This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The wrought iron gates of Ravenshollow Cemetery creaked open with a sound that seemed to echo through the very bones of the earth. Margaret Whitmore stood at the threshold, clutching the brass key that had arrived in the mail three weeks prior, along with a letter that had turned her quiet life as a librarian upside down.

"Dear Miss Whitmore," the letter had begun, "You have inherited the position of caretaker for the Ravenshollow Cemetery from your great-uncle Ezekiel Whitmore, whom you may not have known existed. The position comes with lodging in the caretaker's cottage and a modest stipend. Your presence is required immediately."

Margaret had never heard of Ezekiel Whitmore, nor had she any knowledge of family connections to this remote cemetery nestled in the hills of northern Maine. Her parents had died when she was young, and she had been raised by her grandmother, who had never mentioned any relatives beyond their small family circle. Yet here she stood, key in hand, staring into a realm of weathered headstones and gnarled oak trees that seemed to whisper secrets in the autumn wind.

The cottage sat at the far end of the cemetery, a small stone structure covered in ivy that had turned brilliant crimson with the changing season. Smoke curled from its chimney, though Margaret was certain no one should be there. Her heart quickened as she made her way along the winding path, her footsteps muffled by fallen leaves that crunched beneath her sensible boots.

As she approached the cottage, the heavy wooden door swung open, revealing a tall, gaunt man with silver hair and eyes the color of storm clouds. He wore a black coat that had seen better days and held a leather-bound ledger against his chest.