I did not open the door.
I stood frozen, my hand hovering inches from the handle, every nerve in my body screaming that whatever waited on the other side was not what it claimed to be. The whisper had been unmistakable Caleb's voice, warm and low and careful but the certainty inside me was sharper than fear.
Caleb was downstairs.
I had watched him retire to the study hours earlier, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of Elara's expectations. He would not be standing in the dark outside my room. He would not be whispering my name like a prayer.
"Justina," the voice breathed again.
The door shuddered faintly, not from a knock, but from something leaning against it.
I stepped back slowly, my pulse roaring in my ears. The lock Elara's precious lock remained untouched. Whatever was out there did not need to open the door.
It already knew I was awake.
"I know you're listening," the voice murmured. "You always do."
Always.
The word scraped something raw inside me. My breath came shallow as memories stirred rooms with no windows, rules disguised as protection, voices that learned your name before you spoke it aloud.
"I won't hurt you," the voice said softly. "Not yet."
I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound.
Silence followed.
Not the gentle quiet of rest, but a thick, watchful absence that pressed against my skin. I counted my breaths. One. Two. Three. The floorboards outside creaked, retreating footsteps fading into nothing.
I did not sleep again that night.
Morning arrived pale and uncertain, light creeping through the curtains as if unsure it was welcome. When the bell chimed six times, I was already dressed, my nerves pulled tight like wire.
The door was still locked from the outside.
That, more than anything, unsettled me.
Breakfast passed in strained normalcy. Elara sat serene as ever, sipping tea, her eyes sharp and bright. Caleb joined us late, his face drawn, shadows bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
"You look tired," Elara observed sweetly.
"I didn't sleep well," he replied.
Our eyes met across the table.
Something flickered there recognition, confusion, fear.
I looked away first.
After breakfast, Elara handed me a list of tasks, her handwriting neat and looping. Every room was accounted for. Every corridor. Except one.
The west wing remained conspicuously absent.
"You'll finish by dusk," she said. "Then you'll return upstairs."
"Yes," I replied.
She paused, studying me. "Did you hear anything unusual last night?"
The question slid into the air between us like a blade.
"No," I said easily.
Her smile deepened. "Good."
The house felt different during the day. Less oppressive, though no less aware. As I worked, I began to notice patterns certain doors that never seemed to collect dust, mirrors that reflected angles that didn't quite match the rooms they were in. Once, while wiping down a console table, I caught my reflection smiling back at me when my lips were perfectly still.
I dropped the cloth and stepped away, heart pounding.
"Justina."
I turned sharply. Caleb stood in the doorway, his expression tense.
"Elara sent me to help you," he said. "With the heavier things."
I nodded, grateful for the interruption.
We worked in silence for a while, moving around each other with careful distance. But the air between us felt charged, taut with things unsaid.
"Did you" he began, then stopped.
I waited.
"Did you hear anything last night?" he asked quietly.
I studied his face. He looked genuinely afraid.
"Yes," I said.
His shoulders sagged, relief and dread warring in his expression. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that."
"It sounded like you," I continued. "Outside my door."
His eyes widened. "That's not possible."
"I know."
We stood there, the house listening.
"You have to follow the rules," he said urgently. "No matter what you hear. No matter what it says."
"What is it?" I asked.
He shook his head. "If I tell you, it will know."
A chill traced my spine. "Know what?"
"That I betrayed it."
Before I could press further, Elara's voice echoed from down the hall.
"Caleb."
He flinched.
"I have to go," he said. "Please. Just be careful."
He left without another word.
That afternoon, I broke my first rule.
I waited until the house fell into its midday lull, until Elara retreated to her private sitting room and the silence grew thick and complacent. Then I moved toward the west wing.
The air changed immediately.
Colder. Heavier. The walls seemed closer here, the ceilings lower. Every step echoed too loudly, as though the house wanted to announce my disobedience.
The door to the west wing stood ajar.
That alone felt wrong.
Inside, the hallway stretched longer than the others, lined with doors that bore no handles only keyholes, dark and watching. At the far end, a single door stood closed, its surface scarred with deep grooves, as though something had clawed at it repeatedly.
I felt drawn to it, my pulse syncing with a low, rhythmic thrum beneath the floor.
When I reached for the handle, a voice whispered from behind me.
"You came back."
I spun around.
Caleb stood at the entrance, his face pale. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should that," I said, nodding toward the door.
His gaze followed mine, dread flooding his features.
"It wasn't always like this," he said. "The house changed."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because of love," he whispered.
Before I could respond, the door shuddered violently.
A sound tore from behind it not a scream, but a sob. Raw. Broken. Familiar.
My chest tightened. "That sounds like"
"Don't," Caleb said sharply. "Don't say it."
The sobbing turned into laughter.
My laughter.
I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat. "That's impossible."
The door creaked open an inch.
Inside, darkness pulsed like a living thing.
"Justina," the voice crooned. "You promised."
Memories slammed into me hands clasped in the dark, whispered vows, a love so desperate it defied reason. A choice made in blood and belief.
Caleb grabbed my arm. "We have to leave. Now."
The door slammed shut on its own, the sound reverberating through the hall.
We ran.
That night, as Elara locked my door from the outside, she leaned close.
"It's begun," she murmured. "The house remembers you."
When the lights went out, the walls began to breathe.
And somewhere above me, something that loved me very much began to wake.