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I run my hand over the cracked kitchen counter, its marble surface chilled under layers of dust and neglect. The whole house feels like a secret, long held. I look over at Mark and smile, the corners of my lips trembling just slightly. “Mark, this is it… Home. I feel it in my bones.”
Outside, the lake lies silent, still as glass, as if it’s holding its breath. The air thickens around us, and for a moment, I pause – a faint sound drifts through the silence, something that almost resembles my own name, whispered from the empty rooms. I shake it off, glancing at Mark. “Maybe… I don’t know. What do you think?”
I glance down and notice a strange shape etched faintly in the dust on the counter, like a single fingertip dragged lazily across the surface. I blink, and it’s gone, or maybe it was never there. Just my nerves. I’ve been on edge since we started house hunting, though I place my hands on my stomach – this little peanut is why.
Mark gives me that familiar half-smile, the one I swear I’ve known my whole life, and nods. “You’re right. It’s… Perfect,” he says, though his voice feels flat, like the echo of an old memory I can’t quite catch.
My eyes drift over to the living room, where an old mirror sits crookedly on the wall. For just a moment, I think I see a figure behind me – a shadow, quick and silent. I twist around, but there’s nothing. “Did you see that?” I whisper, looking back at Mark. But he’s gone.
I steady myself with a hand on my stomach, feeling the faintest flutter, a tiny promise I cling to, even here. The house is quiet, like it’s listening, and the silence presses down, filling every corner and crevice, thick enough to touch. My voice feels small as I call out again, “Mark?”
A shadow falls across the hall, its edges blurred, shifting, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. My heart pounds, and I step toward the doorway. The floor creaks, and the air chills, prickling my skin, but I press on.
In the hallway, a strange scent lingers – faintly metallic, like rust or blood. It shouldn’t be familiar, but somehow, it is. A thin line of light slips under the closed basement door at the end of the hall, and for reasons I can’t place, my legs start moving toward it, slow, measured, even as something inside me says I should stop.
The door creaks as I open it and the stairs groan underfoot, the sounds echo like they’re being swallowed by something vast and empty below. I descend slowly, each step sinking deeper into shadows that cling to the walls, thick and sticky like cobwebs. My breath catches as I catch a hint of Mark’s cologne again, almost like he just walked by, leaving a trail in his wake.
At the bottom of the stairs, I squint into the darkness. A dim, flickering light outlines an old armchair I don’t recognize, half-buried beneath moth-eaten blankets. The air grows colder, and as I turn, something on the wall catches my eye – a smudged handprint, smeared like someone had tried to claw their way back up.
A chill sweeps through me, and instinctively, I press my hand tighter against my stomach. “Mark?” I whisper again, my voice barely holding steady. There’s no answer, only the hum of silence, as if the house itself is waiting. The walls feel closer now like they’re pressing in around me, and in the flickering light, I swear I see a cage in the corner and a lump of blankets inside, but it’s not moving.
The air thickens, almost stifling as I draw closer to the cage, the faint cry of a newborn echoing like a distant memory. I pause, holding my breath, searching the dimness. Did I really hear it? The sound fades, but something deep inside me twists. I look down at the small handprint beside the large one, the smudged red unmistakable under my fingertips. My pulse races, thundering in my ears as I hold my hand up to the print. It’s the same size. Mine.
A sudden thought races through my mind, unbidden, like it’s always been waiting there: How long have I been here?
I take a shaky step back, eyes darting around the basement. The walls seem to close in, shifting, and as I turn toward the stairs, a shuffling sound comes from the pile of blankets. My blood turns cold. For a split second, I swear I see the faint outline of tiny fingers reaching out, clutching at the air. Then it’s gone, and I can’t tell if I imagined it.
The faint scent of Mark’s cologne is replaced by something acrid – rot, mingling with the sharp tang of dried blood, a scent that seems to creep under my skin. I whirl around, pulse pounding, but the basement is still, the only movement the blankets slumping lifelessly in the cage, the smeared bloodstains on the wall. Empty… but why does it feel like it’s so close, like it’s holding its breath?
