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Matilda sat with her head resting against her bedroom window. The only sounds that filled the room were the pattering of raindrops on the glass panes and the gentle rustle of pages as her younger sister became more and more absorbed with her book. Her chest ached but it wasn’t unfamiliar anymore, unlike the way her reflection had grown so pale and fragile over the years. Matilda didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror anymore. Her eyes could hardly stand the effort to look.
“Tilly, look at this,” called her sister gently.
Matilda tore her eyes away from the sopping wet gardens two stories below and directed her attention at Destiny who adjusted her glasses over the bridge of her nose. Her hands, noticeably a much healthier hue than Matilda’s chalky white pallor, turned the book around to hand over as she stood from her armchair and approached. Matilda stretched her arm out, unwilling to leave the comfort of her padded window seat.
The ledger Destiny plopped in her hands was heavier than she could reliably hold on her own and her sister had to help her rest it upon her lap instead. Matilda stared down at the numbers, her brain wracking to make sense of what was so interesting as her brows knit together into a frown.
“It’s from when mom and dad first bought the hotel,” Destiny explained. She pointed out a few numbers in particular. “Look how much money they made back then! I knew their parties were popular, but I didn’t realize the extent!”
Destiny’s eyes lit up with interest, practically swimming with memories of the glittering galas and swing dancing that filled the halls nearly eight years ago. Matilda remembered it all. She wasn’t old enough to attend, really, but it was hard to keep children away when they lived in the same building. It was also hard to hide the fallout from a séance gone wrong when ghosts roamed the halls as guests shrieked in horror. The numbers from recent years were essentially nonexistent comparatively.
A knock rang out from the bedroom door before the knob twisted and unlatched. A weathered but familiar face poked inside. Mollie smiled at her two girls reading together as their bespectacled father poked his head around the corner.
“Destiny, dear, do you mind if we borrow Matilda for a moment?”
Destiny retrieved the ledger from Matilda’s lap and briefly glanced over her shoulder as she returned to her chair.
“Not at all. We were just reminiscing about the hotel.”
Mollie’s smile turned sad as her eyes darted between the girls and the room they occupied as if staring too long at one spot was painful. Michael, their father, smiled as he gestured for Matilda to join him out in the hallway.
“We did have some fun times, didn’t we?” He chuckled.
Matilda’s balance wobbled as she pushed herself up on shaky legs. Destiny held out her hand for support, ready to stand and assist but Matilda waved her off and shook her head. Their parents didn’t like when Matilda relied on support too much. Either it made them become sad and unresponsive or they claimed it would make her reliant on help, that she would never redevelop her muscles that way. Her fingertips just ghosted over the wall as she passed by slowly and with no small amount of concentration. It was as if she were afraid to touch the place, to make a mark more permanent than their brief period of haunting. It was many days that Matilda felt as if a ghost in her own home, but she never spoke of this aloud.
Her parents stood in the hallway, smiles on their faces that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Was it a favor this time? It wasn’t usual for them to request Matilda’s help with things over Destiny’s less clouded mind. Every thought of Matilda’s had to fight through layers of mist to form even a vague picture. Destiny, however, was always sharper than anyone else, especially at her age. Mollie gently hovered her hand behind Matilda’s lower back as they guided her down the hall and to the stairs.
The only light spilled from the room they had just left, lengthening their shadows as they walked. The other guest rooms remained empty and dark as they had for the past three years. While there were clear signs of wear — peeling wallpaper, cracked mirrors — there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found. It wasn’t like Dorothy had guest rooms to clean to take up her time. The stairs to the main entrance hall were old and worn, dipping down in the center to show its centuries of existence. The historic building always fascinated Matilda, especially when her parents first bought the place, but watching her family fall victim to the series of misfortune previous owners also experienced wasn’t what she wanted for them all. They’d grown more distant as the money dried up and Matilda’s health suffered, though it wasn’t like the frequent doctor’s visits did much good. They’d cried after the last one. Matilda didn’t need to ask why. She knew. She could feel it. She could see it in their faces. She was dying.
But Michael did not stop at the entrance hall. He kept walking, leading his wife and daughter down the old stone steps to the kitchen, instead. It was too late for Bethany to still be working so the kitchen remained dark as Michael lit a flashlight and led the way back to the pantry, his beam of a light a wayfinding beacon. Mollie trailed behind Matilda as her father bent down to the floor and pushed aside a rug to reveal a trap door Matilda had never seen before. Had this always been here? Her mother’s hand on her back startled her. Her heart was already racing from the walk downstairs, her muscles aching with the effort to remain upright, but now a seed of anxiety palpitated in her chest. Her head swam, but her mother pressed her hand more firmly against her back.
“Go ahead, dear,” she encouraged gently as Michael began to descend down the ladder.
Matilda glanced back at her mom in confusion.
“Why are we going down there? What is it?”
Her mother sighed, beginning to move Matilda forward toward the hole in the floor.
“After the incident at that party, we knew we had to get rid of that awful book, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to be rid of it entirely. What if someone used it for the wrong reasons? We’d spent so long trying to find it, you know. So we hid it down here instead and vowed to never open it again.”
Matilda stopped walking, leaning back against her mother’s hand.
“So why are we going down there if you said you’d never open it again?”
Mollie’s eyes were sad but she offered a not-so-reassuring smile.
“Just go ahead and follow your father, dear.”
Matilda blinked at her mother, staring for a few breaths as she tried to get her heart rate under control to no avail. She turned to look down the trap door. Her father’s flashlight illuminated the ladder. It didn’t seem too far down. So she went.
