It was a queer-looking bottle.

It had a long protruding neck and a thick, roundish base and a cork was fitted tightly at its mouth. A thick layer of dust covered its body giving the semblance that it had not been touched for years. Inside the bottle was a piece of wrinkled, yellow paper. A message in a bottle it was, in a sea of books. And as Yvaine touched it a chilling voice spoke into her ears.

"Mina died that night..."

Chills ran down Yvaine's spine. Was she imagining it or was the bottle saying that this Mina, whoever she is died? But was it even possible for a bottle, an inanimate object to speak?

"Oh my goodness," Amberly muttered under her breath, breaking the trance of Yvaine. "Now, where did that come from?" Her eyes were bulging out of their sockets like two large dinner plates.

"It is an eighteenth-century glass bottle if I am not very wrong," Yvaine said. She gulped down nervously choosing not to say anything about the voice she clearly heard. "I have seen similar bottles in museums. Don't understand what it is doing here."

"An antique!" Amberly clapped her hands in joy, ignoring the stares the last few readers were giving her. "What are we to do with it, Miss Agan?" she asked.

"Well, a bottle is not much use in a library." Yvaine traced her fingers upon the glassy surface, layers of brown dust clinging to her fingertips. It was smooth and cold. Cold like a block of ice but thankfully she heard no more voices. "However, the paper inside might be a good addition to our archives. I will have a look at it."

"Will you take a look at it now?"

"No, Miss Wood," Yvaine smiled at Amberly. "It is almost closing time. I am going to take this bottle home with me and see what is in it."

"Oh," a dejected look marred Amberly's babyish features. "You would tell me all about it tomorrow, right?"

"Sure I would," Yvaine replied. She looked once more at the bottle in her hand, before returning to her seat, the whispers already out of her mind.

Her eyes trailed over the entirety of the bottle and the paper stuffed inside it. A message in a bottle, like the ones she had read about in the stories during her childhood. A burning curiosity chewed away at her stomach. What was written on the paper inside the bottle?

***

The evening had settled firmly down upon the town of Andrasville when Yvaine returned to the château. Her footsteps clicked against the whitewashed concrete walkway as she made her way to the main door. A handbag hung from her left shoulder and a key was held in her right palm.

The château had a sombre quality to it. In the darkness, its slate shaded walls seemed to have become a part of the gloom and the night. Tall trees surrounded it from almost every side, their leaves rustling in the warm summer breeze. At the far end on the southern side was a little pond which appeared to be a silken cerulean blanket at that hour.

Yvaine's lips were pursed in thought as she turned the key in the keyhole. Her mind was completely on the weight bearing down upon her left shoulder; the glass bottle in her handbag. It was the most curious thing that she had come across in her first few weeks of staying in Andrasville. And that whisper...it made her shiver just by thinking of it.

Life here was quiet, just the way Yvaine liked it. There were no hustles with the authorities, no scandals or high crime rates. People of Andrasville led a simple life and kept to themselves, rarely did they interfere with each other's lives. There was peace here and so was security. Nonetheless, monotony was a part and parcel of such a place.

After a few minutes of turning and twisting the key in the rusted keyhole, the door opened with a slight creak. Leaving her shoes outside, Yvaine stepped into the unlighted interior, closing the door behind her. Turning to her right she fumbled for a while with the switchboard, before at last, she found the right switch. Warm electric lights soon flooded the place.

Like its exterior, the living room was quite sombre and simple. The walls were painted in a soft brown shade, with four pale mauve sofas and a round glass table was situated in the middle. A few pictures of grey and green mountainous landscapes lined the walls but other than that there was no other decor present. Yvaine's grandfather was, after all, a frugal man when it came to the matters of money.

With a flop Yvaine sat down on one of the sofas, carefully putting her handbag on the table. She rubbed her forehead for a while, trying to reduce the dull throbbing which had replaced the sharp aches she had been feeling since morning. Then she reached out for her handbag and opened the zip. Slowly, she put both her hands inside to retrieve the bottle and put it on her lap.

The familiar feeling of cold seeping into her bones returned no sooner as the bottle made contact with her skin. Ignoring the chill, Yvaine brushed off the remnants of the dust from the body of the bottle with the back of her palm.

She then gripped onto the cork and started to twist it. Surprisingly the cork opened instantly, without her having to exert much pressure. But taking out the paper in it was a much more difficult task.

"Oh goodness!" Yvaine exclaimed as she tried to pry out the paper from the bottle. Given its rather narrow neck, the paper kept slipping away from her fingers. Due to its age, the top of the paper was getting crumpled into tiny bits every time she tried to take it out.

Worried that she might damage it, Yvaine did not dare exert too much force on it. After a good while of pushing, prodding and huffing, the paper was out at last. Wiping away a bead of perspiration on her forehead, Yvaine started to unfold the paper.

It was quite old, ancient might have been a better word to describe it. The paper which must have once been all white and smooth was now very yellow with occasional brown spots and its surface was very uneven. The parchment was so delicate and brittle that any little pressure upon it could have torn it into pieces.

Slowly Yvaine flattened it out, putting it on the table, shoving her handbag to a corner. Once the deed was done, she put the glass bottle upon the floor. She leaned over the paper wearing a frown and began to read what was written in it. And from its contents, it seemed to be the end portion of a letter, a most peculiar letter at that.

'I know where Wilhelmina Andras is. But you must not reveal what I have said to you to anyone, not even the officers. Until we meet again,

P R e
4.3.1882'

"Wilhelmina Andras..." the frown on Yvaine's forehead deepened as she read the letter, again and again, trying to make sense out of it. Despite being signed, the name of the signer had somehow been erased, leaving her with only an unintelligible 'PRe', a combination of letters that could mean so many things.

But that other name? The name of Wilhelmina Andras had attracted Yvaine the most. The leaden feeling upon her tongue that she would feel when uttering the name, the goosebumps that had risen on her naked arms...it all seemed to be demanding to know who this person was.

A chill rushed past Yvaine's right arm, making the hair upon it stand up stiffly. The lights started to flicker and dim, making the living room grow much darker. Her heart thudded with a suppressed fear, making her sweat furiously. The skin behind her neck crawled with a bizarre feeling that someone was looking at her at that moment.

"No, no. It cannot be possible." Yvaine muttered to herself, trying to ease her being.

For the second time that day, she was feeling that someone watched her from the shadows. She wanted to turn around and make sure that it was but a trickery of her mind but another part of her warned her to not do it. But surely there could not be anyone else in the house other than her, could it be? It was an impossible thing.

Thus mustering courage, Yvaine slowly turned her neck around. Instantly a horrified gasp escaped her lips. Her hands and feet felt as if she was being frozen. For she was alone in the house as she had thought.

A lady was standing behind her.