“This wasn’t an accident!” Sophia’s voice rang out, trembling but sharp. She pointed at the bloodied shard still lodged in the butler’s neck. “You don’t just trip and fall on glass from another room.”
Marcus stood over the lifeless body, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the grim scene. His voice was calm but clipped. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. The storm’s raging, the power’s out… accidents happen.”
“Accidents don’t leave messages in blood,” Dean snapped, nodding toward the nearby window where “For Eleanor” was still smeared in crimson streaks. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with a grim set to his jaw.
“Stop it!” Ivy cried from the corner, hugging her knees. Her pale face was streaked with tears, and she avoided looking at the butler’s body. “Just stop arguing. Someone’s dead.”
Vanessa broke in, pacing near the window. “What about the staff? They left to fix the generator, didn’t they? Why aren’t they back yet?”
Helen adjusted her glasses, her sharp eyes scanning the room. “They should’ve returned by now,” she said, her tone deliberate and measured. “But if they haven’t…”
Marcus exhaled deeply. “They probably took shelter somewhere because of the storm. If they left us, they were trying to save themselves.”
“Or someone wanted us to think they left,” Dean muttered, his voice low.
Sophia hugged herself tightly. “So… we’re stranded, with no staff, no power, and no one to help us?”
“It looks that way,” Helen said firmly, stepping into the center of the room. “And if that’s the case, we need to secure this house.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Secure the house? Against what, exactly?”
“Against whoever or whatever killed him.” Helen pointed at the butler’s body. “If there’s a killer here, we’re not letting them come and go as they please. We lock every door, every window.”
Vanessa snorted, her arms crossed. “And what if the killer’s already inside?”
Helen’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Then you pray. For now, let’s stick together. The more we see of each other, the less chance anyone has to accuse—or kill—anyone else.”
Sophia looked down at her phone, her trembling fingers trying to find any connection. “We can call for help, right? Someone must be able to…” She trailed off as her screen displayed a single word: No Signal.
Dean checked his phone, letting out a bitter laugh. “Dead. No bars. Perfect.”
Vanessa waved her phone in frustration. “Same here. We’re cut off. The storm must’ve taken out the signal.”
Marcus folded his arms, his expression dark. “Then we focus on surviving until morning. We’re not getting out of here tonight, and no one’s coming for us in this weather.”
Dean gave Marcus a long, hard look, tilting his head. “You seem pretty good at taking charge, Marcus. So why don’t you tell us where you were when this happened?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened as he returned Dean’s gaze evenly. “I was in the dining room. Same as the rest of you. We all heard the scream at the same time.”
Dean smirked humorlessly. “Convenient answer.”
Helen raised her voice before the tension could escalate further. “That’s enough! Arguing won’t get us anywhere. We need to focus on keeping this group safe and staying together.” She gestured toward the butler’s body. “Move him to the conservatory, cover him up. Then we lock down the house.”
Reluctantly, they carried the butler’s body into the conservatory, laying him gently on a chaise and covering him with a blanket. The storm outside wailed against the glass panes, lightning flashing intermittently, casting long shadows on their pale faces.
The group moved methodically through the mansion, locking doors and latching windows under Helen’s direction. Each creak of the old house and every gust of wind seemed to echo louder in the suffocating silence.
When they returned to the lounge, Dean poured himself a drink, the clink of the bottle against the glass breaking the uneasy quiet. “This place,” he muttered, shaking his head, “it’s like a goddamn tomb.”
Sophia sat on the edge of the sofa, her knees bouncing nervously. “It’s not just this place,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s the reason we’re here. Eleanor.”
The name hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.
Dean drained his glass in one long gulp. “Eleanor’s dead,” he said flatly. “She’s been gone for five years. Let’s not pretend this is about her ghost.”
“Maybe it is,” Ivy whispered, her voice barely audible. She looked up, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Maybe this is… revenge.”
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sophia’s soft gasp cut him off.
“What is it?” Marcus asked, turning sharply toward her.
Sophia pointed to the large bay window, where the storm raged outside. “Someone’s out there. I saw something move.”
The group froze, all eyes snapping to the window. Lightning flashed, illuminating the wild, windswept grounds outside, but no figure appeared.
“You imagined it,” Marcus said firmly, though his voice betrayed a flicker of doubt.
“I know what I saw,” Sophia insisted, stepping closer to the window. “Someone was out there. Watching us.”
Helen put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. “Even if someone is out there, we’re safer inside. We stay together, we keep the doors locked, and we wait for morning.”
The fire crackled, the shadows on the walls seeming to shift and twist as if they were alive. The storm outside howled louder, a fierce wind rattling the windowpanes.
And then, somewhere deep within the house, a floorboard creaked.