Episode 3:LEARNING THE RULES
1314 Words
Zara learned three things between Episode 2 and midnight.
One: Blackwood Tower had no windows you could open. Two: Her mother’s nurse stopped asking when the bill would be paid and started asking “are you okay, dear?” Three: Monsters could bleed, and it looked exactly like human blood until it didn’t.
She stood outside Floor 99 at 11:58pm with a bag of supplies. Plasters. Water. A small notebook. Gloves. Not for him. For her. Her fingers were still raw from typing ancient words last night. Words she didn’t remember now, like her brain had burned them to keep her safe.
The steel door clicked open. No card swipe.
He was waiting this time. Not standing with his back turned. He sat behind the black desk, sleeves rolled, wrists wrapped in white bandages. Fresh. The bandages were already stained faint pink.
“You came,” he said. No accusation. Just fact.
“Rule 1,” Zara replied. Eyes on his shoes. Black leather. Scuffed at the toes. “On time.”
Something almost like approval crossed his face. Almost. Then he stood and walked to the chains. They were repaired. New links welded in where he’d torn them free. Stronger now. Crueler.
“Rule 2,” he said, sliding his right wrist in. Click. “You looked last night. The witch saw you. She knows your scent, your pulse, the way your breath catches when you’re scared.”
Zara swallowed. “Then why am I still here?”
“Because,” he pulled the left cuff closed, “the curse needs a human witness every night for 3 months to complete. If you leave, it takes me. If you stay, it might take you instead. I haven’t decided which is worse.”
12:00am.
Lights flickered. His breathing changed.
Tonight he didn’t speak right away. He tested the chains. Pulled. Metal groaned but held. Black veins crawled under the bandages, faster than last night.
“New rules,” he gritted out. “For you.”
Zara kept her eyes down. “I thought there were only three.”
“There are only three for survival. These are for living.” He inhaled sharp. “One: Wear the gloves. Always. Your skin touching my desk leaves traces. She can track traces. Two: Don’t speak after 12:15am. Your voice calls to her. Three: If the lights go out completely, crawl under the desk and don’t make a sound until dawn.”
Zara pulled on the gloves. Black, thin, like surgical ones. “What about Rule 2? No looking at you after midnight?”
A pause. Then, quieter: “Rule 2 is so you live. These are so you don’t break.”
12:07am. He began speaking again. Same ancient language. She typed. Gloves made the keys slippery. She focused on the letters, not the way his voice deepened, not the way the room got colder with each word.
12:14am. The lights dimmed.
Zara’s fingers froze.
“Don’t stop,” he hissed. “Keep typing. She’s testing you.”
Darkness swallowed the room. Complete. No light from the hallway. No moon through the windows. Just black and the sound of chains straining and his breathing, ragged, close.
Zara slid off the chair. Crawled. Rule 3. New Rule 3. Under the desk. Wood pressed against her back. She could smell ozone and iron and something musky, wild.
Footsteps. Not his. Lighter. Bare feet on marble.
“Little secretary,” the witch’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere. “Where did you hide? Come out. Let me see the girl who makes the wolf bleed.”
Zara held her breath. Gloves clenched in fists. She thought of her mother’s hand, cold in hers yesterday. Thought of 9.8M naira. Thought of anything except the gold eyes she wasn’t allowed to see.
The footsteps stopped right in front of the desk.
A finger tapped the wood above Zara’s head. Once. Twice.
“Humans don’t run when they should,” the witch whispered. “They stare. They pity. They die. Which will you be, Zara Okoye?”
Chains snapped behind her. Once. Twice. Blackwood was fighting. Hard. She heard skin tear. Heard him choke back a sound that wasn’t human.
“Zara,” his voice came, strangled, from the darkness. “Don’t… answer… her.”
The tapping stopped. The temperature dropped. Zara’s breath fogged.
Then, softly, the witch laughed. “Clever boy. Chaining yourself. But chains break. Bloodlines end. And she…” a pause, “she smells like hope. I hate hope.”
A rush of cold air. The door splintering sound from last night. But no explosion. Just retreat. Footsteps fading down the hall.
5:59am. Light bled back through the windows, thin and gold.
Zara crawled out from under the desk. Her legs were numb. Mr. Blackwood was on his knees again, forehead on the brick. Chains loose. Human. Bandages torn, wrists bleeding fresh.
“You did it,” he said without looking up. Voice wrecked. “You didn’t look. You didn’t speak. You ran when I said run.”
Zara stood. Legs shaking. She walked to the desk. Poured water from her bottle into the glass cup there. Put it on the floor near him. Not handing it to him. Not looking.
“Drink,” she said.
He stared at the water like it might bite. Then, slowly, he reached for it with bandaged hands. Drank. Most of it missed his mouth.
“Why?” he asked after. “Why crawl under the desk instead of taking the elevator? Why wear gloves for a man who’s a monster 6 hours a night?”
Zara thought of the hospital bill. Thought of her mother’s face. Thought of the way he’d thrown the laptop to protect her last night.
“Because,” she picked up the black rule card, smoothed the scratch through Rule 2, “10M naira for 3 months. That was the contract. And I don’t break contracts.”
He laughed. It sounded rusty, like he hadn’t used it in years. “Foolish girl. The witch will come harder tomorrow night. She’ll use your mother’s voice next time. She’ll know you’re here for money. She’ll offer you more.”
Zara met his eyes for half a second before dropping her gaze. Gold, fighting through black. Tired. Grateful. Terrified.
“Then tomorrow night,” she said, sitting back in the chair, “I’ll learn Rule 4.”
Blackwood’s head snapped up. “There is no Rule 4.”
“There is now,” Zara said, and started typing on the broken laptop. One key still worked. She typed her name. Zara Okoye. Then she typed his.
The word looked wrong on the screen. Too soft for a man made of chains and storms.
He watched her for a long moment. Then, very quietly: “My name isn’t Mr. Blackwood. Not really. That’s the company. The tower.”
Zara didn’t look up. “I know.”
“How?”
“Because monsters don’t introduce themselves with surnames.” She hit enter. The screen blinked. “So what do I call you, when it’s 6:04am and you’re human again?”
Silence. Chains settling. Dawn fully here.
“Elias,” he said finally. Barely a whisper. Like the name hurt. “Call me Elias after dawn.”
Zara nodded. Wrote it down in her notebook. Elias. Underlined twice.
Rule 1: No leaving before 6am.
Rule 2: No looking at me after midnight.
Rule 3: Run if I say run.
Rule 4: Learn him anyway.
She closed the notebook as he slumped forward, human and bleeding and exhausted.
“I’ll be here at midnight, Elias,” she whispered.
His gold eyes opened one last time before sleep took him. Shock. Then something softer. Something that looked like surrender.
“God help you, Zara,” he breathed. “The curse just got worse.”
_[End Episode 3]_
- Writer
