The Hidden Room
1302 Words
Skylar Xylon
The music was still thudding in my head and my body was still buzzing from him on the ride home
The ride back from the party was silent, but the air inside the car practically crackled with tension.
My dad gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles went white. His jaw locked tight like he was physically holding back words—and rage
I braced for the explosion.
It came the second we stepped into the house.
“What the hell were you thinking, Skylar?” His voice boomed through the living room. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you out there?”
“I was at a party,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Not a war zone. And how did you even find me?”
He turned on me, eyes blazing. “I tracked your phone and you don’t understand!” His voice cracked, and this time, it didn’t sound angry. It sounded scared. “Anything could have happened to you!
I flinched. “You’re being paranoid. I was fine.”
“No, you were lucky.” His voice cracked with something between anger and fear. “You didn’t even take any garlic with you. You don’t sneak out at night. You don’t disobey me. That’s never been you.”
“Maybe that’s the problem!” I shouted back. “Maybe that’s because I’m tired of being caged like some rare bird that’s not allowed to fly. Enough with the superstitions please!!!”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re grounded.”
“Seriously?”
“You leave this house for school and come right back. That’s it.” He pulled out his phone and tapped something furiously. “I’m sealing your window. All doors now alert me in real time. You so much as blink toward the front porch—I’ll know.”
I stared at him, heart pounding with disbelief. “You can’t control every second of my life.”
His voice dropped. “Watch me.”
“You probably should add an ankle monitor too!!” I yelled at him as he left me standing in the living room
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School the next day was unbearable.
Not because I was grounded.
Not because my dad had locked down every exit in the house like I was some kind of prisoner.
But because of him.
God.
Even just thinking about him made my thighs press together beneath my desk.
My body remembered the way he touched me. It was maddening.
My neck tingled just thinking about the way his fingers brushed the skin there. I swore I could still feel the cool drag of his thumb along my collarbone, the weight of his stare as if he could see right through my clothes.
He didn’t even kiss me.
But he’d left me soaked.
He’d left me wanting.
And the worst part?
He didn’t even try.
He could’ve taken me, right there in the street, and I would’ve let him.
Gladly.
I slammed my locker door shut, biting my lip
This was ridiculous. He was a stranger. I didn’t even know his name, I didn’t even get his number. But I needed to know more. I needed to see him again.
I found Rhea outside the cafeteria and rushed up to her like a woman possessed.
“Rhea,” I said breathlessly. “Last night. That guy I was with. Tall, dark coat, black hair down to his jaw. Light blue eyes. Looked like he stepped out of a Gothic novel. Him. Who was he?”
She blinked, chewing her gum. “Umm… I saw you for like five seconds last night. You were gone half the time.”
“I was with someone,” I said. “You didn’t see him? He was standing with me when you came looking for me on the streets”
Rhea tilted her head. “Sky, you were the only one on the street when I came”
“You didn’t see me with anyone?”
“Babe, you may have been drunk. You probably imagined Mr. Gothic McBroody. There were guys in all kinds of weird outfits
“No,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “I know who I saw. This one was not like the other guys. He had a costume on and he looked ethereal”
She gave me a look and her lips curved into a smile . “You okay?”
No. I was very much not okay.
How do you explain craving someone whose name you barely know?
I hated my dad for pulling me away from that moment. For keeping me in this cage of rules and alarms and locked windows.
But more than anything—I hated not knowing why.
Why the garlic? Why the moving every few months? Why me?
By the time I got home, I’d made a decision.
I was done being kept in the dark.
After dinner—silent and tense—I waited until I heard the shower run upstairs.
Then I crept toward his bedroom door.
Locked.
Of course.
Locked doors were never an obstacle for me. I pulled a pin from my hair and bent slightly to pick the lock. It was a skim I learnt as a kid, I think
The click sound signified the door was open. I pushed and walked in
His room was dark, cold, and painfully tidy. Not a sock out of place. Bookshelves lined one wall—floor to ceiling. But these weren’t normal books. No fiction. No bestsellers. They were old, worn, and bound in cracked leather. Some had titles in Latin. Others had symbols I couldn’t read.
I ran my fingers over a spine that read “De Umbra Noctis.” Of the Night Shadows.
Creepy.
Still, nothing explained why he was like this.
Until—
I accidentally bumped into the shelf.
It didn’t fall.
It clicked.
I froze.
A tiny breath of air hissed out from behind the wall.
I ran my fingers along the panel and—click.
The shelf slid open.
My heart thundered.
A secret door? What the hell…..
I stepped inside.
It was a small room. Hidden. Cramped. Lit by a single low lightbulb that flickered like a heartbeat.
And it was filled with weapons.
Not just guns. Blades. Crossbows. Wooden stakes. Heavy axes. Bottles labeled “Garlic Water” and “Vervain.”
They were metal curves and chains. A full suit of armor hung in the corner. Shelves stacked with maps, journals, and silver bullets.
Some open, with hand-drawn maps and diagrams of body parts. Pressure points. Arteries. Weak spots.
I backed away, dizzy.
What the hell was this?
Who was my dad?
Was my dad in the military?
Was he a hitman?
A cult member?
A collector?
“What are you doing here?”
I turned so fast I almost slipped.
He stood at the doorway.
Dripping wet. Towel still slung over his shoulder. Eyes wild.
“You tell me,” I snapped. “What is all this? Why do you have killing starter packs hidden in the walls? What are you preparing for—The Apocalypse? Are you… a mercenary? An assassin? Is this why we move so much? Are we running from someone?”
His jaw locked, but something in his eyes… softened.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,”
“What am I supposed to see?”I threw back. “You treat me like I’m glass and the world’s a hammer and you’re the only thing keeping me from shattering. I deserve to know the truth.”
Silence.
And finally—he spoke.
“You’re right.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
He took a step forward. “You’re old enough now. You deserve the truth.”
- Writer
