CHAPTER 9 “Voices in the Dark”
“Voices in the Dark”
The house appears even more empty than when I first stepped foot into it, if such a thing is even possible, as if the males that had been occupying it not too long ago were a fragment of my imagination, their bickering a hallucination of my exhausted mind.
A fire still burns in the hearth, its flames stuttering against the press of the house’s breathless dark. A sound stops me, just as I’m about to take a step forward. Soft. Deliberate. The unmistakable creak of a footstep above me.
I freeze, heart suddenly thudding hard in my throat. The house is old, yes, but that step had weight. Rhythm. Intention.
Slowly, my eyes lift to the staircase.
It’s empty.
Yet the creak comes again—one tread higher this time, as if someone, or something, is moving carefully along the upper floor, just out of sight.
I head back toward the kitchen, my breath shallow and trembling. The fire flickers violently. The light dims.
Then dies.
Total darkness swallows me.
I spin, raising my hand blindly in the pitch black, but come up empty. My palm meets not wood, but wallpaper. Damp. Peeling.
The scent changes.
Gone is the subtle trace of rosewater. Now the air reeks of something sweet, like rotting fruit and formaldehyde. A coppery tang laces it—blood? No, it can’t be. And yet, it is. Faint, but unmistakable.
Then...the sound.
Breathing.
Not mine.
Deep. Ragged. Close.
I turn in place, paralyzed with dread, senses stretching in every direction.
The breathing stops.
Then a whisper, right at my ear: “Why have you come?”
I scream, stumbling backward.
The fire flares back to life on its own, its flame now flickering white, and in its strange glow, the kitchen emerges before me, once more.
I spin around, mouth gaping wide open as the fear that I felt a moment ago is replaced by wonder. “Amazing!”
The cabinets are covered in even more food than before, from roasted rabbit with green beans and pork chops with soy fried rice, to every flavor of decadent pastries imaginable.
A fresh bowl of the same stew that I ate earlier stands on the kitchen table, still steaming from how freshly made it is.
My mouth waters, my stomach grumbling in sync, as if agreeing.
“Nope, not going to eat anything, Elena.”
The chair that I broke stands intact, resting against the wall. The dirty floors are in pristine condition, as if they’ve only just been installed. I gawk, not believing my eyes.
“Might want to close that mouth before something flies into it.”
I whip around at the gruff voice. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was someone here.”
Rein inspects me over the rim of his glasses as he stands behind an ebony marble topped island, a long wooden spatula in his hand.
“I, uh.” I clear my throat. “I just came down to clean up the mess from before, but now I see that it’s already taken care of.”
“Yes, Nikolas doesn’t like it when things are a mess.”
I nod, wringing my hands in front of me. “So, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
Rein lifts a thick brow, an incredulous look on his face. “Said the intruder to the owner.”
Blanching from embarrassment, I turn to go.
“Since you’re awake—” he calls out, resuming his cooking.
“You might as well be useful and help me out. I left some wood out by the shed. It needs to be brought in and piled up by the fireplace.” He motions in the direction of the front of the house.
“You’ll find a pair of old rain boots in the shoe closet right by the door. ”
I nod. “Alright.” Then a sudden idea hits me as my gaze wanders around the age-old kitchen.
Why didn’t I think of this before? “Actually, I would like to ask you a few questions first, if you don’t mind.
” Rein glances at me, ceasing his movements.
“I’m working on a dissertation revolving around old family heirlooms and cultural landmarks, and as I’m sure you’re already aware, this house of yours is quite impressive.
How old is it? What can you tell me about its previous tenants? ”
He stares at me, not blinking. “What are you? A detective?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” I chuckle, pride blossoming in my chest as I lift my chin. “I’m a historian at the Institute of Barbora. And I’m almost done with my paper, which I’ve been working on for years. So please, if you could help this stranger out.”
A mask of annoyance slides over Rein’s features. “There’s nothing to say. My family were its sole inhabitants since it was erected in the thirteenth century. The mansion was much smaller in its original state, the wings and top most floor being added on at a much later date.”
My jaw pops open in disbelief. “Did you say—thirteenth century?” Bursting with excitement, I round the island until I’m standing right next to the man, eager to hear more.
“But that means—” Olga’s words come crashing back.
“No...could it be?” I trail off, my brain going a thousand miles per hour at the possible implications of my newest discovery.
“This is the Bear Mansion, isn’t it? The one that the townspeople believe to be abandoned. ”
Rein scowls, completely ignoring me, then resumes his cooking as if I haven’t said a word.
I frown, irritated with myself for being so careless and brash. I should know better than to take such a direct approach. If I was to push the subject now, Rein will only lock up and refuse to tell me what I need to know.
A risk I’m not willing to take.
I clear my throat again, taking the hint. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go get that firewood.”
Cursing myself internally, I bolt out the front door after putting on a pair of green rubber boots, then come to a crashing stop. The rain smacks me flat in the face as I realize that I forgot to ask where the shed was.
“I can’t go back there. He already thinks I’m half-witted and rude. I’ll just have to search the area until I find the damn thing.”
Hurrying so that I don’t get completely soaked, I rush to where I believe the back of the mansion should be, hoping that, for once in my life, luck will be on my side and I won’t have to be out in the rain for long.
A faint light in the woods catches my attention, and I squint, staring into the trees.
“What is that?”
Curious, I make my way towards the dim source, the shed and my task already forgotten about. The forest looms ahead, a tangle of blackened, hollowed trees that groan with the weight of their own history. Moaning like voices caught between worlds whenever the wind threads through them.
Weaving through the trees, I descend deeper and deeper into the forest. The air is heavy and cold.
Each step sinks into the sodden ground, where the leaves have rotted into a gray paste.
Mist drifts low among the roots, carrying with it the faint echo of whispers that seem to rise from beneath the soil rather than through the air.
No birds sing here. No insects hum. The silence is so deep it presses against my chest, and every breath of mine feels like it could be my last one before the forest decides to take it back.
I’m struck by how tightly packed the trees are, the thick branches intertwining around each other like eager lovers. The trunks are massive, spanning the entire length of my arm, leaking—
“That’s not right.”
I examine the first tree. The bark is split open like an old wound, seeping a thick, tar-dark sap. Peeling off a chunk of said bark and inspecting it in my palm, I sniff the piece of wood and recoil back when the strong stench of death and damp earth invades my nostrils.
I cough, wheezing violently as the repulsive smell enters my lungs.
Doubling over, I step back, my instincts demanding I remove myself from this unnatural anomaly.
I’m dizzy. Beyond nauseous, and dropping to my knees, my head bowed low, I attempt to regain some composure, but then from somewhere beneath the earth comes a low whisper—faint, rhythmic, almost human, but not quite.
I shake my head, as if clearing away a dream, and gripping the rotting trunk, I pull myself up, my eyes blurring from the indescribable stench.
Something wet hits my head. My fingers graze the spot.
“What—”
Blood drips down my face, coloring my flesh a deep crimson hue.
I scream, bolting in the direction of the house, the thick liquid now flowing freely down my neck and collarbones. The black trees seem to move—slowly, subtly—twisting their hollow faces toward me, their shadows stretching long like grasping hands.
In my panic, I fail to see the ominous form hiding in the trees.
Watching.
Waiting.