Chapter 8
8
T he stone beneath me is cold—the kind of cold that stabs like little needles into your bones. The comforter wrapped around my body should help, and maybe it would if there were any body heat to trap. Instead, it absorbs the cold moisture surrounding me. The air, thick with the earthy scent of stone, presses against my skin like layers of damp dirt—inescapable, suffocating.
I know this smell.
I know this feeling.
I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the edges of the comforter so tightly that my frozen knuckles ache. A sharp pain in my stomach makes me curl into myself—hunger, my constant companion, twisting inside me. I blink against the haze clouding my vision, but it does nothing to clear the fog of confusion in my brain.
I’ve never understood the definition of silence. It’s meant to be the complete lack of sound, but in my experience, it’s louder than most. It’s the hum of electronics, the anticipation between the ticks of a clock, the ominous creaking of a house.
Silence is an old friend of mine—though never a kind one. The cruelest thing about it is how it encourages dread to mount, swiftly growing and impossible to control. It builds in the echo of footsteps above, the groan of an opening door, the measured thud of footfalls on each step before he?—
Fear wraps around my chest in a vice-like embrace, tightening with each shallow breath. Confusion pulls me between past and present, blurring the line between reality and delusion. I can’t tell what’s real—am I sixteen in the cellar, or twenty-five in the manor? Panic claws at my throat, ready for Josiah’s cold, menacing voice to rip through the silence.
No.
That’s not now.
I’m not there.
I squeeze my eyes shut, tossing my head in a futile attempt to shake off the past. It doesn’t help. I can hear them—footsteps, slow and unhurried, creaking above me. Fear consumes me, my heart slamming against my ribs, my pulse a roaring thing in my ears.
The ceiling is made of stone.
It’s impossible to hear footsteps.
There’s no door or stairs.
He can’t be here.
Yet, I hear footsteps.
I hear a door groan as it opens.
I hear the thud of each step.
The sounds send a chill down my spine. Even if he’s not here, he’s still able to terrorize me. It’s a sickening reminder that Josiah’s still out there. By now, he must be looking for me.
He’ll ever stop.
A wave of dizziness washes over me—the lack of food fraying my mind at the edges. I’m no stranger to hunger. Josiah delighted in using it as a punishment. I think it was the effects hunger had on me that he appreciated the most.
I’d lose time, days blurring as everything bled together. I’d be too weak to fight, too confused to understand what was happening to me.
I refuse to let that happen again.
I grit my teeth and force myself upright. My legs tremble beneath me. The room spins as I adjust the comforter, steadying myself before carefully bending to pick up the candle.
Come on, Celest, focus on the here and now.
I can’t let my mind sink back into memories that are already too close to the surface. I take a deep breath and look around, firmly planting myself in the present. The candlelight barely cuts through the darkness as I press one hand to the curved walls, dragging my fingers along the rough, uneven surface.
They said there’s a way out—I just have to find it.
Pressing the candle closer to the wall, my eyes catch on something ahead—a small irregular section I almost missed.
My breath shudders as I move closer. I choose one of the small stones and press against it. It shifts beneath my fingertips, giving way ever so slightly.
I press a few at random and yelp when the room shifts—not just the wall, but the entire space around me. My stomach lurches, and I stumble back. The heavy grinding of stone reverberates through the room, followed by a soft click that echoes in the stillness.
That did… something.
I try another random combination, but this time, when the room jerks to a stop, there’s no click. It reminds me of a giant combination lock. I chew on my lip, thinking.
If that’s the case, then…
I repeat the first pattern, then experiment with another. The room spins again. Another click. My frozen fingers tremble as I repeat the process, trying different combinations until?—
Click.
The wall shifts, a section of stone sliding away, revealing a dark opening beyond. I don’t hesitate. Gripping the candle and comforter tighter, I step through.
The stone hallway ends at a set of wooden stairs. With each step, the air grows warmer. I reach the top and turn the knob, stepping into a room bathed in the muted glow of the sun. Even with the heavy cloud coverage, I blink several times, adjusting to the light.
I blow out the candle, unsure of what to do with it. Ultimately, I set it down on the first flat surface I find, then move to bask in the weak warmth of a sunbeam, letting it thaw me. As much as I’d love to stay here and follow the shifting light across the dark hardwood floors, hunger gnaws at me. I give myself a few more minutes before forcing myself to move.
Even with the manor quietly sleeping, it remains a chaotic maze. I’ve circled this place more times than I can count before finally emerging onto the second-floor balcony of the foyer, where twin staircases curve down to the front door.
As I descend the stairs slowly, I debate whether the door will open. It seems silly to leave the front door unlocked if they want to keep me here. Maybe they didn’t think I’d crack the puzzle of that ridiculous room. Who designs a room as one giant combination lock, anyway?
Then again, anything seems possible here.
I reach out with a shaking hand and grab the knob, turning it—it opens. The air outside is warm, and for once, it’s not raining. That little voice in the back of my head screams at me to run. But there’s another, darker voice telling me to stay—that I don’t want to leave.
My stomach growls again, and I try to push the hunger aside, focusing on thinking logically while letting the warm air wash over me. If I left right now, I’m almost certain I’d die. I’m already starving, and all I have to my name is a slip of fabric and a dirty comforter.
