Blood and Whispers

Laverna slipped into one of the empty rooms, pressing her eye to the keyhole. She watched as Abigail walked past, her hands drenched in blood. In one of them, she clutched what appeared to be a severed head.

Stephen. His lifeless eyes rolled in their sockets like those of a puppet. A fresh wave of nausea washed over Laverna, the metallic scent of blood stinging her nostrils. She had seen death before, far too often in this cursed place, but never so intimately, so casually displayed.

Abigail whispered gleefully into the head's missing ears, recounting how much fun she had. A giggle bubbled up from her as she left a trail of blood in her wake, a macabre parody of a child leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.

Laverna fought down the bile rising in her throat, swallowing hard as tears streamed down her face. This was her fault. If only she had resisted the meal, had not let hunger consume her. The gnawing emptiness inside her was a constant reminder of her weakness, a weakness that had cost Stephen his life.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" a voice croaked from the shadows, making Laverna jump. It was one of the maids, her face pale and drawn.

Abigail turned, her smile widening. "Oh, yes," she said, her voice like birdsong. "It was ever so much fun! Stephen was very...expressive."

The maid recoiled, her hand flying to her mouth. Laverna wanted to say something, to defend Stephen's memory, but she was frozen, paralyzed by a fear she knew all too well.

She sank to the floor, clutching her head in trembling hands, and sobbed quietly for the only friend she had ever known. Her teeth dug into her tongue, the taste of copper filling her mouth, a desperate attempt to ground herself in physical pain, to distract from the emotional agony.

How much longer could she endure this? How much more could she lose? Each day felt like a slow descent into madness, the horrors of her existence chipping away at her sanity.

Numbness settled into her limbs as she pushed herself up and slipped from the room. She worked swiftly to erase the bloody trail, careful to avoid Abigail before the girl vanished into her so-called "Fun Room." Laverna was never allowed inside unless thrown in.

The room was a place of unimaginable suffering, a chamber where Abigail indulged her darkest whims. Laverna imagined the walls stained crimson, the air thick with the stench of fear and death. Abigail relished the messes cleaning themselves, aided by the same magic that locked the doors and kept Laverna imprisoned in the house, a cruel mockery of order and cleanliness.

Just as she bent down to scrub a particularly dark smear, a familiar voice reached her ears, a voice thick with terror. "Please! No! I didn't do anything!" It was Eli.

Laverna's heart clenched. She turned her head just enough to see him, bound and trembling, being dragged toward Abigail's chamber by two of the household guards. Their faces were impassive, devoid of any emotion as if they were merely moving furniture. His wide, pleading eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, raw desperation passed between them, a silent cry for help that Laverna was powerless to answer.

"Eli!" she whispered, barely audible. The sound was swallowed by the oppressive silence of the house, a silence that spoke volumes of the atrocities committed within its walls. But what could she do? If she intervened, she'd only join him in whatever nightmare awaited behind that door. She knew Abigail's cruelty had no bounds.

Abigail skipped ahead, her excitement barely contained. "Oh, don't look so sad, Eli," she cooed, clapping her hands. Her voice, so childlike and innocent, sent a shiver down Laverna's spine. It was a chilling contrast to the depravity of her actions. "You'll have so much fun. Stephen did!"

Eli let out a strangled sob, his struggles weak against the guards' iron grip. His body trembled, every muscle taut with fear. Laverna forced herself to remain still, to keep cleaning as if she hadn't seen anything.

She dug her nails into her palm, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. She wanted to scream, to fight, to stop this. But she was trapped in a web of fear and powerlessness, bound by the same magic that held Eli captive.

But she knew better. There was no stopping Abigail. To defy her was to invite unimaginable retribution, not just for herself, but for anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire.

As the heavy door creaked open, the last thing Laverna saw was Eli's face twisted in silent agony before he was swallowed into the darkness beyond. The door closed with a sickening thud, the sound echoing through the hallway like a death knell.

Then came the sound, Abigail's delighted giggle, high and lilting, filled with twisted excitement. It sent a shiver through Laverna's spine, a coldness that seeped into her bones. The wet, sickening sound of blood splattering against stone followed, and then a sigh, content, almost sensual. It was the sound of pure evil, a sound that would haunt Laverna's dreams for the rest of her life.

Laverna's hands trembled as she clutched her rag, knowing what was happening beyond that door. She imagined the scene: Eli's broken body, Abigail's blood-soaked figure, the gleam of her eyes as she reveled in her cruelty.

Abigail bathed in blood as if savoring a forbidden pleasure, humming softly as if indulging in a warm bath. The giggles turned into moans of delight, her voice lilting between ecstasy and playfulness. "You're making such a mess, Eli," she cooed. "But don't worry, I love messes."

