The Haunting of Sky Hollow - SAMPLE

3.

"My what?" Nadia's hand dropped to her lap. "There must be some mistake, Mr. Pratt. I don't have an uncle."

"Oh, but you do—rather, you did—and he owned one of the most prestigious properties in this area: Sky Hollow Estate." When what, in his opinion, should have been a momentous revelation, produced nothing more than a head shake and bemused stare, he tried again, "Sky Hollow? Even before Miles rechristened it, the site of the old Webb homestead was—" her blank gaze stopped him mid-sentence. "My goodness, you've really never heard of it?"

Nadia shook her head.

"Well, over the years, it's gained quite a reputation in these parts. When Miles died in 1999, he named you and your brother joint heirs. Since the two of you were just toddlers back then, we held the property in trust with your mother acting as trustee until you and Aidan reached legal age. Odd, she never mentioned it to you."

"I thought she was an only child. Both of us did." She looked away, hands worrying a wad of Kleenex. "Miles Blake... Miles Blake... Uncle Miles..." Her face clouded.

Pratt pulled a slim leather folio from his desk drawer and angled its glossy pages for her to see. "The house, which underwent extensive renovations during Miles' lifetime, is approximately three thousand square feet. It sits near a freshwater lake, surrounded by beautiful hardwood forests—one-hundred-fifty acres in all—in what the locals still refer to as Harwich Crossing, an unincorporated township near Danby, Vermont."

"It's... gorgeous," was all Nadia could muster, as she stared at the house's soaring windows, multiple gables, and the long patio topped with a pergolated roof. Built in the Craftsman style, its stone and dark-stained exterior seemed blended in perfect harmony with its wilderness surroundings.

"To see it now, it's hard to believe it began life in the 1920s as a simple farmhouse. Miles began renovations on it in the early Eighties." He flipped more pages. "On the second story, you have five bedrooms, each with its own private bath. The rooms on the main floor have gas or wood fireplaces, and hand-carved support columns to accommodate the open floor plan." He tapped one of the photos. "Beautiful, aren't they? Miles designed and carved every one of those columns by hand, you know. Downstairs, there's even a wine cellar. Outside, there's a large barn that Miles converted into multiple studio spaces."

"A studio? Aidan will love that! He's a sculptor, too."

"Is he?" Pratt shrugged. "Well, they say talent runs in families." As did the accompanying temperament, apparently. Aidan was every bit as cock-sure as Miles had been, although the latter crafted his conceit to mask a troubled mind and the dark secrets brooding therein. Talent and temperament, along with predilections for certain tendencies: for better or ill, all ran in families, infiltrating bloodlines like plague-carrying fleas. For the girl's sake, he hoped—

"Wait, you said multiple studios, Mr. Pratt," Nadia interjected, disturbing his momentary lapse into reverie. "Why did he need so many?"

Pratt coughed and shifted in his seat. "During the mid-Nineties, Miles used Sky Hollow as a summer artists' retreat, among other things. If you'll permit me." He flipped to another page in the folio. "The barn's upper level, which has been divided into dormitories, can easily sleep twelve. There's also another small outbuilding near the main house, a lean-to that houses a gas-powered generator. Since the house is so remote—it sits more than a mile off an unpaved road—a generator can come in quite handy after a heavy storm. The one at Sky Hollow is large enough to power the house for up to three days."

"Three days," Nadia echoed, sinking back against the antique chair's embroidered backrest.

"I realize this must be a great deal to take in all at once."