Chapter 8 - The Haunt.
1166 Words
The sound grew louder with every passing second, like chords reaching for an impossible octave.
Lylah’s heartbeat pitched an E7 of the Beethoven’s Für Elise—la la laaa….
Still, she didn’t look back.
Not even once. She’d squeezed her eyes shut.
In her little inner temple, she prayed ‘whatever’ it was would just go away if she stayed still.
But it didn’t. It wouldn’t.
It was coming. Close.
Closer.
The walls could hear her heart pounding aggressively from her feet and hands with every increasing sound.
She shot her eyes open landing at where she’d seen the feast.
Only now… there was no feast.
What in the name of—
The ornate table that had once glittered with roasted meat, golden goblets, and fresh fruit was soaked in…..blood.
Hot. Red. Thick.
It oozed down the table aggressively like a waterfall spilling from a cursed iceberg. Dripping from the edges of the long table in heavy, syrupy drops that slapped the marble floor with a sickening splash.
The scarlet fluid spread in fast, hungry waves—crawling towards her feet.
Her eyes widened. Sweat trickled at the back of her ear.
No. No, no, no— she staggered backward.
The pool of blood surged forward like it was alive. A chase and kill game.
She turned around on her heels, bolting out of the room in many layers of terror.
Her bare feet slapped against the marble floor, the sound echoing louder than it should have—like the hallway wanted to remember every step she took.
The dragging sound still echoed behind her, scraping across the silence like fingernails over wet stone, this time louder—mixing with the powerful roar of the tumbling blood ocean. Both, hunting her like twin monsters.
The blood splashed against the walls, painting the once-grand corridor in violent red.
Lylah’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know where she was going—only that forward was better than getting caught up with.
The fortress groaned around her as if it resented her escape. The walls casted flickers of irregular shaped shadows dancing in mockery to her plight.
Tears threatened to fall through. Just when she’d thought the night had been gracious enough to spare her from more terror. Here she was again.
She turned sharply, hoping to get back to Axel’s room—but slammed into a wall.
“What the—this wasn’t here before!”
The corridor had changed. There was no door, no staircase—only a dead end ahead of her.
She had led her own legs into a trap.
Behind her, the sound grew louder—sloshing, dragging, hungry.
She turned, blood now just feet away. A mighty axe scrapping the wall, steady and wrong, turned towards her in a hit stance.
Her chest heaved.
Her back hit the wall, nowhere to run.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hands trembling at her sides.
Please… please…
The sound stopped.
Silence.
No wetness splattering across her face. No blow.
She opened one eye.
Then the other.
The corridor was….empty. Nothing.
All of it….gone.
As if none of it had ever been there.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Lylah cursed, panting heavily.
She stood alone in the hallway.
Turning around, she saw the dead end had disappeared too.
She blinked twice just to be sure her head wasn’t making up an invisible entrance.
But still, the corridor had stretched ahead, familiar again.
She walked through, legs still shaky. Hoping to get to Axel’s room.
The corridor felt different, darker now, impossibly long.
It’s the same she walked through the first time. Had it been this narrow? This… crooked?
She turned a corner.
Stopped.
Then blinked.
The hallway split in two directions. Left or right. But she could swear….swear, this was the same hallway she passed ten minutes ago.
No way. No freaking way.
She bit her tongue scarlet, turning around to go back—and froze.
There was no hallway behind her anymore.
The fortress was changing.
She wasn’t just lost. The place was folding in on itself.
A shiver ran down her spine.
She was stuck.
Left or right?
Right….right doesn’t go wrong.
Just when she was about to step into the right direction, it intertwined with the left—torches lit one by one on the walls, flickering in odd colors—purple, green, almost sickly.
Her head spun.
What in the name of ‘lead me to my death’ sinister path was this?
She should have just died an easy death sentence in the hands of the guards. At least that would’ve been quicker.
She didn’t move. Heart thudding like a war drum.
After a deep sigh, she stepped forward slowly, walking through the path—that was the only thing she knew she could do.
No one was coming to save her.
Her steps made no sound, it wasn’t her tiptoeing or anything—the floor was dead against her sole, refusing to echo.
“This place is cursed” she muttered under her breath. And then she caught sight of something—a mirror.
It stood taller than a man, it’s frame twisted with half-faced carvings and clawed hands—giving off haunting expressions of agony.
The glass wasn’t clear—it rippled faintly, like water disturbed by a breath. But she could still see her image, clear as day.
She moved closer. Something about it felt off, but she couldn’t stop herself. It felt like it wanted her to come closer.
Closer.
Her reflection stared back. Pale. Wide-eyed.
Then….it changed.
It was different now, showing little Lylah of 14 years who was constantly bullied, abused and broken.
It felt so real, she didn’t know when a rush of tears rumbled down her cheeks. As if the mirror knew the darkest moments of every soul that looked into it—and fed off it.
Her reflection smiled…even when she didn’t. Then moved first.
Just barely.
Enough to make her stomach twist.
She gasped and stumbled back.
The mirror cracked.
She came out of it.
Not as little Lylah. Not a ghost.
But her.
Lylah gasped at the possibility of that. A perfect double. A doppelgänger.
“I’m not seeing this. I’m not seeing this,” Her voice shook. Breath ragged.
But the other ‘her’ kept approaching in unsteady, jerky steps.
Faster and faster.
Lylah couldn’t move. The ground kept her feet, gluing them against itself in a deliberate attempt to trap her.
She struggled. She fought to unstuck herself. But she couldn’t.
She started hyperventilating. Panic drowned her. The reflection opened its mouth and hands crawled out from within it—reaching out to her.
She screamed. Crashing down in a slum.
Soft hands tapped her shoulders but she was too drenched in horror to respond.
Her eyelids parted faintly. She didn’t pick the image of ‘who’ clearly but she could hear a woman’s voice drifting in.
“Mistress…”
Mistress?
Her eyes fluttered. She fainted completely.
- Writer