Laverna clenched her jaw, forcing herself to keep scrubbing. Her movements were frantic, desperate, as if she could erase the horror by sheer force of will. If she reacted, if she so much as flinched, Abigail would notice. And she did not doubt that the girl would be thrilled to have another plaything. The thought of becoming Abigail's next victim filled Laverna with a terror so profound it threatened to consume her.

She hurried toward the kennels. The heat and stench of death hung thick in the air, a palpable reminder of the family's brutality. The cages were hotter than usual; another "Hunt" must be approaching.

The family took great pleasure in their twisted sport, watching terrified prey flee into the night, only to be torn apart by hounds. Their screams echoed through the forest, never heard, or worse, deliberately ignored. The hunt was a spectacle of violence, a ritualistic display of power and dominance.

Fear hung over the land like a curse. The family's atrocities were no secret, yet their wealth and influence shielded them from justice. The nearby villagers lived in constant fear, their lives overshadowed by the family's dark presence.

Laverna had learned early on that money silenced tongues and turned even the kindest hearts away. It was a hard lesson, one she had seen play out over and over.

She had once tried to appeal to a wandering merchant, a man with kind eyes, pleading for help. His gaze had flickered with something—pity, perhaps—but with a single glance at the manor looming in the distance, he had turned away, shaking his head. He knew better than to cross the family, to risk his own life for a stranger. She had never tried again. Hope, she realized, was a dangerous thing.

She moved through the cages, leaving cups of water and scraps of food. The animals, sensing her despair, watched her with dull, lifeless eyes. The acrid scent of fresh death reached her nose, sending a chill through her. It was the smell of hopelessness, the smell of this place. "Who?" she asked softly.

Thin, trembling fingers pointed to a cage in the back. Her heart pounded as she approached. She already knew, deep down.

"Peace be with you in this life and the next," she whispered, her ears lowering, tail stilling in solemn respect. It was a hollow prayer, a desperate attempt to find some solace in the face of such senseless loss.

Inside the cage, a woman lay motionless. Her tattered clothes barely concealed the bruises and wounds marring her frail body. Dark curls framed her swollen face, claw marks stretching from one cheek to the other. Dirt and dried blood caked her wounds. She had passed in her sleep, or perhaps, in her suffering. It was impossible to tell.

The scent of decay grew stronger. Laverna unlatched the cage, gently pulling the woman's clothes into place to grant her some dignity before lifting her onto a cart. Her movements were slow and deliberate, a somber ritual. The others murmured their own quiet farewells as she wheeled the cart toward the left side of the room.

A large pit had been carved into the stone floor. The moment she uncovered it, the sickly stench of rot wafted up, a physical manifestation of the moral decay that permeated this place. Holding her breath, she pushed the woman's body over the edge.

The sound of flesh tearing and bones crunching followed immediately, accompanied by the howling of the beasts that lurked below. It was a gruesome symphony of death, a constant reminder of the family's cruelty.

She had seen them once, through a crack in the floorboards. Hulking creatures, barely resembling dogs, with sunken eyes and jagged teeth meant for ripping. They were bred for this purpose alone. There was no burial, no ritual, no farewell. The bodies of the dead were tossed down to the creatures, devoured and forgotten. It was a fate she refused to meet. She would rather die fighting than be subjected to such a gruesome end.

Tears welled up again as she hastily covered the pit and returned the cart to its place. She stepped back inside, methodically cleaning the soiled hay and bodily fluids, her motions mechanical, detached. She was a ghost in this house, a shadow condemned to witness its horrors. As she swept the cage, something small caught her eye: a pin, wedged beneath the left side.

It was the size of a coin, engraved with a family crest, and a shield flanked by two lions. The initials "T.L." were prominently displayed, and on the back, deep carvings spelled out chilling words: 'Never allow them to die.' The words seemed to mock her, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness.

Laverna turned the pin over in her fingers before placing it in a box for the family to inspect. She had learned that anything valuable must be surrendered, or the consequences would be dire. The family took inventory of every item, every scrap of cloth, every trinket, every whisper of a secret. They were like vultures, picking clean the bones of their victims. And if they suspected her of hiding something...

She shuddered. The last time someone had been caught hoarding, they had been forced into the hunt, thrown to the hounds before the sun had even set. Their screams had lingered in the air long after the night had swallowed them whole, a chilling testament to the family's brutality.

She resumed her tasks, pushing down the emotions clawing at her chest. There was still work to do. And if she wanted to survive long enough to see another day, she had to pretend none of it mattered.

She had to become numb, to bury her feelings so deep that they could no longer hurt her. It was the only way to endure the horrors of this place, the only way to keep her sanity intact.