Page 13 of All the Things We Buried

TWELVE

DORIAN

I stood in the kitchen, staring out at the garden. My eyes settled on the patches of shallow earth where the red roses grew.

For a moment, I blinked against the sunlight. It was so bright today, almost blinding. The light pulled me backward, and flashes of memory were dragging me to the first night I returned here to Gloomsbury Manor.

Everyone had been asleep. The house held its breath the way it always did when I came back, like it wasn’t sure I belonged here. I slipped outside into the garden and knelt behind the roses, exactly where I used to bury the box I didn’t want anyone to find when I was six.

I dug with my bare hands until the soil gave way.

The box was still there. I took it close to my lap, brushing off the dirt, then opened it like something sacred. Inside was a silver necklace with a small cross that had once belonged to Ian. I fastened it around my neck and kissed the charm.

There were two Polaroids. One showed Ian smiling, holding the stray kitten he had found by the road, the same one that slipped out the door and left the very next day.

The other was of the two of us, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, faces pressed close, smiling. It was that brotherly love.

I missed him. So deeply, it hurt in places I didn’t know could feel pain.

Losing someone who meant that much doesn’t just leave an absence. It leaves a hollow nothing that no one and nothing can ever fill. You can try. You can throw everything and everyone into the space where they once were, but the hole stays. It always stays.

I had never counted the money we took from the bank.

I never planned to spend it. I didn’t even know what I would use it for.

I only took it because they were going to blame me anyway.

Maybe I really was a thief, or maybe I was just hungry.

Hungry for safety. Hungry because I knew what it was like to starve, to scavenge through the streets, to be invisible.

I pushed the bag of money into the hole along with the white ski mask I wore that night, then I started to bury it all.

There was no need to hide anymore. Not in Gloomsbury. I was home.

But the ghosts here see through everything.

They always have.

It’s easier to bury what we can’t face, easier to hide what hurts. But somehow, everything we try to forget crawls back from the dirt, whispering to us through the walls. And eventually, everything we bury becomes a ghost.

And someday, so do we.

Ezekiel stepped inside, snapping me out of the memory. He moved quietly, creeping close until he stood beside me, staring out at the garden.

I could feel his breath at my neck. I could feel his sins clinging to his skin like the smoke of those cigars he always smoked. And deep inside, I knew what was coming. I could feel it crawling closer.

But I had no choice.

I had to protect Lenore.

She had carved herself under my skin in a way no stepsister ever should. What I felt was wrong. It was forbidden. It tasted like sin, and I knew it. I knew the ghosts would come for us both. They always come for sinners.

But I would rather be haunted for the rest of my life and whatever came after, than spend a single day without her.

She was my need. My necessity. My sweetest poison.

And if it meant dying a thousand deaths to spare her just one, then I would.

“Your mother said you wanted to talk,” Ezekiel said, arms crossed. “Then talk.”

“I know what you did to Lenore,” I said, my voice tight as I swallowed. “I know what you and Viviene have been doing to her. For years.”

He turned to look at me, smiling widely with those white teeth. “You don’t know anything.”

“I do,” I cut him off, stepping forward. “And I’m here to offer myself instead.”

He laughed.

My fists curled tight at my sides.

“Whatever you plan to do to her, do it to me instead. Twice. Three times over. I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”

He raised a brow, his jaw tightening. “Interesting.” His eyes darkened. “You care about her that much, huh?”

There was something in his expression that hadn’t been there the day I arrived. I couldn’t name it, but I didn’t trust it. Not for a second.

“Follow me,” he said.

And I did.

We walked through the kitchen, down the long hallway, to the basement door. Each step down was colder, like the house was trying to stop me, like it didn’t want me to see.

But I kept going.

And the moment my feet hit the basement floor, I saw it.

I knew what was going on.

The basement had an altar on the left, with Ezekiel’s photo in a golden frame. Next to it, black robes hung on rusted hooks, and chains draped beside them. On the right side, more chains twisted along the wall. No one ever touched them, but they felt alive somehow. All of it felt familiar.

Especially the metallic taste of blood in the air.

As I stepped into the center of the room, I saw cages lined up in the back, still stained with blood.

And that’s when I remembered.

All the people who had disappeared from town must have been here. Or still were. As I turned my head, I saw a black telephone attached to the wall. It rang. Three times.

I turned around, and the room was empty. Ezekiel was gone.

I walked toward the phone. My hand trembled as I picked it up.

At first, there was only breathing.

Then a little girl’s voice whispered, “Hello? Mommy?”

“W-who is this?” I asked.

“It’s really dark here, and I’m scared,” she said softly. “What if I dream that you never come again?”

Something heavy settled in my chest. Her voice cracked as she continued.

“I’m so, so scared, Mommy. Please find me.”

I slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

But it rang again.

My hand hovered above it. Every part of me screamed not to answer, but I did.

“You have to run. Run. Run,” said an older man’s voice. “Or they’ll make you chop. Chop. Chop everyone apart.”

“Who will?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Don’t sign. Don’t sign anything,” he said quickly.

The line went dead.

I turned around slowly, and there he was.

Ezekiel stood in the center of the room. He wore a white robe, and a silver mask covered his face, glinting in the light. He walked toward me, then grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. He pushed me toward the cages.

“Every last Friday of the month,” he said, “at exactly 3:18 in the morning, you will go into town. You will collect a young soul and bring it here.”

