THE ABANDONED HOUSE

Episode 9

The Warning

The note burned a hole in Andrew’s pocket all day. Every class, every hallway, every glance from a classmate felt heavier, sharper, like anyone could’ve slipped it into his locker.

At lunch, he set it on the table between him and Jayson. The ink looked darker now, almost alive.

“Someone knows,” Andrew said.

Jayson read it once, then shoved it back toward him. “It’s a prank. Forget it.”

Andrew frowned. “Who would write something like this as a prank?”

Jayson snapped, “Who wouldn’t? You know this town. Everyone’s obsessed with that house. Maybe some kid thought it’d be funny to scare you.”

Andrew shook his head. “It’s not funny. It’s a warning.”

“Or it’s nothing,” Jayson muttered, his voice brittle. He stood, tray clattering. “I’m done talking about this.”

Andrew watched him walk away again, the distance between them growing wider with each step.

After school, Andrew lingered by the lockers, scanning faces. No one looked guilty. No one looked nervous. But someone was watching him—he could feel it.

By the time he left the building, dusk had already settled over Ashwood. His path home took him near the Olivia estate. The gates loomed open, just as they had since the funeral, but the air was thicker now, heavier.

Something pulled him inside.

The house was quiet when he knocked. A maid let him in, her eyes downcast, and led him to the parlor. Mr. Olivia wasn’t there, but Mrs. Olivia was, sitting by the fireplace with a book in her lap. She looked up as he entered, her face perfectly composed.

“Andrew,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “What a surprise.”

“I just… wanted to check on Mr. Olivia,” Andrew said carefully.

Her eyes narrowed the faintest fraction. “He’s resting. The grief has been hard on him.” She closed her book and set it aside. “On all of us.”

Andrew hesitated, then pulled the note from his pocket. “Do you know anything about this?”

Her gaze flicked to the paper, then back to his face. For a moment, her mask cracked—just a flicker, a tightening of her jaw—but then it was gone.

“Children and their games,” she said smoothly. “I suggest you burn it and forget it.”

Andrew’s stomach twisted. “But—”

“But nothing.” Her tone sharpened, slicing through his words. “Danielle is gone. The more you dig, the more pain you cause her father. Leave it alone, Andrew.”

She rose from her chair, towering even though she was smaller than him. Her presence filled the room, her shadow long in the firelight.

“Some houses,” she said softly, almost like a whisper meant only for him, “are dangerous because they are broken. Others are dangerous because they keep secrets. Do you understand?”

Andrew’s mouth went dry. He nodded, because he couldn’t trust his voice.

Mrs. Olivia’s smile returned—cold, thin, deliberate. “Good boy.”

Outside, Andrew sucked in the cool night air, his heart racing. The note felt heavier than ever in his pocket. She knew something. She had to.

And if she wanted him to stop, that meant he was closer to the truth than he thought.

For the first time, fear curled in his gut. Not of the house. Not even of the note.

But of Mrs. Olivia herself.