The telegram arrived on a blustery October afternoon. Its yellowed paper felt brittle in Eliza’s hands, the telegram key cold against her palm. The message was brief, cryptic: "Cliffside Manor. Midnight. Come alone. A.S."
Eliza’s breath hitched. A.S. belonged to Alistair Sinclair, a childhood friend who’d vanished without a trace ten years ago. The last anyone saw of him was a hurried note left on his kitchen counter – "Gone to Cliffside." The place, a crumbling mansion on the windswept cliffs of their seaside town, had been boarded up ever since.
A shiver ran down Eliza’s spine. A trick? A cruel joke? Yet, there was a weight to the message, an urgency that tugged at her heart. Curiosity, laced with a sliver of fear, propelled her forward.
Midnight found Eliza at the cliff’s edge, the wind whipping her hair into a frenzy. Cliffside Manor loomed, a silhouette against the stormy sky. With a pounding heart, she pushed open a creaking door.
Inside, dust motes danced in the moonlight filtering through broken windows. A single oil lamp flickered on a dusty table, casting long, distorted shadows. In the center of the room, an ornately carved pocket watch lay open, its hands frozen at midnight.
As Eliza reached for it, a voice, raspy and unfamiliar, echoed through the room. "Finally. You came."
Eliza whirled around, heart hammering against her ribs. But the room was empty. The watch, however, was warm in her hand, its gears whirring back to life with a soft click. A single inscription adorned the inside cover: "The past awaits."
The watch slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. As the last chime resonated, the room pulsed with an ethereal light, and the floor shimmered…