I looked at him. Even with my crazy mind, I knew this was wrong. Every part of me knew it.

“You will lock them in here,” he said, gesturing to the cages, “and leave. Until you are called again.”

“You’re insane,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I won’t take anyone.”

He didn’t flinch. His voice dropped low.

“Either them, or Lenore.”

My heart thundered. I looked at the cages again, and in my mind, I saw her there. Alone. Crying. Trapped.

My hands clenched. My jaw tightened.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Very well,” he said calmly. “Tomorrow, you will take your first soul. But first, you must pray.”

“Pray?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pointed toward the center of the room, where pillows were arranged neatly in front of the altar.

I walked slowly. Every step felt like it pulled me deeper into something I would never escape. When I reached the pillows, I hesitated.

Ezekiel placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me to kneel. I lowered myself onto the cold floor. And before I could even close my eyes, something dropped over my head.

A rough sack.

Then the rope came, yanked tight around my neck.

My hands flew to my throat. I gasped for breath. My mouth opened wide, but the air wouldn’t come. But I was helpless. His grip was too strong.

And through the rough sack over my head, I heard his voice cutting straight through the metal mask on his face.

“Forgive him, Lord. He has sinned. But he will serve. And he will repay his sins.”

Then the faint light filtering through the burlap disappeared, and everything turned to darkness.

And I fell. Fell hard.

But in the dark, I saw them. All of them. The ghosts of Gloomsbury Manor.

And it was never just seven. They always came in pairs. One to haunt. One to take.

I saw Ian.

I saw the twins.

I saw Shadow.

I saw the wet lady with the broken neck.

I saw my father.

And I saw myself.

It felt like I was watching time slip past me. Past and future, tangled together like a thread pulled loose from my memory. I was slipping between it all, floating in a place where memories weren’t memories anymore.

And time just passed through me, like I wasn’t there at all.

Somehow, I found myself sitting on the porch. I looked up at the moon and wished I could remember how I got here. But I couldn’t.

Still, what happened stuck with me. Every detail that Ezekiel did stuck with me.

When you get that close to death, when you can feel it breathing down your neck, you start to see them.

All of them. And you begin to understand.

You understand why one moment you’re here and then suddenly, you’re not.

You see everything until you don’t. You believe, until belief slips through your fingers.

And the rest... the rest just happens. Whatever has to, will.

I heard her footsteps behind me. My favorite ghost, in human form. The one who would haunt everything I touched for the rest of my life.

I lit a cigarette, letting the smoke burn through my lungs. She sat beside me, and without turning, I said, “You’re up late, Trouble.”

“I could say the same about you,” she said.

I smiled to myself. “I’m always up late.”

We sat in silence. Just the two of us.

You know how with some people, silence feels like enough? Like the quiet between you says everything that words never could. She was that for me, my favorite silence.

But when she spoke… God, when she spoke, I wanted to hear her voice every hour of every day. She was becoming my favorite everything . And I hated it. But favorite things break, and I didn’t want to cut myself on the sharp edges.

“I hate this house,” she said at last.

I turned toward her. Her eyes found mine in the dark.

“No, you don’t.”

Maybe she had once. Maybe before. But not now. Not with me here.

I reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers lingered longer than they should have, trembling. I didn’t pull her close. I didn’t kiss her.

But God, I wanted to.

And I knew how wrong it would be.

So wrong.

“I won’t always be here, you know.”

“I know.”

“You’ll forget me.”

“No, I won’t.”

Her hand slipped back into my lap. I took it gently in mine.

My palm could swallow hers. I could’ve crushed the bones without even trying. She was so small, so fragile. It almost made me smile. She was like a doll. Short, fragile, beautiful.

“You think you won’t,” I said quietly, “but you will. You’ll grow up. Move on. Find someone else to talk to at two in the morning.”

“I don’t want someone else,” she said, blinking up at me.

“I’m not a good person,” I told her. “If you ever really knew me, you’d run.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You say that now.”

I stood first. She followed right behind me, like gravity pulled her closer. The space between us vanished. Her knee brushed mine. My eyes dropped to her lips. And for a moment, I wanted nothing more than to pull her in, kiss her, and never stop.

But I stepped back.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I muttered, raking a hand through my hair. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?” she asked, eyes wide, waiting.

I didn’t answer.

I turned and rushed inside the house.

Because how could I tell her the truth?

How could I tell her that if she got too close, I would never let her go? That if I ever tasted her lips, I wouldn’t allow anyone else to? That if she were mine, I would mark my territory all over her skin so no other man would ever dare to touch her?

And as fucked up as it was, as much as I wanted to die before, because I was alone, when I met her, I wanted to live again.

I wanted a house. A normal life. A family. And even though I knew I’d never truly have it, I held on to the hope that maybe I could have it here.

So I stayed.

If she couldn’t be mine, I could at least protect her. Even if I stayed silent. Even if I were just a ghost haunting her at night. Maybe I could make friends with all the monsters in her head.

And I did. I made friends with every single one of them. So we could drink tea at 3:18 a.m. and talk about her.

She could be lost, and I could be her wonderland. So when she wakes up, I’m her most beautiful dream. And she can be my beautiful nightmare. Because she haunts my mind, day and night.

But maybe that’s my karma, to be so close to someone and still feel like we are oceans apart.