Holly
The clock ticked loudly in the enormous empty dining room.
Dinner, for one, had never been more lonely or depressing.
I wondered if Sir Dacre had dined in a similar manner.
The head of the stag stared at me. The black glass eyes seemed to be accusatory.
Unable to stomach the tender veal, I pushed the plate away and lifted my glass of red wine, draining it to take the edge off my nerves.
“Was the food not to your liking?” Mrs Denby asked sternly.
I jumped at her voice.
“No, it was lovely,” I said quickly, assuring her, but I raised my arms around the room. “I’m a little unsettled by all of this. I live in a cosy one-bedroom apartment.”
She nodded but didn't speak. Her shoes clicked on the wooden floor as she walked towards the table to take my plate. As soon as she left, I poured another glass of wine, grateful she hadn’t taken it.
I needed it to spend my night in the death room.
◆◆◆
I lay in the middle of the bed, staring at the carved wooden canopy.
There was no way that I would be switching the lamp off tonight.
The wine helped me relax enough to doze off, and my fingers slowly loosened their grip on the covers.
I shut out the soft creaking noises, putting it down to the many staff and old house.
Blood.
There was blood everywhere. It was slippery and warm, coating my hands. I glanced down and saw the large incision on Owen’s neck—a perfectly straight line. The dark wooden floor was swallowing up the pooling blood. I dropped the knife when I saw his parted lips and open eyes.
Whispers came from every corner of the dark room.
An ancient language that I didn't understand.
They consumed me. I dipped my finger into his blood and began to paint the floor in symbols.
I picked up the knife and placed the tip below the ribcage, pushing down before slicing through the flesh and tissue.
The whispers grew louder, and I dropped the knife to stick my hands inside his abdomen.
I woke up screaming, wiping my hands on the sheets, but the stains wouldn’t come out. Not until I blinked. Then they were gone. Sweat made my T-shirt stick to my body.
Across the room, the wardrobe door stood ajar.
Inside, the wooden box had been opened.
The dead crow lay on the floor with its feathers scattered around it.
I reached for my phone—3:04 am.
There was no way that I would fall asleep again, not after that terrifying nightmare.
I shivered, recalling Owen’s gaping wounds—the feel of my hands inside his warm body.
I flung the covers off and grabbed my phone.
Mrs Denby had given me a brief tour of the house, and I knew exactly where the dream occurred.
It was in the small chapel at the end of the great hall.
I used the light from my phone and crept down the stairs. Every creak sounded excruciatingly loud beneath my bare feet. My pace picked up as soon as I was at the last step. The dark shadows made me nervous.
When I reached the chapel door, I paused to take a deep breath before pushing the door open.
The instant I stepped into the small chapel, I felt the chill in the room, but I didn't stop.
I shone my phone around, and it was empty.
The scent of jasmine surrounded me, growing stronger with each step I took toward the altar.
The tension left me when I shone the light on the floor. There was no mutilated body or blood stains on the wooden floor. It was just a nightmare.
I returned to my room to discover the wooden box and crow were gone.
It was just a nightmare.
◆◆◆
“Where is Owen?” I asked Mrs Denby, avoiding eye contact.
“It’s his day off. Did you need to go somewhere?”
“No. I was just wondering. You said my things were delivered?”
“Yes, the staff are placing them in your room.”
I nodded and sipped my coffee. The caffeine was my only hope of getting through the day.
I spent time exploring the house and the extensive gardens.
The staff had unpacked everything and put it away, removing Sir Dacre’s items. A few boxes were left, but I didn't unpack them because I wasn't certain if I could stay in the house. The thought of the money helping my practice was too much of a pull for me. We could buy new equipment, and it would pay for Jenna’s salary.
◆◆◆
I moved onto my side, curling into the covers. That was when I felt movement behind me. Fingers curled around my neck, and I began to struggle, but the man was much larger than me.
“I am Nebka, lord of the souls.” The voice hissed in my ear. “Do you remember me, Iset?”
“Oh, god,” I said when the whispers started.
It was pitch black, and I couldn't see anything. I tried to reach for my phone, but the bulky body on top of me had me pinned down. The whispers grew louder. There were so many of them.
Lips pressed against mine, and I opened my mouth to scream, but something poured out of the monster. I felt insects writhing inside of my mouth, crawling down my throat. Panic ensued, and I gagged.
I woke up clawing at my tongue and trying to spit them out. It was a nightmare. There was nothing in my mouth. I pulled my fingers away, realising I’d scratched my tongue. The pain made me pause. It was real.
I sat up with tears coursing down my cheeks before the sobs began.