Chapter 2: Echoes Behind Closed Doors
859 Words
Elena woke to the sound of rain tapping softly against the tall bedroom windows.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
The room around her was larger than any she had ever slept in. Dust-covered books lined one wall, and a marble fireplace stood opposite the bed, though no fire had burned there in years. Heavy crimson curtains blocked most of the morning light, giving the room an endless twilight.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
The silence from the night before remained.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No signs that another person lived inside the enormous manor.
After changing into a simple cream-colored blouse and dark trousers, Elena stepped into the hallway.
Ashford Manor felt even larger in daylight.
Long corridors stretched endlessly, decorated with portraits of solemn-faced ancestors. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls of crystal, their candles long extinguished. Every few steps, antique clocks ticked in different rhythms, creating a strange symphony that echoed through the empty halls.
She wandered downstairs until she found the kitchen.
Unlike the rest of the manor, this room looked... used.
A kettle rested on the stove.
Fresh bread sat beneath a linen cloth.
Someone had prepared breakfast.
Lucien.
The realization surprised her.
She had imagined a man who barely remembered to eat, not someone who quietly left food for a guest.
As she poured herself tea, a deep voice spoke behind her.
"You found the kitchen."
She nearly dropped the cup.
Lucien stood in the doorway wearing a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Without the heavy coat he had worn yesterday, he looked younger than she had first thought.
"You frightened me," Elena said, laughing nervously.
"I noticed."
He walked to a cabinet and retrieved another cup.
Neither of them spoke as he prepared his own tea.
The silence was uncomfortable at first.
Then strangely peaceful.
"I'd like to begin working today," Elena finally said.
"There isn't much to do."
"The gardens are overgrown."
"I stopped caring about the gardens."
"The windows haven't been cleaned in months."
"They don't need to be."
She smiled.
"I think they do."
For the first time, the corner of Lucien's mouth almost lifted.
"You're stubborn."
"So I've been told."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"You remind me of someone."
Before Elena could ask who, he picked up his tea and walked away.
...
The morning passed quickly.
Elena dusted bookshelves, swept grand hallways, and opened windows that had remained shut for years.
Fresh air slowly chased away the scent of old wood and forgotten memories.
While cleaning the library, she discovered shelves containing hundreds of leather-bound books.
History.
Poetry.
Medicine.
Languages.
One shelf was devoted entirely to music.
A grand piano stood near the fireplace, covered by a white cloth.
Curious, Elena lifted the fabric and gently pressed a key.
A single clear note echoed through the room.
Then another.
Without thinking, she played a melody her mother had taught her as a child.
The music drifted through the manor like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
When she finished, she realized she wasn't alone.
Lucien stood quietly in the doorway.
His expression was unreadable.
"I didn't know anyone still played that song," he said softly.
"My mother loved it."
"So did mine."
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
The distance between them suddenly felt smaller.
Until Lucien abruptly turned away.
"Don't play it again."
"Why?"
"It reminds me of things I'd rather forget."
He disappeared before she could answer.
...
That evening, heavy fog rolled across Black Hill.
Elena lit candles throughout the manor, watching shadows dance across the walls.
As she carried a lantern upstairs, she noticed something strange.
One hallway seemed colder than the others.
The wallpaper had faded.
The floorboards creaked beneath every step.
At the very end stood a single black door.
Unlike every other door in the house, this one was secured by three iron locks.
She frowned.
Why would anyone need three locks?
Curiosity tugged at her.
She raised her hand toward the handle.
Before her fingers could touch it—
"Elena."
Lucien's voice cut through the silence.
She spun around.
He stood at the opposite end of the hallway, his face pale.
For the first time since she'd arrived, there was genuine fear in his eyes.
"I told you," he said quietly, "never come to this part of the house."
"I'm sorry. I was only looking around."
His gaze remained fixed on the locked door.
"There are places in this manor that should stay forgotten."
"What's behind it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked past her and checked each lock one by one, making sure they were secure.
Only then did he look back at her.
"Promise me you won't come here again."
Elena searched his face for anger.
She found only exhaustion.
"I promise," she whispered.
Lucien nodded, though the worry in his eyes remained.
As they walked away, Elena couldn't shake the feeling that she had heard something.
A faint sound.
Almost too quiet to notice.
It wasn't the wind.
It wasn't the rain.
It sounded like someone... breathing.
Behind the locked door.
- Writer
