The Door and Key
1061 Words
The scraping happened again.
Louder
Slower
Valerie's breath caught in her throat as the light above her buzzed faintly, flickering as if it, too, sensed the unease creeping into the room. She backed away from the door instinctively, each step intensifying the cold marble bite beneath her bare feet.
She pressed her back against the wall, wrapping her arms around her trembling body. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, as if the mansion itself was holding its breath.
She heard another sound, more of a click. Like a key twisting—no, testing the lock.
Her heart pounded hard against her ribs. Somebody was out there.
Her gaze shifted to the edges of the room; there was nowhere to hide, no closet, no adjoining room, and no curtains to hide behind. The room contained only a massive bed with dark sheets, a lamp, and an oppressive silence.
Suddenly, the doorknob moved. The doorknob swung once before coming to a stop.
She didn't scream because she couldn't. She stood frozen, blood rushing through her ears loudly. She almost missed the quiet words that followed, muffled through the door.
"Mrs. Kingston... Open up."
Valerie blinked; it wanted Adrian's voice. This one was softer for her, almost nervous, but she said nothing.
The handle twisted again, but the door did not move. It had been locked from the outside.
The voice said, "Okay…" to itself. "Guess I'll tell him you're not cooperating."
Her eyes widened.
Him.
Perhaps he was testing or watching her.
She stepped forward quickly. "Wait!" Her voice cracked in the silence, dry and raspy.
"Please…"
A pause followed, and he scoffed, "So, you do talk."
A boy—no, a man over twenty-one—was revealed when the door creaked slowly open and the lock clicked. Light brown hair, sharp features, and a branded "k" stitched into the chest of his button-down shirt.
The Kingston staff.
He gave her a once-over, and his expression changed. This was not pity or judgment, but rather a sense of caution.
"I'm Noah," he introduced himself. "Mr. Kingston sent me to check on you."
Valerie did not respond; she was still trying to figure out why her stomach was coiling tighter now than when she was alone.
Noah stepped in cautiously, as if the room might bite him.
"You're not supposed to leave until he says so; he gave specific instructions."
Valerie's voice shook as she asked, "What are those instructions?"
He stared at her as if she had asked a dangerous question.
"To ensure you are dressed. Dinner is at 8. And …" He hesitates, lowering his voice.
"He doesn't like waiting."
Her mouth became dry. Adrian Kingston was the man she had been forced to marry just hours earlier. The same man whose previous wife vanished without a trace was now imprisoned in his mansion, in his room, and expected to smile and play house like a twisted doll.
Noah hesitated as he turned toward the door. "Don't keep him waiting, Valerie."
He exited without closing the door behind him. But she didn't move; instead, she stared at the open doorway, as if it were a trap, which it probably was. Perhaps it was all a test, a game to see how far she could run or how easily she could break.
Her reflection in the tall mirror on the wall caught her unawares. Pale, messy hair, bruised wrists still raw from the iron restraint she'd been wearing all the way here in the car. She resembled a ghost haunting the wrong body.
With trembling hands, she reached for the locker beside the bed, which contained a folded black satin dress. Floor length, with an open back. This dress is something a woman might wear to a funeral or as a sacrifice.
The pinned note stated, "Wear this." No substitutions. — A.K.
Valerie stared at the paper, curling her fingers around it until it crumpled. She dressed in silence, each movement slow and deliberate, as if she were layering armor rather than fabric. Her ribs ached as she zipped up the side, and her hands trembled too much to clasp the necklace, which was nearly on the dresser.
She didn't wear it.
By the time the wall clock struck 7:57, she was still standing at the doorway, barefoot, her heart thudding like a warning bell. Then she stepped outside.
The hallway outside was dimly lit and empty. Velvet walls, dark portraits, and cold silence. She followed the scent of something rich and spicy—rosemary and meat—which led her like a thread through a maze.
Down the stairs and across the marble floor to the dining room doors, which opened wide like jaws ready to snap shut. He was already sitting at the end of the long table.
Adrian Kingston.
He wore a black suit with no tie, sleeves rolled up, and fingers tapping the edge of his wine glass. Eyes like ash and smoke, unreadable, sharp, and terrifyingly still. As she entered, he looked up.
His gaze swept her from head to toe, as gentle as a scalpel.
"You're late," he said, his tone low.
"I arrived as quickly as I could," she replied softly, fidgeting with her fingers.
"Try harder next time."
She sat slowly, her chair screeching slightly against the ground. The silverware was already laid out before her, gleaming like weapons, but she was not hungry.
He poured her wine without asking, while she kept her hands in her lap.
Minutes passed in silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of silver against the plate; he didn't eat but simply watched as if she were the meal.
Finally, he said, "I noticed you were quiet earlier, but I'm sure it was just nerves."
She looked up, her brows twisted in confusion.
"You will learn that in this house, silence does not protect you; submission does." He cracked a cold smirk.
He then casually slid a small black box across the table to her. Valerie did not move; instead, she stared at it, deciding whether or not to take it.
He raised one eyebrow. "Go on, open it."
She hesitated before reaching for it. Her fingers touched the cool velvet as she lifted the lid. Then she froze; inside was a key and a note that simply stated.
Choose the door wisely; some don't lead out.
- Writer
