Chapter 7
7
T he room is silent, save for my shallow breathing and the faint creak of the manor settling around me. The air smells of mothballs and stale wood, untouched for years. My legs are cramping, and my rear aches from sitting on the cold floor for so long.
Maybe they’ve forgotten this room exists.
That hope fades a few moments later when slow, deliberate footsteps echo from the hallway just outside, as if my very thought summoned one of them.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a voice taunts, amusement dripping from every sing-song word. It’s deep and smooth, sending shivers down my spine.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to be smaller, quieter—invisible. I hope he passes by, yet that darkness within is curious to see what happens when I’m caught.
The door creaks open. I can’t see it from where I am, but I know one of them is here with me. His footsteps are measured and confident, as if he already knows exactly where I am, savoring the moments before he strikes.
“I know you’re in here.” His voice is softer now, coaxing. “There’s no hiding from me, little thief.”
I don’t move.
I don’t breathe.
I don’t make a sound.
I can see the faint blue glow through the thin fabric of the sheet hiding me, growing brighter with each step he takes. I bite my lip, forcing back a whimper, as he starts pulling the sheets off the furniture.
One.
By.
One.
The blue glow settles directly in front of me, and I know I’ve been found. I hold my breath as the sheet shielding me is yanked away in one swift motion—exposing me. He tilts his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey.
“Well, well,” he drawls, squatting down with ease, completely unbothered. I stare at him with wide, terrified eyes. “Gotcha.”
I press myself further into the nook. The desk traps me on three sides, leaving the only escape directly where he crouches. My breath hitches as his hand—warm and calloused—brushes the hair from my face with an almost delicate touch.
“Didn’t make it very difficult for me, did you?” he taunts, his voice a cruel caress. “You’ll have to do better for the next one.”
I flinch as his fingers trail down to my chin, tilting my face so I’m forced to look at where his eyes should be. His head tilts again, as if considering something, before he abruptly stands—towering over me once more.
“I’ll give you a head start,” he says, stepping back and sweeping his hand toward the door. “Go on, little thief. Your next hunter’s waiting for you.”
The comforter tangles my legs as I try to climb to my feet, the bulky material difficult to maneuver. Still, I’m unwilling to part with it. He shakes his head, chuckling as I wrap it around myself once again. I dart past him with a glare and don’t look back.
Like the flip of a switch, the manor comes alive the moment I step into the hallway.
I run.
After sitting for so long, it’s almost painful to move this fast, but I push through the stiffness.
“Five minutes!” he calls as I turn down a connected corridor, the low light from the wall sconces casting long shadows.
I stifle a scream as the floor beneath me shifts, making it feel like the entire hallway is turning. A door opens once the movement stops, but I don’t trust it for a second. I turn and run in the opposite direction, but then a wall slides into place, closing in on me at a frightening rate, quickly shortening the hall.
“Oh, God.” The prayer escapes in a whimper.
I stumble backward, tripping over the comforter as I try to run.
When I reach the doorway, I don’t hesitate—I rush right through it. Turning just in time to see the wall stop mere feet from crashing into the other end of the hall. I suppose it’s a relief to know I wouldn’t have been crushed.
The room is filled with various musical instruments. My blood runs cold as notes play from the harp—by itself. It stops abruptly, and the same song continues seamlessly on the piano—also by itself.
I’m not familiar with the song, but it’s hauntingly beautiful. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if this place were haunted. I might be more concerned about being in a room with a ghost if I weren’t being hunted.
A framed painting of a landscape takes up an entire wall—something about it feels off. Upon closer inspection, I notice hinges along one side. I pull it open, revealing another door behind it. I don’t want to think about the reasons this door was hidden, but with no other option, I turn the knob and step through.
This house makes no sense. Why would a bedroom door be hidden behind a giant landscape in the music room? Then again, with how this place constantly shifts, it might not always be here.
“One minute, little thief!” one of them yells. It sounds like he’s yelling from the other side of the manor—but who knows, the manor enjoys playing tricks on me. With no more time to waste, I slide under the bed and prepare to wait.
The cold floor presses against my cheek as I fight to stay quiet. The bedroom is silent, the manor no longer shifting, and the dust under the bed tickles my nose. Every nerve in my body is taut, my fingers digging into the floor as I fight to keep myself from trembling.
It’s been a long night—more like a week—and my body is begging for sleep. My eyelids grow heavier with each passing second, and I drift in a half-conscious haze. Just as sleep threatens to pull me under, I hear it—a faint creak of a turning doorknob.
My eyes snap open, adrenaline rushing through me. The sound of his footsteps fills the room, light and springy—as if he’s enjoying himself. He probably is. I don’t need to see the faint orange glow on the floor to know who’s hunting me now.
Then he starts to whistle, and I wish for that tree branch again. It makes me so angry! He treats all of this like it’s some big joke. He wouldn’t be laughing if he’d lived the same life I did.