I reach into my pocket, fingers fumbling, but my phone isn’t there. I never leave the house without it, fully charged. It was in my hand just minutes ago, wasn’t it? Cold panic rises in my chest. Did I drop it upstairs? Forget it? No, I never forget it…
In the suffocating silence, the whisper comes again, just a breath, so close it’s like someone’s leaning in: Cassie.
I flinch, the voice unmistakable – Mark. But when I turn, there’s only the darkness, pressing in around me. My knees weaken, and I stumble backward, trying to find my way back to the stairs, but the walls seem to shift, the room subtly warping, closing in.
Another sound – closer this time. It’s Mark’s voice, fractured, like it’s coming from somewhere inside the house, from somewhere that knows me too well. “Cassie…” It lingers, stretching my name until it’s nothing but a hiss fading into silence.
I force myself to look up at the cage again, the blankets piled within, but I can’t shake the sense of something beneath them, lying in wait. My hand moves on its own, reaching out. And as my fingers brush the edge of the blanket, a memory jolts through me – a flash of that handprint, smeared down the wall, the weight of it against my own, and a scream lodged somewhere I can’t reach.
The air thickens, chilling around him, and I press myself tighter against the cage’s bars, barely breathing. The bright smile on his face doesn’t match the cold calculation in his eyes as he flips the key between his fingers, each turn a reminder that my freedom – my life – is at his mercy. The knife gleams in his hand, its jagged edge catching a faint light, each tooth sharp and waiting.
“Are you ready to play?” His mouth moves, but it’s Mark’s voice that echoes in my head, and for a fleeting moment, I’m back with Mark in the ski lodge, ready to hit the slopes.
“Please…” The word slips out before I can stop it, weak and trembling. He leans closer, his eyes narrowing as he studies me, my hand instinctively tightening over my small bump. The cage feels like my only shield, but deep down, I know he holds all the power here.
My other hand shakes as he pulls the cage door open with a loud squeak. He crouches in front of me, closer than I can stand, reaching out with a steady hand.
I recoil, pressing hard into the bars. For a heartbeat, I feel the warmth of Mark’s touch – but no, the hand reaching out is rough, calloused. The smell of tobacco and ash fills the air, sharp and wrong, washing away Mark’s faint cologne.
“It’s just you and me now, Cassie,” he says, his voice twisting between gravelly and familiar, like Mark’s but… not. A ragged breath catches in my throat.
The cold metal digs into my back as he stares, his hand lingering, waiting. Watching.
His smile widens as he cups my cheek. His skin is coarse, too rough – Mark’s hands were never like this. I can’t move. Can’t scream.
“Please…” My voice cracks, desperate, clinging to any sliver of courage.
His fingers linger, tracing lower, yet the touch is distant, like a cold breath on a winter’s night – a ghostly sensation slipping away as quickly as it came. I inhale sharply, but the air is stale, as if it has waited too long in this place. No warmth, no scent of Mark, only the faint, acrid tang of decay settling around me.
I blink, and the room blurs the edges, shadows pooling in every corner. I turn toward the windows, but there’s only darkness pressing against the glass – thick, unmoving, as if even time itself has stopped.
How long have I been here?
I close my eyes, straining to remember the sun, the feel of Mark’s hand clasped in mine, the murmur of his voice. His snoring. Instead, only silence echoes back, a stretch of emptiness without beginning or end. The walls seem closer now, each one edged with rot, and the realization seeps in slowly, chilling my bones – I am trapped here, as if this cottage has always been a cage. My hands drift to my stomach, but the small bump I remember feels… empty. Gone.
A shadows shifts, darker than the rest, cold and heavy, and I look up, heart pounding – only to find the room empty. He’s gone. Just like he always has been.
Dust settles around me in thick layers, untouched. Forgotten. I glance down and see my hands – pale, faded, translucent, as if I’ve become part of the walls themselves. A faint chill curls through me, some remnant of memory clinging to the warmth of Mark’s touch, to the way he once looked at me. But here, there’s only hollow quiet, an endless ache filling the void where life used to be.
The tightness in my chest wells up as I mouth his name – Mark. It echoes, unanswered, lost to the depths of this place.
The cottage… it’s my home now. Or maybe it always has been.
And I am here. Waiting. A part of the walls, the dust, the cold air. Forever.