The Winter Garden Murders
A Short Story Written by SvensjBy the time the snow melted, five people were dead.
The village of Viremoor had always been quiet, too quiet, Detective Eloise Marrin used to say, before Winter Garden came alive with ghosts. It was supposed to be an old, forgotten estate. A crumbling relic hidden behind frost-covered hedgerows and rusted iron gates. But over the course of two months, it became something else:
A stage for murder.
Five victims. Five perfect crime scenes. And all of them, in one way or another, pointed to Thomas Vale, the godson of Victor Harroway, the late owner of the manor and a man with enough wealth to buy a town’s silence.
I. The Blood on Snow
Eliza Harroway, Victor’s niece, was the first. Eloise found her sprawled beneath the estate’s sun-dial, her body half-buried in fresh snow, a shard of mirror lodged in her throat. Around her, scattered crow feathers, placed deliberately, spiraling out like a cursed clock.
In her frozen hand, a piece of torn stationery. One name scrawled in a shaky flourish:
Thomas.
II. The Rope of Ivy
Next was Dr. Alan Pike, the Harroway family’s lawyer. They found him strung up inside the broken greenhouse, hanged with a vine twisted into a noose. The air stank of mildew and rot.
A partially-burned will was pinned to his chest. What remained clearly showed Thomas Vale as the sole heir of Winter Garden. Beneath Pike’s fingernails: Thomas’s blood. Confirmed by DNA. No question.
III. The Last Note
Margot Lane, a reporter obsessed with the Harroway estate’s wartime past, fell from the second-story library balcony. The angle of the fall said it wasn’t an accident. Her notebook, found on the windowsill, told the rest.
One entry, circled twice:
“Victor and T.V. served in the same covert regiment. Both names in the same dossier. Did they bring the war home with them?”
T.V.—Thomas Vale.
IV. The Letter Keeper
Simon Griggs, the old groundskeeper, drowned in the koi pond. His boots had been tied together. In his coat were water-damaged letters from Victor, written decades ago to someone named “T.V.” They spoke of bribes, secrets, and shame. The final line was almost too perfect:
“Protect Thomas. He doesn’t know what I did.”
V. The One That Broke Her
The last was Rebecca Marrin. Eloise’s younger sister. Her best friend. She died after sipping tea left at the Winter Garden gate.
There were only two fingerprints on the cup—hers, and Thomas Vale’s.
The Trial
The press called it The Vale Murders. The town had already decided. Eloise didn’t want to believe it, but every time she looked at the evidence, it stared back.
His DNA.
His fingerprints.
His inheritance.
His history.
He didn’t even protest. He sat in silence as the jury read out guilty, five counts of murder. His only words to her came during the final interview:
“You think I’m smart enough to do all of this… but dumb enough to leave my own prints on a teacup?”
She didn’t respond.
Because she didn’t know how to.
Six Months Later
Winter Garden was gone now. Demolished. Burned to the ground by accident, or maybe intent. No one cared anymore. Thomas Vale was locked away, and the snow had come again.
Eloise returned to her apartment and unpacked the last sealed evidence box from the case. Inside, she found an envelope. No stamp. No return address.
Just her name.
Her heart slowed. Then raced.
She opened it, and inside, a letter written in a familiar hand.
The words curled off the page like smoke:
“You saw everything I wanted you to see. The feathers. The letters. The bloody soil and ruined cups. You danced for clues, Eloise. You followed the trail I set like a dutiful hound. You couldn’t afford to look away.
Because if you did… You’d have to look at ME.
He never killed your sister. I did. I server her the tea Myself, in your kitchen, while you were upstairs. I hanged Pike. I broke Margot’s neck. I drowned Simon and bled Eliza on the snow. I placed it all in your path like a perfect little puzzle.
Because I wanted to know if you’d see me,if you ever truly looked.
But you didn’t.
And after all these murders, all the proof I left for you… You still didn’t figure out that I was the murder, did you?
The letter fell from her hand. And as it hit the floor, Eloise’s breath caught in her throat. Because the handwriting.The sharp corners. The curling ends.The way the T slashed low, It was hers.
She had written the letter.She had written all of them. And somewhere in the frost of her mind, the truth began to crawl back into the light. She had framed Thomas. She had killed them all.
And she had forgotten.
Story Tags
crime fiction dark fiction descent into insanity disturbing fiction madness mystery psychological horror psychological thrillerDate Modified: 11-29-2025