I shut the door, telling myself I can’t leave until I find my purse and some food. This has nothing to do with the dark desires the masked men have stirred inside me.
Absolutely nothing.
No, I’m just being rational.
I head toward the same hallway I took when I first arrived at the manor. There’s no point in trying to remember where I’ve been or where each corridor leads—not with how this place constantly shifts.
In the light of day, the manor feels less sinister—beautiful even. The Great Hall opens up to a sweeping staircase, its two elegant spirals leading up to a second-floor balcony adorned with intricate wrought-iron railings. Towering arches frame the space, their ornate carvings drawing attention to the dazzling chandelier overhead.
It’s twice the size of the one in the foyer.
Beneath the grand staircase, two arched hallways are tucked into shadow, while two others—one on each side—lead to the unknown. It’s fewer than I expected, but then again, I only had a quick look around with the glow of my phone. I choose one at random, hoping it leads to the kitchen. Preferably sooner rather than later—I don’t know how much longer I can keep going before I collapse.
I wonder what I’ll find when I finally raid the pantry and fridge. At this point, I’ll take anything, but fresh fruit sounds like heaven. The thought of an apple makes my mouth water. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll even find some candy bars.
Growing up, candy was forbidden. Josiah always said it was another temptation for women—one that men could never fall victim to. Sometimes, the boys were cruel. They’d eat their chocolate bars in front of us, savoring every bite, knowing we couldn’t have any. I think they enjoyed taunting us more than the candy itself.
Since leaving, I’ve tried every kind of candy I can get my hands on. So far, Snickers are my favorite. I also really like the Sour Children. Sour kids? Something like that.
God, I’m so hungry.
By the time I finally find the kitchen—after what feels like an eternity—it’s anticlimactic. The space is massive, with gleaming countertops and an old-fashioned stove straight out of a 1950s movie set. Unfortunately, that’s where the allure ends.
The fridge hums faintly as I open it, revealing next to nothing—just a jug of milk, a mostly-empty bottle of hot sauce, and a single piece of slimy lettuce. Honestly, I’m afraid to even open the milk and that piece of lettuce is more likely to make me ill than anything.
The pantry isn’t much better. A box of stale crackers, a dented can of soup, and a half-eaten jar of peanut butter—that’s it. With a sigh, I grab the crackers and peanut butter, dragging them to the counter. Candy bars and apples remain nothing but a wish.
The cabinets are just as empty—no plates, no cutlery—but I’m too hungry to care. I twist the lid off the jar and scoop out a glob with a cracker, stuffing it into my mouth.
Nothing about it is satisfying, and it barely does anything to quiet the hunger gnawing at my stomach. At least it’s something. I remind myself to be careful, eating small bites to avoid making myself sick.
One thing is for certain, this kitchen has not been used in a long time. Do they even eat? Of course they do, everyone has to eat.
The question is, what do they eat?
I have no desire to contemplate the possibilities. I’m still not convinced they’re human.
At least not entirely.
Oh, God. What if they’re keeping me alive just to eat me later? I quickly shove that thought aside. There’s no point in dwelling on it. Besides, I’ve got enough to worry about right now.
I lean against the counter while I chew, while my mind continues to drift to the events of the past two nights. There seems to be a fine line between terror and thrill which I’ve somehow managed to find. I’m not certain which side I’ll end up on, but either way, they’ve found the darkness inside me. I’ve kept it locked in a cage my whole life, but all it took was two nights with them to unleash it.
I should hate them for it—and I’m trying to. I really am. But I’m finding it difficult.
There’s anger, that much I know, but there’s also something else—something I can’t quite name. It pulls at the darkness within me, tangled and buried deep beneath the surface, but impossible to ignore. I should be focused on surviving, on finding a way out of this place, yet my mind keeps circling back to them.
The sound of their voices, low and taunting, echoing in the dark. The thrill I felt as their footsteps grew near. How they seemed to appear out of nothing. The way my heart raced when the neon glow of their masks came into view. There’s something excitingly sinful about it all—exactly what I’ve been warned against my whole life.
Maybe I’m just tired.
I press my palm against the countertop, trying to ground myself, but it doesn’t help. Every time I close my eyes, I see them—their silhouettes in the dim light, the glow of their masks. Their words coil around me, igniting something I don’t understand.
What’s wrong with me?
I should be terrified—which I am, of course—but this fear is different. It’s nothing like the fear I used to feel when Josiah called me to his home for what he called a “correction of purity,” his expectations ringing in my ears, my father’s disapproving gaze cutting through me.
This is different.
It’s fear, but it’s something more, something forbidden. It burns through my veins, making me feel alive in a way I never thought possible, not even in my wildest dreams.
I pick up the rest of the crackers and peanut butter, deciding to put them away instead of taking them with me. Without something to carry them in, I’m sure I’d lose them and never see them again. At least this way, I’ll know exactly where they are.
I brace myself against the sink and put my mouth under the tap, drinking my fill of cold water before standing up and gazing out the window. The sun inches closer to the horizon, dusk no more than an hour away. That gives me little time to prepare before the next game begins. Anticipation thrums through me at the thought of seeing them again.
The darkness within me smiles.