The Immortal Patriarch: Anya’s Dangerous Quest into Shadows, Secrets, and the Mansion That Hides Deadly Truths

I peeped through the small opening of the wrought iron-gate that was mistakenly left open, probably by one of the guards. Because I’m very sure it couldn’t have been intentional. The tall, gigantic building before me gave a horrifying appearance. The horrific sketching on the rear part of the entrance building wedged between the silky grey walls seemed ambiguous, keeping me under a cloud. It scared me at first, as a horrible thought ran through my mind. It was so unsightly. I took a deep breath and urged myself to go in, then squeezed myself through the opening of the iron gate. I really did not want to be seen by anyone until I was done with what I came for. Although I knew very well it was not going to be easy. You can’t get away from the lion’s den without being caught. I flitted hurriedly into the mansion and crouched behind a very huge pillar that was framed at the entrance of the building. I held my breath, my googling eyes lingering in different directions without moving my head. A frightened feeling gushed through my stomach. My heart pounded as though the earth was already crumbling. A hushed, repulsive sound floated down to my strained ears, waiting to get whispers. This sound was from the other side of the pillar directly opposite me. I tried moving an inch toward a brick lying limply on the floor, when I got trapped by hazy webs in the air. Their filmy texture covered my face, and I had to use my hand to clear them off. “f**k you, bullshit!” I whispered to myself nervously. Under the dark stairs where I was hiding, trying to sit on the brick so I could relax and make my next move, the dust choked my throat, sneaking through my nose. I strained my ears, trying to catch sounds and whispers from different directions, especially the direction I had heard from before. But I wasn’t getting any. Everywhere appeared calm now. I stood up and paced toward the entrance. I reached it and stood beside the doorway, stretching my neck to see if anyone was coming out. No one came. I kept moving and strode down to the basement of the stairs. A squeaky, fast-paced footstep echoed in my ears. I sprang upright, moving back to my hiding spot. I stooped low under the stair, keeping watch on who was coming down. I saw a young, beautiful, slim, light-complexioned lady with blue eyes and short curly hair coming down the stairs with a flushed face. I wondered what had aroused that expression. She prowled around as if looking for something—or someone. She must have heard the sound of how I rushed down to hide. She walked closely to the basement, keeping a serious, straight face. She stood upright, her right hand on her waist, the other hanging loosely while holding a bucket. She didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Probably she had gone to get something from the garden behind the building—the direction she eventually took. From behind me came a queer rustling whisper. I was gripped with fear and decided to stay calm, straining my ears. I listened for a while but gave up, catching no tangible idea. I relaxed against the wall when I suddenly saw the girl returning, striding fast as though in a hurry. The sound still floated toward me. I wondered what it was all about. I squinted through the dark hall to see if anyone was coming. But I saw no one. I picked up courage, stood up, and tiptoed quietly along the hallway where the sound was coming from. The footsteps grew closer. I quickly pulled back and returned to my hideout. “There must be something mysterious about this building,” I whispered to myself, sitting back on the brick. A needle-like, sharp pain struck my arm. I looked and saw a pointed metal had pierced my arm hanging rigidly on the concrete wall of the stairs. I couldn’t scream so as not to be heard but I couldn’t bear the pain either. I wailed quietly, rolling down from my sitting position. I held the wounded arm tight and tied it with my sleek head tie hanging loosely around my waist. Despite being tightly tied, blood still oozed freely. “What do I do now?” I questioned rhetorically. The horrible sound still squealed, becoming deafening. “Am I the only one hearing this sound?” I asked again, expecting no reply. I would have gone to check again, but my arm was bleeding profusely. I could be traced if I left a trail. Curiosity overpowered me; I kept peering into the dark hall. The bleeding had reduced but had soaked the scarf. The wind blew hard, sweeping dust off the ground. I felt cold as the clouds darkened and then began to clear. My focus was on the cloud as I gazed through the open space of the building. The buzzing sound behind me drew my attention. I checked my arm; it was no longer bleeding. I had to investigate the source, but could barely see in the dark hall. I stood, attempting to move, when the sharp pain flared again. It was unbearable. I stooped low, holding my arm tightly. Tears dropped down my cheeks, escaping unconsciously. “It hurts badly,” I muttered. “You are wasting time,” a thought came to me. I agreed. I had to move. I stood, walking quietly and slowly, stretching my hand into the open space of the dark hall, trying to figure my way toward the sound. A thought ran through my mind that made me stop suddenly—someone could be watching me even in the dark. “But is that even possible?” I whispered. I paused, then continued slowly. A thin, dim light peered into the hall as if a flashlight had been switched on—or the moon had risen. “But it wasn’t dusk or night yet,” I reassured myself. I heard a creaking door open, stiffening me. I leaned helplessly against a wall, staring at it. My eyes followed a small card that had flipped out from under the door. “Is someone in there?” I asked unconsciously. The sound ceased. Everything looked calm, aside from the dim light. I stared at the card lying on the ground. Hot fright gripped me. I walked straight to it, stooping low, when a footstep approached. I ran back with the card in hand. The footsteps grew closer. I knew this was no safe place to hide. I ran back as fast as I could. I suddenly stopped hearing the footsteps. I moved under the stairs and sat tightly, when a sharp light flashed through the hall, illuminating everything. Someone was looking for me, even if they didn’t know me. I stayed calm. He walked past the basement and paused. I could sense trouble. Who was this person? He was a short young, handsome man with a crew cut. He didn’t look nice. His brow was furrowed, his left hand clenched a flashlight, the other hanging loosely. Determined, he searched, clearly sensing someone around. It was the first time I had seen him face to face. I had only seen him in magazines, newspapers, and social media posts. He was known for being wealthy and handsome, and his mother was admired as a philanthropist while subtly humiliating and intimidating anyone who crosses their path. Oppositions arising and causing the whole city to hide lamely in fear. If they were really good people, why did they treat my brother like garbage? I reflected, feeling aches all over my body. He wandered the premises. My heart sank as I sensed danger. “Why can’t he just leave?” I whispered, noticing his pause. He was standing before me. He stood there a while, then turned to leave. The card slipped from my hand to the floor, making a rustling sound that made him turn. My heart raced. Fear enveloped me. I began to shiver, my fists shaking like I had caught a cold. He walked slowly to the card, gave it a long gaze, bent over to pick it up, then abruptly turned his head toward me and paused. “Who are you?” he demanded aggressively. I was scared sick. My heart raced and paused at the same time. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My whole body moved unconsciously. He questioned again. I hesitated. “Who sent you?” he demanded, glaring fiercely. “I came for my brother, who was taken away from me,” I replied without hesitation. He paused, moved back, feigning surprise, then faked a hysterical laugh—deep, screaming, fake. “You dared me,” he growled. “I’m sorry,” I stuttered, pleading. He punched me hard in the face, still gripping my neck. I could barely breathe. I felt another punch, my eyes wet with blood. I fell to the ground, weak and frail, unable to help myself. I could hear footsteps above the stairs. Some hands lifted me by my arms and feet, swinging me along the steps.