered, a frigid whisper compared to the icy excitement slithering down Wednesday's spine. The witching hour, her element, always hummed with the pulse of possibility, tonight woven with the promise of forbidden knowledge.

A gaunt, translucent figure materialized before her, its sorrowful sigh escaping wispy lips. Wednesday Santora, it intoned, its voice like dry leaves rustling in a forgotten crypt, Whiteface Lodge beckons. Unravel its twisted secrets, mend its forgotten wrongs, or risk the darkness consuming all.

A sardonic smile, as sharp as a devil’s claw, played on Wednesday's pale face. Duty calls, dear specter. What more entertainment could a girl ask for than a midnight escapade into the macabre?

Across the room, Frigsday vibrated with manic energy, her emerald eyes gleaming and shifting hues like will-o'-the-wisps. The veil thins, sister! The whispers of the Undiscovered Country echo on the wind!

Wednesday rose, her black silk dress swirling around her as she straightened with a predatory grace. She retrieved a greatcoat and satchel from the back of a chair and put it on, slinging the bookbag over her right shoulder.

As you wish, Frigsday, Wednesday said, her voice a dry whisper. But remember, shadows have a way of dealing with the unwary.

With a flourish, the ghost's form shimmered, morphing into a swirling vortex of obsidian smoke that reeked of damp earth and brimstone. The air crackled with an intangible energy, a tangible invitation to the unknown.

Frigsday didn't hesitate, plunging into the swirling darkness with a cackle that echoed eerily in the silent room. Wednesday followed, her steps measured yet purposeful, her gaze fixed on the swirling vortex that pulsed with an ominous life of its own. The portal closed behind them with a soft sigh, leaving only the chilling silence and the lingering echo of their laughter, a stark counterpoint to the darkness they had just entered.

Chapter One: Whisper in the Gloom

The portal closed behind them, leaving only a faint trace of its dark magic. Wednesday and Frigsday Santora found themselves on a gravel path, wet with rain and slick with mud. The wind howled around them, a banshee's lament that tore through the ancient trees. The branches clawed at the stormy sky, as if trying to escape the earth.

Frigsday, a bundle of dark energy, spun around under a gnarled oak, her laughter lost in the gale. Two long braids of bleached white hair bounced on a sleeveless, suspender dress and blouse over a PVC butcher’s apron. Wrapped around her waist was tied a thin chain meters long chain, attached to the top of a wide double edged meat cleaver on one end hooked to her waist. Ripped white leggings and bright red combat boots finished the ensemble. Her eyes gleamed with madness, her grin twisted with glee. She loved the chaos, the danger, the horror.

Wednesday, in stark contrast, stood rooted to the spot, her obsidian braids whipping around her face like ebony vipers mirroring the storm's fury. Her attire, a stark counterpoint to her sister's, exuded an air of stern primness and an air of intimidation. A double-breasted black Victorian greatcoat, adorned with silver buckles and black lace cuffs, draped over her slender frame. Beneath it, a long black dress with a matching Victorian white lace collar and a