Shadow Bound

The Blackwood Manor has been empty for twenty years.

Iris Chen knows this because she researched it obsessively before taking the job. Built in 1823. Abandoned in 2005 after the last heir died with no family. Purchased by the Historical Preservation Society six months ago.

And now she's here to catalog its library.

Five thousand rare books. First editions. Manuscripts. Maps. All untouched for two decades.

For a librarian specializing in rare texts, it's a dream job.

Even if the house is creepy as hell.

"You sure you want to do this alone?" The society director, Mrs. Patterson, hovers at the door. "It's a big house. Very isolated. The nearest neighbor is three miles away."

"I'm sure." Iris adjusts her backpack. "I work better without distractions. And you said the house has been cleared? Structurally sound?"

"Completely. We had engineers check everything." Mrs. Patterson hands her a key ring. "But Iris—if anything feels off, if you get uncomfortable, just leave. The books have waited this long. They can wait longer."

"I'll be fine."

Famous last words.

---

The library is on the second floor.

Iris climbs the curved staircase, boots echoing on marble. The house is beautiful. Decaying, yes, but beautiful. High ceilings. Ornate molding. Windows that must have flooded the rooms with light when the curtains weren't rotted.

Now it's dim. Dusty. Silent except for her footsteps.

The library door is heavy oak. It swings open with a creak.

And Iris gasps.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves. Leather-bound volumes. A rolling ladder. Stained glass windows casting colored light across Persian rugs.

It's perfect.

She sets down her supplies and gets to work.

Hours pass. She catalogs methodically. Making notes. Taking photos. Occasionally stopping to read a particularly interesting passage.

The sun sets.

She turns on her work lamp.

And that's when she notices it.

The shadow in the corner.

It's too dark. Too solid. Like someone cut a piece out of reality and left a void.

Iris stares at it.

It doesn't move.

"Hello?" Her voice echoes. "Is someone there?"

Silence.

She stands. Walks closer.

The shadow shifts.

Not like a normal shadow responding to light. It moves independently. Sliding along the wall. Rising. Taking shape.

A figure. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Definitely male.

Iris should run.

Should scream.

Instead she tilts her head.

"Are you a ghost?"

The shadow freezes.

Then—a voice. Deep. Resonant. Coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"Not exactly."

"Then what are you?"

"Complicated."

"I special...