Series: My employer, Marcus Hollins, stood over his seven-year-old son in the glass conservatory, yelling as the boy smashed $14,000 worth of antique porcelain against the marble floor.

Damon, seething but helpless against the police, backed away from the gate. My mother, her face etched with worry but her resolve unbroken, stood firm [more…]

The spectral slam of the front doors echoed through the frozen manor, sealing our fate. Marcus, his face a contorted mask of terror and rage, [more…]

The vibrations intensified, rattling the very foundations of the manor. The heavy oak door of Marcus’s study stood as a final, icy barrier between us [more…]

The silence that followed the burning of the locket was deafening. The chilling grip of the manor had vanished, leaving behind only the lingering scent [more…]

Five years later. The quiet of my apartment in downtown Atlanta hums around me. No phantom frosts bloom on the windows here. No ancient whispers [more…]