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Part 3: Stripes & Shadows
The Barrow estate loomed like a bad memory against the night sky, its jagged roofline cutting through the rain. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the sagging walls and shattered windows for a split second before plunging everything back into darkness. It was the kind of house that didn’t just keep secrets—it swallowed them whole.
I waited near the overgrown gate, my coat soaked through and my patience wearing thin. The estate had a way of making the hair on the back of your neck stand up, like something was watching from the shadows. The wind howled through the cracks in the stone, carrying whispers of long-forgotten things. The place reeked of mildew, rot, and the faintest hint of something metallic—like the scent of old coins or dried blood.
Millie arrived quietly, slipping through the gate with the kind of grace that comes from a life spent avoiding trouble, even if she was knee-deep in it. She wore a sleek black raincoat, and despite the weather, not a single tuft of fur was out of place. She nodded a silent acknowledgment and held up the brass key we’d found at the station.
“You sure about this?” I asked, more out of habit than caution. We were well past the point of backing out.
“The key goes to something in there,” she said, eyes locked on the house as she ignored my question. “We need to figure out what. Sooner than later.”
We approached the front door, a grand, warped thing with carvings that had faded into something unrecognizable. Time and rain had tarnished the brass of the ancient doorknob to a sickly green, but it was unlocked. With a soft click, the door creaked open, and the house exhaled a breath of stale, damp air that seemed to wrap around us.
As we entered, I flicked on my old flashlight, the weak beam barely cutting through the shadows.
Inside, the hallway stretched out like the throat of some great beast, lined with peeling wallpaper and dim sconces that reflected back the weakly flickering light from my flashlight. I’d been in plenty of bad places, but this one felt alive—like every shadow held a secret just waiting to pounce.
She stepped in first, her eyes darting to the faded paintings and shattered vases that littered the floor. The kind of things you’d see in a once-proud place, now brought low by time and neglect.
“Where do we start?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“Wherever this leads,” she said, pulling out another map. It looked the same as the one from earlier—weathered beige paper covered with hastily scrawled markings that looked vaguely like the outline of a house. The top of the paper was labeled "Barrow House."
"Find that in your uncle's safety deposit box too?" I drawled.
"Mhmm." She didn't offer any more information than that.
Of course. She was exactly the kind of badger who would withhold key information from her hired detective until the last minute. I shouldn't be so surprised.
She held it up to the light, tracing a path that led from the front hall to a room near the back of the house—a study or library, if I had to guess. “He marked this spot. Could be a hidden safe, or maybe just another piece of the puzzle.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, irritated. How many maps had her uncle left? But it was too late to back out now, and not worth picking a fight. Besides, my bank account was calling her money's name–and rent was calling mine. Not to mention, my curiosity had me itching to dig.
We moved cautiously, our footsteps muffled by ancient carpets layered with thick dust. Every creak of the floorboards felt like a warning. The walls seemed to close in, the dim light casting long, twitching shadows that danced like ghosts at the edge of our vision.
We reached the room marked on the map; its door hung half off its hinges. Inside, the remnants of an old study lay scattered—a broken desk, toppled bookshelves, papers strewn about as if someone had torn through it in a hurry. The windows were cracked, letting in just enough moonlight to make the mess look even worse.
“Looks like we weren’t the first ones here,” I muttered, nudging an overturned chair with one claw.
Millie moved to the fireplace, studying the soot-stained mantle. “Someone must have been looking for something,” she said, turning over a half-burned piece of paper. “But they didn’t find it.”
I was about to ask whether she knew this for a fact or whether it was just supposition, when a noise echoed from the hallway—a low, deliberate creak that wasn’t the wind. We both froze, like two badgers cornered in their den, and every one of my instincts screamed that we weren’t alone.
I glanced at her, and she nodded, her face set. We moved to the edge of the doorway, peering out into the darkened hall. There was a figure—a shadow slipping from room to room, searching.
“Who else knows about this place? About this treasure?” I whispered, gripping the doorframe. "Or those maps?" I sensed that if she wasn't lying about something, she had at least omitted some crucial details.
“No one!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “But if they’re here, they’re not just sightseeing.”
We peered through the darkness, hoping to remain invisible, as the figure moved closer, each step slow and deliberate. It was a badger, big and burly, dressed in dark clothes that blended with the shadows. He carried a crowbar, his movements purposeful, like he was planning to tear the house apart one room at a time.
“That’s Rusty,” she hissed, barely audible. “He works for—”
“Yeah, I know who he works for,” I cut her off. Rusty was muscle for hire, and he didn’t do subtle. If he was here, that meant trouble was right on our heels.
We ducked back into the study, my mind racing. We had the key, but whatever it unlocked was still hidden. And now we had competition, someone who didn’t mind breaking things—or badgers—to get what he wanted.
“We need to get upstairs,” she said, voice urgent. “Whatever my uncle hid, it’s got to be here somewhere. I don't see anything in this room, but there might be one or two floors up.”
I nodded, scanning the room one last time before we slipped out and aimed toward the stairs. Rusty had vanished into a parlor a few doors down, but we still tiptoed. I desperately hoped not to run into him.
The stairs creaked under our weight, and every step felt like a countdown. The house was a maze of forgotten rooms and dead ends, and I knew Rusty wasn’t far behind, tearing through the place like a badger that had sniffed out fresh prey.
We reached the landing, pausing at a heavy wooden door that was locked, just like she’d said. It stood directly above the study, and exactly in the spot marked on the map.
Millie tried the key but it was too small for the lock, so I pulled out my lockpick set and carefully set to work while she kept watch. I found that even though I needed to hear the lock mechanism, I was instead listening for the sound of Rusty’s heavy steps.
With a final twist, the lock gave way, and the door swung open, revealing a small, hidden library that looked untouched by time or thieves. Books filled the shelves built on every wall, and a table and chairs filled the center of the room. And in this room, nestled in the back, was an old safe, its surface covered in dust but still intact.
She looked at me, hope and fear mingling in her eyes. “This has to be it.”
But before we could move, the sound of splintering wood echoed down the hall.
"I know you're here," Rusty's muffled voice growled as he stomped down the hall toward us. So much for remaining unseen.
Whatever was in that safe, it had better be worth it.
