The Owl of Eldridge Hollow's Omen

The fog lay thick upon the moors of Eldridge Hollow that November eve, as though the very breath of the earth had frozen mid-sigh. In the crumbling manor of Blackhorn Hall, where ivy strangled the gargoyles and the clocks had long since surrendered their chimes, Miss Elizabeth Blackhorn sat alone by the hearth.

Want to read more?

Subscribe to parahousemagazine.com to keep reading this exclusive post.

Subscribe Now