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1143 Words
Morning arrived quietly at the Salvatore estate, sunlight spilling over manicured lawns and marble fountains. Inside the mansion, laughter and clinking cups filled the breakfast hall.
Outside, Daphne stood alone.
A metal watering can felt heavy in her hands as she moved slowly along the garden path. Rows of roses, tulips, and rare orchids lined the grounds. The gardeners were absent today. No one questioned why.
They never did.
Jennifer Salvatore had handed Daphne a flower pot and a list that morning, her tone flat and dismissive.
“Water these. And clean the dry leaves. You’re free after that.”
Free.
As if Daphne had ever known what freedom felt like.
She bent down, careful not to dirty her simple dress, and poured water gently at the roots of each plant. The soil darkened, drinking it in greedily. Her movements were quiet, practiced. Too practiced for a woman who carried the Salvatore name.
Servants passed by her without greeting. Guests walked past without a second glance. To them, she wasn’t Mrs. Salvatore.
She was staff.
Worse.
She was invisible.
A maid paused near the steps, whispering to another. Their eyes flicked toward Daphne, lips curling in faint amusement.
“She’s always out here,” one murmured.
“Does she even live in the mansion?” the other scoffed.
Daphne pretended not to hear. She always did.
She finished watering the last row and wiped her hands. Her arms ached, her back stiff, but she didn’t complain. Complaints led to trouble. Silence was safer.
She remembered the orphanage.
Work without thanks. Punishment for mistakes. Darkness used as discipline.
Her fingers curled involuntarily.
No. Don’t think about that.
She walked toward the small shed near the back garden. She needed fertilizer and gloves. The storeroom was the only place to find them.
The shed stood isolated behind tall hedges. Its wooden door creaked as she pushed it open. Inside, the air was cool and damp. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with gardening tools, boxes, and old supplies.
Daphne stepped inside.
She didn’t notice the soft footsteps behind her.
She searched the shelves carefully, humming under her breath to keep herself calm. Her fingers brushed against a packet of seeds, then a coil of rope. She frowned slightly and moved it aside.
That was when the door slammed shut.
The sound echoed violently.
Daphne spun around, heart leaping into her throat.
The room plunged into darkness.
Pitch black.
“No—” Her breath hitched instantly. “Hello?”
Silence.
Her chest tightened painfully. The air felt thick, pressing against her lungs.
She rushed toward the door, hands trembling, and pulled at the handle.
Locked.
Her fingers slipped. She tried again, harder.
“Hello?” Her voice cracked. “Please… someone?”
Nothing.
Her mind screamed.
Darkness closed in from all sides, suffocating. Memories she had buried clawed their way back to the surface.
A small room.
No windows.
A lock turning.
Her own screams bouncing off stone walls.
Her knees buckled.
“No, no, no,” Daphne whispered, backing away from the door. “Please… please don’t…”
Her breathing turned ragged. Each inhale felt like shards of glass cutting her lungs.
“I don’t like the dark,” she whispered to no one, voice shaking. “I can’t… I can’t…”
Outside the shed, Hope Salvatore leaned against a tree, laughing.
She held a phone in her hand.
Two of her friends stood beside her, dressed impeccably, faces glowing with excitement.
“Did she go in?” one whispered eagerly.
Hope smirked. “Of course she did. I watched her.”
She tapped her phone screen, switching on night vision. The display glowed green.
“Wait for it,” Hope said softly. “This is going to be good.”
Inside the shed, Daphne slid down against the wall, clutching her knees. Her entire body shook violently.
The darkness was complete. Absolute.
She squeezed her eyes shut as if that could make it better.
“I’m not there,” she whispered repeatedly. “I’m not there. I’m safe. I’m safe.”
But her mind betrayed her.
The past rushed in mercilessly.
Hands pulling her away.
A caretaker’s cold voice.
Punishment for crying.
Punishment for disobedience.
Locked away.
Alone.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, painfully fast.
“I can’t breathe,” she sobbed. “Please… open the door… please…”
She crawled forward blindly, hands scraping against the floor, searching for the door again.
“Someone help me!” she screamed suddenly, voice breaking. “Please! I’m scared!”
Outside, Hope burst into laughter.
“Oh my God,” one friend whispered, covering her mouth. “She’s actually panicking.”
Hope zoomed in, her eyes gleaming. “Look at her. Pathetic.”
The green-lit screen showed Daphne curled on the floor, rocking back and forth, hair disheveled, face streaked with tears. Her lips moved rapidly, pleading with no one.
“Make sure you get everything,” Hope said. “This will go viral.”
Inside, Daphne’s fear reached a breaking point.
She began pounding the door with her fists.
“Open it!” she screamed hoarsely. “Please! I’ll do anything! I swear!”
Her fists hurt. Her throat burned.
The darkness felt alive now, swallowing her whole.
“I don’t want to be here,” she cried loudly. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Her voice echoed uselessly.
She pressed her forehead against the door, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Gabriel…” she whispered without thinking. “Please…”
The name slipped out like a reflex.
Outside, Hope scoffed.
“Did you hear that?” she said mockingly. “She’s calling my brother.”
One of the girls giggled. “As if he’d care.”
Hope tilted her head, watching the screen with fascination. “He won’t.”
Inside, Daphne’s cries grew louder. Her body trembled violently, fingers digging into her arms as if trying to ground herself.
The phobia consumed her completely.
She screamed again, raw and desperate.
“I’m scared! Please! Someone please open the door!”
Her voice cracked into sobs so intense they stole her breath.
Minutes passed.
No one came.
Outside, Hope’s smile slowly faded as Daphne’s condition worsened. Her laughter turned uncertain.
“She’s… she’s crying a lot,” one friend said hesitantly. “Maybe we should stop?”
Hope frowned but didn’t move. “Relax. She’s just acting.”
Inside, Daphne’s strength gave out.
Her cries turned weak, broken whimpers. Her head rested against the door, tears soaking the wood.
“I’ll be good,” she whispered faintly. “I promise… I’ll be quiet…”
Her eyes burned. Her chest hurt.
Her body slid sideways, collapsing fully onto the floor.
The phone screen showed her lying there, shaking uncontrollably.
One of Hope’s friends swallowed. “Hope… this isn’t funny anymore.”
Hope hesitated for the first time.
- Writer
