A hundred years they've waited. Waiting for someone to come. To discover their secrets. To atone for their sins. They've had no luck with the others—no one stays long enough.

Until she comes. They have hope for her. She could be their salvation. The sacrificial lamb.

They didn't realize underneath the lamb skin was a lioness.

"I do wish we could have traveled by car," Astrid said as she watched the scenery pass by arguably slowly through the window.

"It never would have made the trip," her uncle said, head hidden behind the newspaper. The front page of the Boston Globe was facing her, and on it was a picture of a large steam ship, with the headline, 'Shipping Tycoon Dives Headfirst into New Deal." She scowled. The article only briefly mentioned the reason for his vigor, and doesn't mention her by name, but there wasn't a soul in Boston who didn't know her role in the matter. "And besides, what need will we have for a car in the country?" her uncle continued, turning a page.

"It would be less bumpy," her aunt mumbled, head on Astrid's shoulder.

"No it wouldn't," Astrid replied, looking out the window. "What condition is the estate in?"

"Very nice—well preserved. Not much has changed since it was built," her uncle turned another page, "We're lucky that most of the original décor and furniture were part of the price."

"It will be terribly outdated," Astrid said.

"Yes, well, it's furnished. That's what matters," was her uncle's disinterested reply. Suddenly his face appeared. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"About what?" Astrid asked, turning her head to stare him right in the eyes.

"About Matthew," her uncle said with emphasis.

"Why would I have second thoughts?" she asked, raising her eyebrows challengingly.

"Well," her uncle paused, searching for the right words.

"He was such a sweet fellow," her aunt mumbled. "I liked him ever so much."

"Yes," Astrid said, rolling her eyes. "He was everything a woman could ask for. Handsome. Charismatic. Wealthy."

"And with this new deal he's going to be even wealthier," her uncle added. "Love is a fickle thing, Astrid. I'm sure you could have grown to feel something for the man—"

"If love was the only problem, I would have married Matthew," Astrid said. "The problem was that I loathed the man. I just didn't realize the extent of it until a few days before the wedding."

Her uncle shook his head in disagreement. He, among other members of her family, strongly disapproved on her calling off the wedding. The engagement wasn't officially off—not in the eyes of her hopeful family, and not in the eyes of her would have been husband. But to her, it was a done deal. She would be happy to never see Matthew Cartan again. The reality was far more dismal, but one could hope.

"Did any staff come with the estate?" she asked her uncle.

"There's a groundskeeper I believe," her uncle said. "Showed me around the estate. Big, burly man. Has tattoos," her uncle said this word with disdain. "Not sure if I'll keep him on. But he's taken good care of the place, so perhaps he's worth it."

"Fascinating," Astrid said. She opened her book, but the tremors and leaps of the carriage made it impossible to read. She reached down and gave Stormfly a quick scratch behind the ear, and the dog wagged her thin tail appreciatively. Stormfly did not enjoy riding in carriages. "Will we be arriving soon?" she asked casually, "Because otherwise I'd like to stretch my legs."

"You mean you want to stretch that skinny dog of yours legs," her uncle replied. He knocked on the wall behind him, and a part came away and one of the coach men's face appeared. "How long till we arrive?" her uncle asked.

"Not long now, sir," the man replied, "I'd say half an hour."

Her uncle took out his pocket watch, and told Astrid, "By half past four, I'd say."

"I suppose I can last that long," Astrid said, "And you can too, can't you girl?"

The whippet whined slightly, wagging her tail with slow thumps.

Astrid was just thankful that their belongings, servants and supplies had gone on ahead of them. The thought of arriving to an unprepared house with nothing heated, no beds prepared, her clothes uncared for, and no food prepared made her feel queasy. But, thankfully, that will not be the case. And yet, her uncle had decided, should they arrive in time, that they would dine with the Roarksfields, in the next estate over.

Astrid leaned her head against the wall of the carriage. She wanted to get out and stretch her legs. Throw a ball for Stormfly. She wanted to get to the estate so that she could explore. See why her uncle and aunt were so excited about some old house built during the Revolutionary War, and mostly unchanged in the time since.

For her, it was just a means to an end. Wait out the drama until people are willing to forget that she left a promising man at the altar. It would take months, perhaps even years, and worst case scenario she is sent overseas, but for now, she'll have to deal with living in the country.

Worse things have happened.

Stormfly was the first out of the carriage. As soon as Astrid opened the door, the dog leapt out and raced across the lawn, gleefully stretching her legs and barking.

"I do wish you'd train her not to be so loud," her uncle said as he stepped out of the carriage, helping his wife out as he did. "She's disturbing Marnie."

"So this is it?" Astrid took a few steps and stopped, gazing up at the large white house. There were pillars like ancient Greek memories, and many windows. It was at least three floors high, not including the attic. The driveway went around back, where she assumed was the carriage house and stables, and other buildings. Servants were lining up. Two maids, a manservant, a cook, a butler, and the housekeeper. The stable master, his nephew, and the kitchen maids were most likely in their place of work.