The whistling stops, and his footsteps pause at the edge of the bed. I freeze, barely allowing myself to breathe. He bends slightly, the orange glow getting brighter.
Don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t do anything.
After a long moment, he straightens, and a flicker of hope flares in my chest as he starts whistling again. The sound of his footsteps retreating sends a wave of relief crashing over me. I almost let out a deep sigh?—
Hands wrap around my ankles.
I scream.
He drags me out from under the bed, my nails scraping uselessly against the floor—my comforter lost somewhere beneath me. Panic consumes me as I scream and thrash, but his grip doesn’t waver.
Effortlessly, he hauls me up, pulling me flush against his body. His arm wraps around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides, while the cool edge of a blade presses against my throat.
I freeze.
The glowing mask hovers inches from the side of my face as he leans in, his mouth brushing close to my ear. His voice is low—a teasing drawl that does nothing to hide the danger lurking beneath.
“Did you really think you could hide from me, little thief? Silly girl, you can never hide from me.”
I’m quaking, every instinct screams at me to fight—to run—but his grip is ironclad.
“P-please,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Just let me go.”
“Oh, I’ll let you go,” he says, dragging the tip of his blade down the side of my face without breaking skin. “But only because the game’s just begun. It’d be a shame to end it too soon.”
The blade travels further, skimming the column of my throat, down the center of my sternum, forcing me to take shallow breaths.
“Do you feel that? The way your heart’s pounding? That’s fear, little thief. It suits you.”
Against my efforts, my body betrays me. Heat pools low in my stomach, and my breath hitches—fear has nothing to do with it this time. His voice, his touch, the… knife—it’s all too much. Shame floods my cheeks as I try to fight the confusing rush of emotions.
His grip tightens, his tone dripping with amusement. “Oh, what’s this? Is your cunt soaked for me, little thief? Naughty, naughty.”
My face burns hotter. I’ve never heard anyone speak like that before, and tears sting my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s from fear or shame—or something else entirely.
“N-no, I’m not?—”
“Liar,” he purrs, his voice smooth as silk, sending shivers down my spine. “But that’s all right. We’ll have plenty of time to play later. You’ve got one last chance to run before you’re ours—you like the sound of that, don’t you?”
Without warning, he releases me, and I stumble forward, nearly falling to my knees. My legs feel like jelly, and I press a trembling hand to my throat where the knife had been. I turn to look at him, but he’s already stepping back into the shadows, the glow of his mask the last thing to fade.
“Run, little thief,” he calls over his shoulder, his voice echoing like a terrifying melody. “Run while you still can.”
I crawl back under the bed, grab the comforter, and bolt through the hidden door he used—my mind tangled in confusion and terror. For a moment, I almost begged for something—I’m not even sure what—but it wasn’t to let me go.
What’s wrong with me?
Racing down the hallway, I skid to a stop and backtrack after passing a narrow staircase. With a hand on the banister and a foot on the first step, I look up, and pause.
Nothing in this place can be trusted, and falling down—or even through—the stairs is not something I’m eager to do. The sound of walls sliding shakes me from my indecision, particularly as the staircase is about to be closed in.
Deciding to risk it, I test each step carefully before placing my full weight down. It’s a slow process, made even slower by my exhaustion.
How much longer until dawn?
Wait.
I never heard the start of my five minutes. It’s probably taken at least that long just to get past the ridiculous number of stairs. Either Orange Mask gave me a serious head start, or I’m not getting a warning at all.
I imagine it’s the latter.
It’s not until I reach the top of the stairs that I realize how quiet everything is. The manor has gone back to sleep, which can only mean one thing: Red Mask is hunting me. The creak of the floor when I take my next step is far too loud. I freeze, straining to hear any sound of movement.
I don’t let myself feel relief when there’s no sign of a glowing red mask anywhere. The moment I let my guard down, he’ll appear out of thin air. I don’t know how they always seem to know where I am, but there’s something unnatural about them.
Walking on my toes, I make little to no sound as I glide down the hallway. Most of the doors up here are closed, and I refuse to open any of them. With my luck, the door would squeak, announcing my presence to the entire manor. No, I’ll wait until I come across an open door to hide behind.
There’s a stretch of wall with the smallest windows I’ve ever seen, spaced evenly apart. When I look out, I’m almost certain the sky is beginning to lighten. At least, I hope it is, and I’m not just imagining it.
This “game” and this house have made my sense of direction impossible to trust. I’m surprised to see how far up I am and start to wonder if this floor is just below the attic. That would be a good place to hide.
Just past the little windows and their meager light, the hallway grows nearly pitch black. I feel my way along the wall and find what seems like a door casing, but when I reach for the door, there’s only fabric. Must be curtains or something. My heart races, threatening to beat right through my chest, as I feel the fabric shift in a steady rise and fall, warmth radiating from it.
