Chapter 4: Alpha
1128 Words
On my third day, something new unsettled me.
I had been working in the garden all morning, pulling weeds from the overgrown beds. At noon, I went inside to fetch a tool I had forgotten.
In the kitchen sink, I froze.
There were three plates. Three bowls. Three glasses of water. Neatly washed. Stacked to dry. But there were only two of us in the house.
The back of my neck prickled. My chest felt tight. I left quickly, the rag clenched too hard in my fist, and returned to the garden.
The garden itself was more like a graveyard than a place of life. A stone archway at the entrance was strangled by dead vines. Moss clung to the wings of angel statues. In the center stood a fountain, cracked and dry.
It was a place of memory, not of living things.
I knelt to cut back the dead rose bushes, their thorns brittle under my gloves. But before I could begin, a sharp sound split the air.
Glass breaking.
I shot upright, heart hammering, eyes darting to the mansion. The sound had come from above.
The attic.
My gaze rose slowly to the highest window. One curtain billowed outward, pale and thin. And behind it, for the briefest instant, I swore I saw movement.
"Cosette."
The voice snapped like a whip. I spun around. Aunt Neela stood in the kitchen doorway, her face hard as stone.
"I-I thought I'd clear the rose bushes—"
"Do not touch them," she cut me off. Her voice was sharp enough to slice the air.
"Why?"
"They belong to the family," she said firmly. "You will not touch them. I gave you work elsewhere. Do not invent your own."
Her tone was final, but the question burned on my tongue. I pointed up at the roof. "I heard something. From the attic."
Her expression didn't flicker. "Old houses make old sounds."
"No, glass broke. And I saw—"
"You saw a curtain shift. Nothing more."
"There was someone there."
Her mouth pressed into a hard line. "No one goes into the attic."
"Then who—"
Her voice lashed out, sharper than ever. "Enough, Cosette."
I shrank back.
"You will not touch the roses. You will not ask about the attic. Clean inside."
She turned on her heel, her black skirts cutting the air like a blade.
I stood frozen in the garden, my heart still hammering.
Before stepping through the door, I glanced up once more.
The attic window was closed now. The curtain gone.
As if it had never been open at all.
By my fifth day in Elwood, Aunt Neela finally sent me into town.
She handed me the keys to her black car and a short shopping list. "The store you need is at the far end of downtown," she said.
"Which store?" I asked.
"You'll know it when you see it. Ask no questions of anyone else."
Her warning sat heavy in my chest as I set out.
The drive was strangely beautiful. The road curved through fields and woods. The air smelled sharp and clean, unlike the smog-filled city I came from.
People watched from their windows as I passed. Their eyes followed the car, their faces unreadable. Some even gave small nods, almost like a bow. Each time, my stomach tightened.
Downtown was busier. People walked along the sidewalks, but their movements were controlled, quiet. No laughter. No idle chatter. No rush. Everyone moved with the same strange rhythm, each step measured. But no one looked at me this time.
I drove to the end of the street, expecting to find the store. Instead, the road ended at a park, or what had once been a park.
The swings hung broken, their chains rusted. Streetlamps leaned crooked, their bulbs shattered. Leaves covered the cracked ground, whispering under the wind. The air felt colder here, the silence deeper.
I parked and stepped out.
A few shops still stood nearby, though most were dark. One sign caught my eye: Books & Antiquities.
I pushed the door open. The bell above chimed weakly. Inside, the air was thick with dust. Sunlight filtered through grimy windows, falling across shelves stuffed with old books. For a moment, I thought the shop empty.
Then a woman appeared from the back, carrying a stack of books. She blinked at me, then gave a faint smile, as though she had been expecting someone after all.
"Yes?" she asked.
"I'm new here," I said quickly. "Do you know where I can find Eldoria? It's supposed to be at the far end of town."
Her eyes sharpened. "You're not from Elwood."
I hesitated. "No. I just moved here."
Something flickered in her expression. A glint—part recognition, part warning.
"Eldoria is across the next street," she said at last. "Near the third lamp from the park."
"Thank you," I said, turning to leave.
"Wait." Her voice was soft, but it stopped me cold.
I looked back. "Yes?"
Her gaze swept over me, studying me with unsettling care. "Where in Elwood do you stay?"
I hesitated. "At the mansion on the hill. My aunt is the caretaker."
The books in her arms nearly slipped. Her eyes widened. "The Crimson mansion?"
"Yes," I said carefully.
She lowered the books slowly onto the counter, leaning forward as if to hear my answer more clearly. "And who lives there now?"
My throat went dry. "Just… my aunt. And me."
Her lips curved, but it wasn't truly a smile. "No. Not just you."
A chill crept up my arms. "What do you mean?"
"Everyone in Elwood knows that house is never empty." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Even when it looks that way."
I swallowed hard. "I don't understand."
"Perhaps not yet." She tilted her head. "But you will."
Her words felt like a door closing. She reached for one of the books, brushing the dust from its cover. "Tell me—what do you call your master?"
"I… I don't. Aunt Neela never told me his name."
The woman's eyes sharpened. "She would not. But the town knows him by another title."
My voice shook. "What title?"
She leaned closer, her whisper colder than the wind outside. "The Alpha."
The word hit me like a stone in water, rippling through my chest.
"Alpha?" I echoed.
Her gaze did not waver. "Give him my regards."
"I don't—" My voice broke. "I don't even know who he is."
A voice called from the back, pulling her away. She straightened, gathering the books again. "You will," she said simply, and vanished into the shadows.
I stood frozen for a long moment before stepping outside again.
The word still echoed in my head.
Alpha.
- Writer