"I think I'd like to stay here tonight," Aunt Marnie said quietly as her husband led her up the steps onto the porch towards the door. Adelwood the butler and Mrs. Hobbs the housekeeper followed them inside, giving updates and information about the house.

Astrid whistled loudly for Stormfly, but the dog made no return. "Silly girl," Astrid muttered, walking along the house towards the large expansive yard. It was immaculately groomed, bright green and trimmed short. On this side of the house it stretched for over two acres before it reached the forest that surrounded the estate. "Stormfly!" Astrid called loudly. She stopped once she had cleared the house, looking around. The dog was still nowhere to be seen. She couldn't blame the creature. Having been stuck in a carriage for more than a day was not something anyone would enjoy. In the shadow of the building, she saw the figure of a man bent over, tending to the shrubbery.

"You must be the groundskeeper," she said loudly, walking towards him. "My uncle told me about you. Have you seen my dog? She came running through here but I can't seem to call her."

He stood as she neared, and she noticed that he was a large man, standing well above six feet and had a heavily muscular frame. He turned to look at her, and she hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the blue tattoos on his face. When he uncle had said the man had tattoos she didn't expect them to be on his face. She lifted her own chin up and took the last few steps so she was standing a comfortable distance from him. "My name is Astrid Hofferson," she said. "My uncle is the new owner of this house and grounds. I assume you're the groundskeeper?"

"Eret," the man said, his voice accented.

"Eret," she repeated, "Well, it's very nice to meet you." She held out her hand, and he blinked at it, before removing his right gardening glove and shook it.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat.

She eyed him, sizing him up, before saying, "Very curious choice of placement," she motioned to her chin.

He didn't blink. "Not where I come from," was his composed reply.

"I'd very much like to hear about that," she said, her eyes drifting to the grounds again. "Have you seen my dog?"

"Fast creature," Eret said, "Ran by here just now. Went off towards the woods."

"Thank you," she said, lifting up her skirt a notch so as not to dirty it, and began walking towards the tree line.

"Ma'am," Eret said, stopping her. She turned to look at him. "I'm afraid I can't let you go in there by yourself. The woods are not safe for a young woman."

"I assure you I will be fine," she said, "And besides, what could possibly harm me? A deer? Or perhaps a squirrel?"

"The woods are dangerous," he said. "And besides, you may get lost."

"Well, you've finally made a good point," she said. "Very well, you can come with me."

The man raised his thick, dark eyebrows.

"Oh don't worry," she said, "No one is around to ask prying questions."

He nodded and followed her across the lawn. "It's very well kept," she said, "Your work, I presume?"

"Yes," was his reply, and she could detect a slight arrogance to his tone, indicating he knew the high worth of his skills.

"You do your job well," she said, "I'll have to make sure my uncle keeps you on." She took in a deep breath. "The air is so clear here—nothing like Boston."

"I would guess," he said.

"Have you ever been to Boston?" she asked.

"Not in a long time," he replied.

"Wonderful city," she said.

"Why made you move out here, then?"

She breathed out, and then in again. "I'm afraid people don't look at me very kindly there at the moment. But I don't really care what they think. How long have you been the groundskeeper here?"

He was quiet for a moment, before saying, "Quite a few years."

It was cryptic, and begged curiosity, but Astrid resigned from pressuring the man. He clearly did not want to talk about it. They walked in silence the rest of the way, until they reached the woods. "Lots of oaks, and birches," she noted as they walked between the trees.

"Hence why the estate is called White Oaks," Eret replied, bending down and brushing leaves away from the ground. "She went this way." He straightened and walked deeper into the woods.

"Do you hunt?" she asked, surprised.

"I'm good at tracking, and trapping," he said.

"Really? You are a man of many talents," she looked around. "Doesn't seem too dangerous."

"It's more dangerous at night," he said.

"Of course it is," she muttered. "Stormfly!" she called out, cupping her hands to her mouth. "Stormfly, come here girl!"

She heard distant barking. "She must have come this way," she said, hiking up her skirts and taking off between the trees. She heard Eret call out her name, but she was nearing the barking. They weren't far into the forest, so she doubted she could get into much trouble. She entered a clearing, overgrown and in shambles, with a stone mausoleum at the center of a dead garden. Stormfly was standing before the great wooden doors, growling and barking menacingly.

She stopped once she neared, shivering though there was no chill in the late summer air. "Stormfly," she said, clapping her hands, "Come here girl."

Eret walked up beside her, breathing slightly labored from the run. "You shouldn't run off," he said, "And we should get back to the house."

"What is this place?" she asked, pointing at the mausoleum.

"A grave," he said, taking her shoulder gently and trying to steer her away.

She shrugged him off, walking towards it and Stormfly. "Come, girl," she said, crouching down beside Stormfly. "What is it?"

The dog growled, amber eyes fixed on the doors.

"It's locked, see?" Astrid stood, tugging on Stormfly's collar. "Let's go, girl. I'll give you some rawhide."

