"In the silence of night, I find solance in the hunting melodies that echo in my mind."
(~Annie Flame~)
CHAPTER 3: The House That Won't Let Go
The store room's door hadn't been opened earlier.
Elara was sure of it. She had checked it before.
It was stuck tight, maybe by the previous owner? Or her aunt? It was dust-caked like no one had opened it in maybe decades? But now?
Now it hung ajar, slightly swaying on its rusted hinges like it had been waiting.
She stood at the foot of the stairs, heart doing strange, skittering things in her chest. Her hand brushed against the wooden railing, and it was cold. Everything was always cold here. Cold like always.
One step down.Then another.
The stairs creaked under her weight, the groaning creak of each step echoing like some ancient being breathing just out of sight.
The store room was drenched in shadow.
Light streamed through the circular window at the far end, pale and sickly. Dust suspended like ash hung in the air.
And in the middle of the room—leaning on a rotting easel, cloaked in a moth-eaten sheet—was the painting.
She removed the cover off slowly.
Her breath was stuck in her throat when she saw it.
It was… her.
Or someone who looked so painfully similar to her it made her chest ache.
A woman with the same eyes, same mouth, same shape of jaw. Dressed in black velvet, with gloved hands folded delicately in her lap. She stared out from the canvas like she knew every secret Elara had never told anyone.
The only difference was that she wore a sorrowful expression.
Not the kind of quiet sadness — historic sadness. As though she had seen empires go up in flames and still stood unmoved. The kind of secrets her eyes held no one could see.
Elara stepped back, confused and horrified.
"I have never had a portrait like this," she whispered to the empty air. "I've never lived here. I don't—this doesn't make any sense."
But it was signed.
Neat, flowing script in the bottom right-hand corner:
—Lazareth Valemont
The same name from the journal.
The same name from the other painting.
The same name she kept saying in her sleep.
Then she turned towards the empty spaces—the shadows who were constantly following her. She wanted to take out her anger. Just anything–anything was fine for her. She shouted furiously .
"Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this to me?" she asked the shadows.
"And why does everything point back to you?"
There was no response.
Just a cold draft that flicked the candle flame beside her.
And for a moment, in the dusty glass of the store room's window —
She swore she saw someone standing behind her.
She turned fast.
There was no one.
But the chill feeling stayed with her as she got out of there and returned to her room.
---
She could not sleep that night.She just sat by the fire in the drawing room, watching the flames dance and listening for footsteps that weren't hers.
Her thoughts circled in tighter and tighter loops.
The mirror messages.
The name that keeps appearing.
The roads that loop back on themselves.
The portrait of herself, which isn't even hers just someone who looks like her, signed by a man she has never known.
The way her heart knows him but her mind won't follow.
"Am I destined to be stuck here forever?," she whispered. "No this can not happen!"
Just to be sure, she grabbed the journal and the portrait and carried them both to the fireplace.
"Let's see if these can survive fire," she muttered.
She threw the journal in first.
It caught fire instantly, consuming the leather and licking it into ash.
Then the painting.
The eyes of the woman in the portrait seemed to follow her as the fire swallowed her face.
And for a moment, Elara could swear that she heard a scream —but it was not hers, but from the flames themselves.
It burned fast in violent flames.
Gone within minutes.
Elara stood over the fireplace with ash clinging to her dress, soot streaking her hands, and waited for silence.
And she got it.
That night was the first peaceful one in days.
There was no sound of footsteps, no whispers and no nightmares.
She almost believed that everything was over. So will she be able to leave now?
---
Morning came.
It was cold and filled with silence.
She padded downstairs barefoot, expecting the fireplace to smell of smoke.
That there would be some proof of what she had done.
She made the turn—
—and nearly dropped the mug in her hand.
Because the portrait was back on the easel.
Totally untouched and pure like it was before, she burnt it.
The woman's eyes still heavy with sadness, her gloved hands folded neatly.
And the journal lay on the side table, turned to a new page.
Written in her own handwriting:
"Why are you always seeking escape from me?"
"You can never escape from your past."
---
Elara screamed.
She ran outside.
Down the road.
Into the forest.
She didn't stop even when her leg got hurt.
She found a signal.
Just enough.
She called her friend, the police.
Just anyone.
The call rang once.
Twice.
Then:
"Who are you trying to call, darling?"
Her blood turned to ice.
The voice was deep, too intimate.
The same male's voice she is accustomed to hear all the time. But this time it is much more clear.
"So you are planning to leave me all alone, again?" it said.
"You should know better than that… I will always find you."
"Find the truth."
And with the last sentence the call ended by itself.
She stared at the screen.
There was no call log.No record of anything.
Just the faint echo of that voice still ringing in her ears.
She repeated his words,"Find the truth."
---
She turned around and she was back, in front of the house again. This time she wasn't even surprised anymore.
She stormed back into the house.
She tried to burn the painting again.
But nothing happened to it.
The fire wouldn't even touch it.
Elara tried soaking it in bleach.
It dried itself.
She tried throwing the journal out the window.It appeared back on the table.
It was as if the house liked watching her try.
Like it found pleasure in her desperation.
That night, the silence was gone.
She heard the footsteps again.
But this time, they stopped right outside her door.
And stayed there.
Heavy sound Breathing.
And then suddenly…
She heard a whisper.
So close to her ear she felt the breath against her neck.
"You belong here, Elara. You always have."