Mystery Fiction Short Stories Novels & Stories

The old Victorian house on the hill had always felt haunted by secrets. This summer, it held new ones. My cousin Mia and I were staying with Uncle Victor while our parents traveled through Europe. At 23 and 25, we told ourselves it was just practical—free rent, a quiet place to finish our grad school projects. But the moment Uncle Victor opened the door, shirt unbuttoned at the collar and that familiar hungry look in his eyes, we both knew the real reason we’d come.

I looked confident, happy, and truly, deeply in love. I grabbed my small evening clutch and stepped out of the bathroom into the main area, ready to head down to the dining room. My eyes landed on the small writing desk near the balcony door, and I stopped dead in my tracks. The middle drawer of the desk—the drawer where Finn had locked away our personal documents on the very first day of the cruise—was pulled completely open. A cold wave of dread washed over me, I walked over to the desk, my legs suddenly feeling weak. My sketchbook was resting on top of the desk, its pages flipped open carelessly. But it wasn't my art that made my stomach drop.