At this magic word, Stormfly's ears perked, and she turned and trotted off towards the house. "Who's buried all the way out here?" Astrid asked Eret as they followed the dog from the clearing.

"The family who built this estate," Eret said. "The Haddocks."

"The Haddocks? I haven't heard of them," Astrid said.

"They and their family died over a century ago," he said. "The house has passed from owner to owner since."

"Is that why that place is so… overgrown?" she asked.

"No one liked to go near it," Eret said, his voice strangely haunted.

"How ridiculous," she snorted.

"Yes, ridiculous," he agreed, although his tone indicated he did not quite agree with the statement.

They walked in silence until they reached the house again. "Thank you, for helping me finding my dog," she said, "I'll leave you to your work."

He nodded, tipping his hat.

Stormfly at her heels, she turned and walked round to the front of the house, up the stairs to the porch, and through the front door. Inside the house was in excellent shape; evidently the Haddocks were an exceedingly wealthy family with fine tastes, but it was painfully outdated and old fashioned. She walked through the halls and rooms, gazing at the many painting on the walls. There were many of the family—the Haddocks—at least she assumed it were them. They seemed to be a family of three. She stopped before a particularly large painting. A young man was the subject, the son of the household, wearing a uniform typical of the continental army. He was tall, and rather thin, with a long nose and freckles, messy auburn hair, and startlingly green eyes.

The painter positioned his eyes so they seemed to move with the viewer, keeping eye contact at all times. After not long, she grew uncomfortable with their intensity, so she looked lower, to see that the painter had drawn a silver scar under his mouth. She frowned. Curious that they should paint something like that.

She heard a rustle behind her, and turned, expecting to see Stormfly, but saw nothing.

She gave the young man one last look, before turning and walking down the corridor.

"Miss Hofferson, I'm sorry to hear about your engagement," Mr. Roaksfield said, "Absolutely tragic."

"Not at all," Astrid said, smiling benignly at the portly man. "I'm the one who broke it off, and I daresay I'm better off for it."

There was an awkward silence, before Mrs. Roaksfield said, "What a shame—I hear he's a wonderful man."

Astrid opened her mouth to rebuke this statement, but her uncle cut her off, saying, "Well, thank you so much for having us over—and again, I must apologize for my wife's absence. She's was tired out by our trip."

"Of course," Mr. Roaksfield said. "I'm just glad to have met you. The previous owners of White Oaks stayed barely a month."

"A month?" Astrid's head perked up. "Why such a short time?"

"Scared, I suppose," Mr. Roaksfield mused. "The house and grounds are said to be haunted."

"Haunted?" her uncle laughed, and Astrid herself chuckled.

"It's been said to be haunted for over a century," Mrs. Roaksfield said, rather seriously.

"Iris here claims to have seen a ghost when she visited as a young woman," Mr. Roaksfield said.

"I did see it," Mrs. Roaksfield said, sending her husband a cutting glare.

"Over a century," Astrid frowned, "You don't think it's the Haddocks, do you?"

"I know it," Mrs. Roaksfield looked Astrid straight in the eye, "I saw them. The lady of the house and her son. Just as they were in all those paintings that are still hanging up."

Astrid raised her eyebrows, a smile playing on her lips.

"Laugh all you want," Mrs. Roaksfield sniffed. "That place is haunted. And the groundskeeper—he knows something about it."

"Eret?" Astrid asked.

"Yes... unholy man," Mrs. Roaksfield said darkly. "He keeps the estate's secrets. Been working there as long as I can remember."

There was a long silence, before her uncle slapped a hand on his protruding belly and said, jovially, "Well, Adam, I must thank you, your wife, and your cook for a splendid evening, but I should probably be getting back to my wife."

"Of course," Mr. Roaksfield stood, "Perhaps we can go for a hike together sometime—or a hunt, perhaps."

"That would be excellent," her uncle agreed. The four walked to the foyer, where the Roaksfield's servants were waiting with their coats.

As her uncle and Mr. Roaksfield shook hands, Astrid said a quick goodbye to Mrs. Roaksfield. As she turned to follow her uncle out of the mansion and to the carriage waiting outside, Mrs. Roaksfield grabbed her arm. "Beware," the old woman whispered. "You're a young, pretty, malleable thing. Don't let them get to you."

Astrid's eyebrows furrowed, and she pulled her arm out of the woman's grasp. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied, and followed her uncle out the door.

The ride back to White Oaks was long, although Astrid decided it was the late hour and day of traveling to blame, not the dark note the evening was left on.

"Well," her uncle said as they pulled up the great white house she was to call home from now on. "Exciting, to live in a haunted house, is it not?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Uncle Finn," she said, stepping out of the carriage and walking towards the steps. "There's no such thing as ghosts."

To be continued…

Let me know if you'd like me to continue this story!

Disclaimer: I do not own How to Train Your Dragon or any of its franchises. This is just a fun spooky story I feel like telling.