It’s not curtains.
It’s not something.
It’s someone.
My hand trembles as I feel my way, already knowing what I’m about to find. The second my fingertips brush a fabric-covered face, the neon red lights flare to life. I yelp and scramble to retreat, only to crash into something hard just before I’m washed in an electric-blue glow. Using the force of the collision, I stumble backward and dive toward the nearest door.
Before my fingers can reach the brass knob, the door jerks open, and Orange Mask steps into the doorway. When I turn, I realize I’m trapped. The only possible escape is the small windows on the opposite side of the hall. It feels like some cruel twist of fate that our final confrontation happens just as the sky teeters on the edge of a cloud-heavy dawn.
The relief of almost making it to dawn shatters the moment Red Mask grabs my wrists and slams them above my head. I gasp as he presses me against the cold wall. His glowing eyes are all I can see—twin red X’s burning into me. My breath comes in short, panicked bursts as I struggle against him, but his strength is unyielding.
He doesn’t even budge.
“Would you look at that,” he murmurs, his voice a low, mocking drawl. “You lost the game, thief.”
“No! Look!” I shout, squirming in his grip. “Dawn is almost here! I won!”
“If only almost counted,” Blue Mask adds as he steps closer. “You know the rules.”
My comforter—the only thing that’s kept me from feeling completely exposed all night—slips from my shoulders during the struggle. I barely notice before Red Mask releases my wrists and, in one swift movement, pulls a sack over my head. My world plunges into darkness.
I cry out, clawing at the rough fabric, but his hand clamps over mine, stopping me.
“Ah, ah,” he says, as if admonishing a child. “Not yet. You don’t get to see anything until I say so.”
His hands shift, grabbing me around my waist and lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I scream, kicking out wildly, but he tosses me over his shoulder with infuriating ease. My body bounces against his as he starts walking, every step rough and unceremonious, as I beat my fists on his back.
“Careful,” Orange Mask says somewhere nearby, his usual mirth missing from his tone for once. “She might bruise.”
“Lucky for her, there’s no time to do what I really want,” Red Mask growls. I feel his words rumble through his chest. “But don’t worry, thief. We’ll be back to play at dusk.”
A sharp smack lands on my bare bottom.
I freeze, the realization hitting me like a wave—I’m completely exposed in this position. I’m suddenly thankful I can’t see them. My throat tightens, a wave of heat flooding through me even as fear prickles my skin.
Their voices surround me as they discuss—in vivid detail—the things they wish they had time for, using language more vile than I’ve ever heard. Each word tightens around me, a growing tension that I’m afraid to experience when it finally breaks.
A chill settles in the air the further we go. Wherever we’re headed, the dampness seeps into the atmosphere, dragging up memories I’d rather not revisit.
I panic.
And thrash against his hold again.
“No, please… Don’t leave me here. I—I’ll be good, I promise,” I sob, the memories bleeding into the present, making it impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
“There’s a way out of this room—if you can figure it out,” a voice says.
Was that Blue Mask or Josiah?
I’m jostled roughly before my bare legs connect with a flat, hard surface. My hands instinctively reach for the sack, desperate to yank it off. Before I can, a firm hand grips my wrist.
“Not yet,” Red Mask warns, his tone sharp. “Not until we’re gone.”
“Please… Please, not here,” I beg. “Not here.”
I freeze.
My heart pounds.
I hear fabric shifting.
Oh God, he’s here.
Any second, a bruising grip will seize me, and I’ll try my hardest to float away. What I don’t expect is something warm and soft draping over me. My breath catches when I hear Orange Mask chuckle. The sound is light and doesn’t belong in my memories, but it calms me, makes the panic ease.
“Don’t worry,” he says, his amusement back in his tone. “I remembered your emotional-support comforter.”
I’m too stunned to react as their footsteps fade. The sound of a door—or something heavy—sliding shut fills the space. I call out a few times, my voice cracking, but only silence answers me. Once I realize they’re gone, I rip the sack off my head, its rough fabric catching on my hair. My chest heaves as I look around.
The room is dimly lit by a single candle burning on the floor. Shadows stretch across the stone walls, broken only by the soft folds of the comforter wrapped around me. I scan the place again, my stomach sinking with each pass.
No windows.
No doors.
No way out.
My emotions war within me as my past clashes with my present. Panic, fear, and dread swirl together, but beneath it all, something darker and more unsettling simmers. My body trembles—not from the cold, but from their words, which still echo in my mind, and their touches, which have burned into my skin.
I tighten the comforter around myself and take a shaky breath, forcing my focus. They said there’s a way out. I just have to be clever enough to find it—but right now, I can’t fight the exhaustion overwhelming both my body and mind.
I need to be ready.
Whatever game this is, it’s not over.
It’s only just begun.