Chapter 18 - The House of Whispers
The darkness inside the foyer was absolute. I pulled out my phone, turning on the flashlight. The beam of light sliced through the gloom, revealing a grand, empty hallway. The furniture was covered in white drop cloths, making them look like a gathering of silent, faceless ghosts.
"David," Megan whispered, her hand tightening in mine. "Look at the floor."
I lowered the flashlight. Dropped on the dark hardwood floor were several printed photographs.
I knelt down, picking them up. They were photos of us. But they weren't taken recently.
One was of Megan and me at our wedding, our faces scratched out with a black marker. Another was a photo of Lily when she was just a few weeks old, still hooked up to the monitors in the neonatal intensive care unit. Pinned to the corner of Lily’s photo was a small, hand-drawn map of the very house we were standing in, with a red path leading up the stairs.
"She’s playing with us," Megan hissed, her fear transforming into a cold, focused anger. "She wants us to feel small. She wants us to think she’s a god."
"She’s a dying woman in a bed, Megan. She’s trying to scare us because control is the only weapon she has left," I said, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
We followed the red path on the map, our footsteps echoing hollowly through the empty house. We reached the grand staircase. The wooden banister was thick with dust, except for a clean patch where someone had recently held onto it for support.
As we climbed the stairs, a sound began to drift down from the second floor.
It was a faint, scratchy recording. A music box playing a slow, distorted version of Lullaby and Goodnight. The tinny, mechanical notes warped in the empty hallway, creating an atmosphere of profound, suffocating dread.
"Eleanor!" I called out, my voice booming through the house, shattering the eerie melody. "We’re here! Stop the games!"
The music box didn't stop.
We reached the top of the stairs. The second-floor landing opened up into a wide corridor with several doors, all of them closed except for the one at the very end. From beneath that door, a warm, flickering light spilled out onto the floor.
We walked toward it. With every step, the scent of antiseptic grew stronger, mixed with the smell of burning wax.
I pushed the door open.
The room was vast, dominated by a massive, four-poster bed draped in heavy crimson velvet curtains. On the nightstands on either side of the bed, dozens of white candles were burning, their flames dancing wildly in the draft from our entrance.
Sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room, her face partially obscured by the shadows, was Aunt Carol. She was holding a glass of amber liquid, looking at us with a cold, triumphant smile.
"You're late," Carol said, taking a slow sip.
"Where is she, Carol?" I demanded, stepping into the room, keeping Megan behind me. "Where is my mother?"
Carol gestured toward the bed. "Where do you think she is, David? She’s waiting for her loving son."
I walked over to the bed, my hand trembling slightly as I reached out to pull back the heavy crimson curtain. My mind flashed back to the blue blanket, to the nights of terror, to the decades of manipulation.
I pulled the curtain back.
The bed was empty.
There was nothing but a pile of pillows, arranged under the heavy duvet to look like the shape of a sleeping body. Resting on top of the pillows was a baby monitor, its small green light blinking steadily.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the bedroom slammed shut behind us.
I heard the distinct, heavy sound of a brass deadbolt sliding into place from the outside.
I spun around. Carol was no longer sitting in the armchair. She had slipped out through a hidden servant’s door behind the velvet curtains, and the faint sound of her laughter echoed through the walls.
"David!" Megan screamed, throwing her weight against the main bedroom door. "It's locked! We're trapped!"
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From the baby monitor on the bed, a raspy, wheezing laugh bubbled up through the static.
"You always were so easy to guide, David," my mother’s voice whispered from the speaker. "You think you’re the protector. But you just left your daughter completely unprotected."
