Bound in shadows

CH 5 The Knock.

Isla

The moment I reached the cottage, from Mrs Hawthorne's. The forest sounded too loud.

Frogs ribbiting in waves. The wind scratched across the windows like claws on glass. Every creak of the floor beneath my feet felt like a warning. I had barely stepped inside before I latched every door, double-checked every window, and sprinkled what little salt I had left across the floor.

And still, it didn’t feel like enough.

I lit the lantern above Mama’s mantle, letting the flame cast long shadows across the walls. I didn’t trust electricity anymore—not after the last time the lights failed when they came. Fire felt older. More honest. It was what my grandmother trusted.

But even fire flickers under certain eyes.

I was in the middle of boiling tea when it started.

A knock.

Not timid. Not loud.

Just... wrong.

Three steady raps on the old wooden door.

I froze mid-stir. The spoon clinked against the pot, and I gripped it like a weapon. My heart thundered in my ears.

Another knock. Slower this time. Deliberate.

I backed away from the stove, barefoot on cold wood, eyes locked on the door.

Then came the voice.

“Isla…” it called. Too calm. Too sweet.

“We are priests, child. Open the door.”

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

A second voice followed—higher, whisper-thin.

“We’ve come to bless you. To guide what stirs inside.”

“No,” I breathed. “Who are you really?”

Silence.

Then all three voices at once—layered, overlapping, chanting.

“We are the marrow and the bone. We are the root beneath the Hollow. We watched your mother. We whispered to your grandmother. And now, we have come for you.”

I backed into the living room, chest heaving.

“I won’t open the door,” I said. “You’re not welcome here.”

A low laugh. Slippery. Cold.

“Oh, sweet Isla… it’s too late for that. You opened the first door already.”

The windows began to fog. Not from heat—but from breath. Outside.

One of them pressed a hand to the glass—a stretched hand with too many knuckles, nails like black teeth.

“We’re here to remind you what you truly are.”

“No,” I whispered. “I’m nothing like you.”

But the mark on my chest throbbed in betrayal. Burning. Wanting. Responding.

The front door creaked. Not pushed. Not kicked. Just… willing itself open. As if it remembered them.

I dropped to my knees, drawing a charm circle. Salt. Ash. A symbol Mama taught me before I even knew what evil was.

The voices giggled like children.

“You think symbols will save you now?”

They began to chant again. Not English. Not Latin. Older. Broken syllables that bled into the walls like rot. My ears rang. My nose bled. The candlelight sputtered.

Then one whispered through the door:

“Let us show you what Rael didn’t.”

My hands trembled. The candle nearly slipped.

“Rael marked you. Claimed you. But he is not your only option.”

I clenched my jaw.

“He didn’t claim me.”

“Oh, but he did,” they said in unison. “We smell him on you still.”

I screamed, “Leave me alone!”

And for a moment—silence.

Then, a fourth voice. One I hadn’t heard before. Low. Scraping.

“He can’t protect you forever. And when he falters... we will drink what’s left of your soul drop by drop.”

Suddenly—

A flash of gold outside.

A pulse of heat slammed into the windows like a heartbeat. The cabin shook. The walls moaned. The lanterns flared.

Then howls—inhuman—rising from the trees.

And then… stillness.

When I stood and approached the window, the fog was gone.

The handprint? Gone.

Only the faint scent of ash remained, and a single black feather lying just outside the door.

Rael had come again.

And he’d done what he always did—saved me.

Silently. Without a word. Then vanished.

Again.

I stared at that feather for what felt like hours. Not touching it. Just trembling.

Because each time he came, I felt that pull again. That unraveling. That slow surrender.

Each time, I fell a little more into the gravity of him.

And each time he left, I was more certain I wouldn’t survive the next visit—

Not without begging him to stay.