Her fingers clutched the wooden rungs tightly, fear gripped her just as tightly as she silently prayed to not lose her balance and fall. The last step down made Matilda’s knees buckle but Michael was there to catch her and keep her upright. Mollie began to follow down after.
Matilda heard the trap door shut.
The room was small, square-shaped and made of stone. A few candles were lit but they barely provided any light. The light bouncing off the floor from her father’s flashlight revealed the space to her. Lines were seemingly painted on the ground in a pattern Matilda couldn’t place and at the center was a pedestal that housed a somewhat familiar book. She’d only ever seen it from a distance and it had never been open.
It was open now.
The smell of sulfur overwhelmed Matilda’s senses and she could have sworn there was a heat ebbing from the direction of the book.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
Michael’s eyebrows knit together in a look of what Matilda could only describe as pity.
“We’re going to help you,” he promised, but there wasn’t a shred of lightness to his tone. It felt dark and wrong, so unlike what she knew of her parents. But Matilda hardly knew her parents anymore, right? They’d become so distant lately it was as if they were strangers. Now suddenly they wanted to help?
Mollie’s voice pulled Matilda from her confused reverie, but none of the words she said sounded familiar. She glanced over at her mother, who now stood behind the book and recited something from within. The more Matilda tried to focus on what she was saying, the more her head hurt. She winced and swayed on her feet, her father’s hands barely keeping her upright.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to make it all go away. Okay?”
She opened her mouth to reply but another shot of pain coursed through her, like an ice pick in her skull that made her eyes water as tears dropped onto her cheeks. Her words turned into a groan as she leaned into her father’s chest. His hands gently rubbed her back soothingly, like he did when she was still a child and scared from a nightmare.
“We’re going to make it all go away,” he repeated. “ He’s going to make it all go away.”
The air in the tiny cellar swirled, kicking up dust and dirt. The candles flickered and Matilda’s hair and skirt fluttered in the wind as her father quickly dropped his hold on her and backed away.
Matilda fell to the ground, her hands splaying out on the strangely warm stone as she tried to brace herself. The heat she felt from before grew exponentially and she could only stare in horror as a thin line of light drew in the air between her and her parents. It burned like fire to stare at it and the wind began to sound like whispers echoing her mother’s chants.
Matilda let her forehead fall to the ground and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly.
“Make it stop! Mom! What’s happening? What are you doing!?” she sobbed into the stone floor. Her voice echoed in the empty chamber and made her ears ring.
The whispering grew louder and louder until it was all Matilda could hear. A whooshing sound like a burst of wind swept everything away and it was suddenly silent again. The light from before had dimmed back to darkness and the heat dissipated. The stone under her hands was now cold and damp.
Matilda opened her eyes, hesitantly looking up toward her parents, her body shaking from adrenaline. Both Michael and Mollie stood still and silent, staring at Matilda with shocked expressions on their faces. Slowly they turned to look at one another. Mollie was the first to break. She shrieked, dropping to her knees as her hands went to her hair.
“I don’t understand! It was supposed to work! Why didn’t it work?”
Michael rushed to the book and flipped through the pages like a man possessed.
“It said we were supposed to offer something precious to us. Did he reject her?”
Matilda frowned.
“Offer? Y-you what?” she breathed, not fully believing what she was hearing. “You tried to offer me to something?”
Matilda pushed herself upright, climbing to her feet and finding that the pains she’d felt before were strangely absent now.
“You tried to sacrifice me?” she roared. Her fists clenched at her sides, her fingernails biting into her palms but not quite drawing blood. Her hands shook as she stared in rage and disbelief at her parents who could only stare back in what could only be a mixture of regret and shock.
Michael joined Mollie on the floor as he fell to his knees. He grasped Matilda’s hands in his and squeezed tightly.
“You have to forgive us, Tilly. The hotel — we can’t afford to keep it running like this. We needed — we needed to do something! And we thought we would spare you the pain! Give you a quick end— “
Matilda ripped her hands from her father’s grasp with a strength she didn’t remember having before.
“You expect me to forgive you after this? You’re vile! Evil! You tried to kill me! I’m your daughter, for God’s sake and this is what you call help?”
Mollie and Michael gasped and lowered their gaze as Matilda’s eyes glowed an orangey red. Her pupils were blown wide, making her eyes look like the portal they had tried so hard to produce.
Her posture changed. She held herself taller, with more confidence than they’d seen before. A smile stretched across her face.
“Oh how rich,” she drawled lowly. “Look at you two cowering, begging forgiveness from the daughter you expected to sacrifice. Did it not work out how you planned?”
Matilda pouted mockingly as the two older adults shook in fear. Matilda’s voice was not alone.
“Aw, don’t cry. I’ll spare her this memory. Things will go back to how they were, better than they were,” she crooned. “You made your offering and I’ve decided to accept it. Your hotel will have its guests.”
Mollie and Michael’s eyes widened as they looked up at their daughter, hope burning in their irises. Matilda leaned down until she was just inches from their faces.
“But I’ll come to collect my vessel soon. Don’t forget,” she whispered.
The orange light in Matilda’s eyes died and her body collapsed to the ground. No one moved to catch her.
The darkness settled around the family and even the shadows held their breath.
Then, a groan as Matilda stirred again. Her eyes squinted and blinked rapidly as she glanced around the cellar from her spot on the floor.
“Mom? Dad? Wha— “ she began, trying and failing to think clearly in her haze.
Mollie scrambled to her feet and helped Matilda up gently.
“You just fainted again, dear. Nothing to worry about. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”
Matilda frowned but nodded and let her mother guide her back to the ladder.
Mollie glanced over her shoulder to Michael and they made a silent agreement then to be grateful Matilda didn’t remember their slight, and to never mention it again.