The seed began to heat up but more ice continued to pour out of him as he lazily fucked himself inside me, pausing at my cervix. The fingers around my neck relaxed.
“Good girl,” it whispered, elongating into something sharper. “Now we nourish what grows.”
It pricked my insides, and I screamed silently. My voice was gone, but his echoed in my mind.
“The night is only beginning, sweeting.”
???
There was a knock on my door, and my eyes flew open. I cautiously looked around, ignoring Sabby’s muffled voice as I tried to recall the nightmare. I stared at the sunshine pouring into the room as the memory slipped away. Sabby’s voice grew louder, and the door opened.
“It’s almost eleven. Come on, we are going to explore the creepy garden for bodies,” she said while I nodded.
“I need to shower,” I said, but I wanted to check my body even though nothing hurt.
“Yeah, we all do. I'm sure my pores are producing alcohol,” she said with a grimace.
As soon as she closed the door, I pulled the covers off, but there was no blood, semen or any other kind of bodily fluids. My turquoise knickers were back on. I frowned as I got up, pulling my T-shirt down before walking to the bathroom.
I scratched my head in confusion until I saw the mirror. My hand fell away from my head, and I pulled my T-shirt up to see bruises on my thighs. Black and blue unsightly marks, yet they didn't hurt. I stared at my reflection, but my face was still the same, and the tingling sensation building in my belly was the dread of considering the thing inside me last night might not have been a dream.
The hot water washed everything away. I scrubbed myself hard and long, placing the shower nozzle between my legs to wash it thoroughly. If I told the girls, they would think I was crazy. I considered my options as I got ready because I needed answers.
???
The gardens were well-kept once we progressed past the thick bushes and brambles. There was a large pond with a small stone bridge across the middle of it. It was a pretty sight and relaxing to watch the fish swim in the pond until the creepy vibe from the looming manor felt overpowering. It was silently calling to me. The girls settled on the sun loungers, which were set up on a deck at the back of the house, complete with a hot tub.
“I’m going to take a nap,” I said, standing up. “I didn't get much sleep. I had some weird dreams.”
I scrutinised all their faces, but no one looked unperturbed.
“Why not nap out here?” Sabby asked.
“Says the girl with a permanent tan who won't burn,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Fair point. You look like a ghost,” she said with a snicker.
The word made my heart stutter, and I forced a smile on my lips before turning away from them. My answer would be in the east wing. In the room with the flickering candle. The house was silent, waiting for me to make the next move. I straightened my back and marched up the stairs, working my way past my bedroom to reach the east wing.
I paused at the spiral stone staircase to glance up at the yellow and black stone wall, but I was met with more silence. Before I lost my courage, I quickly ran up the stairs. My heart raced as my lungs burned from my brutal pace.
I reached the door, panting from exertion, and placed my hand on the handle. The handle turned too easily, and the lock clicked like it had been oiled recently.
No one shouted. No one came. The house let me in.
This was the same door that was locked yesterday. I took a deep breath and looked around. There was a small window and a table in front of it, but no burnt-out candle. The wood beneath it was scorched, as if something had burned there for years. The rest of the room looked like a storage space. Dusty white sheets covered tall furniture.
I stepped inside, and the temperature instantly chilled. Large cobwebs hung from the stone wall and onto the white sheets. I winced at the sight but quickly moved to look under the sheets.
The sheets weren’t just dusty—they were stained, yellowed at the edges like old baby blankets. I wasn't sure what it was until I realised it was cradles and cots all piled on top of one another.
My fingers trembled, and I dropped the sheet, but I lifted another three to find the same. The cots beneath weren’t piled haphazardly. They were stacked, smallest to largest, a grotesque timeline of infancy—too many to count.
Then I saw it—the rocking cradle.
Polished mahogany, carved with grinning cherubs, its curved runners worn smooth from centuries of use. Something primal in me ached to touch it. My hand hovered over it.
Pain.
