Page 18

C hapter 18

Naya

Terror roars within me, mirroring the monster that haunts my fragile mind. The skeletal structure of a house stands as a testament to the horrors I endured at the hands of Frederick Grimhill. Forced to be his doll forever, until the day I was taken to Dankworth Institute.

“This…this is where you lived?” Grey asks, voice quivering, as if he can’t believe what he sees right before him.

Nausea makes its way up my throat, threatening to spill as we approach the gate I once escaped through. I nod, my eyes falling upon the road where Everlee’s hand was ripped out of mine, taken away from me only to never be seen again.

She’s seized by a tall and well-built man.

My scream of terror rings out as she tries to free herself.

Her devastating look as she whispers something that sends blood rushing to my ears.

“Thank you.”

Now, the house’s walls have crumbled from the aftermath of the fire. The windows have shattered, as if exploded from the heat they suffered through at the force of the flames. The air is thick with the lingering smell of soot and decay, even after all this time. That’s not the only thing tainting the air—it’s the sorrow clinging to every surface, every bush and tree; it’s the heartache and the haunted atmosphere.

There always was something ghostly about this place—presences you couldn’t quite see.

“Welcome to the house of my nightmares,” I remark sarcastically, taking in the house that seemed so ominous when I first arrived years ago.

Sections of the roof have collapsed, but not all of it, leaving a shell of a house that used to torture children and keep them in a game of death and fear.

“It’s faced better days.”

A smile tugs at my lips at his comment, trying to lighten the mood when it feels as if merely being here will rip my heart out of my chest.

“It’s relieving to see this place get the fate it deserved,” I mutter.

As we take another step closer to the manor, I notice that nature has begun to reclaim the area, but the ground is littered with ash and debris. It’s a chaotic, if not macabre, mix of burnt wood, ash, and soot—a concoction of tragedy that finally befell this place.

Another step forward reveals the scorched trees nearby, bearing scars of the fire with their trunks blackened.

Grey’s hand holds mine in a tight grip, and I’m not sure I would have been able to even survive if it wasn’t for him here.

“I don’t even know what we’re looking for,” I murmur as we step into the yard of Grimhill Manor. Or what’s left of it.

My gaze slides to the asphalt road coated in layers of grime, yet I can still sense what once lay beneath. The hopscotch area—the one place where children were faced to meet their fates and die at the hands of the doll master if they failed.

The breakfast I had churns in my stomach, threatening to come up. I can’t tear my eyes away from the place, haunted by the horrors etched into my memory. Corpses that were never allowed to rest peacefully. An unwarranted fear that Frederick Grimhill might still be here sweeps over me, and the urge to curl into a protective ball fills me.

He’s dead.

I stand staring at the area.

He’s dead , I repeat in my mind, and maybe if I say those words enough times, they will feel like the truth.

“What is it?” Grey asks, his voice more gentle than I’ve ever heard before, as he tugs my hand closer to his, noticing I’m staring into space.

I cannot even speak—the words are lost on me as I stare at the place where deadly games had occurred even far before I arrived.

I only stayed here for seventeen months; what about the children that were forced to suffer ever since they were babies?

My heart clenches, and I look up at Grey, having a hard time keeping the tears from glazing over.

“He used to make us play in the hopscotch. If anyone failed or stepped out of line, he’d shoot them right in front of all the others.” I inhale deeply, then exhale, watching as Grey’s entire posture goes rigid, jaw clenching hardly. “Then, he’d discard the bodies over there,” I point to where the grass used to align with the asphalt, near the facade of the once-was house. “And he’d let them lay there for all to witness, until someone had the decency to remove them. But they never rested in peace. And they were never mourned properly.”

As I look over at Grey, I see the anger rolling off him in waves, so potent it’s like you could touch it with your bare hands. He releases my hand and steps back, leaving me bewildered and grappling with what’s going on.

Grey’s roar of frustration and anguish pierces the air with a long-reached echo, sending a blood-curdling shiver down my spine, and I stand there on the verge of tears. My head is spinning, my heart aching, and all I want is for this house to take me in its claw-like hold and drown me underneath all the soot. If only so that I won’t have to face this again.

Fuming, his breaths come out in short, harsh puffs as he storms toward me. Before I can even process his intentions, he envelops me in a fierce embrace, the hardest I’ve ever felt. He doesn’t let go, his breath warming the top of my head as he buries it there, and I bury my face in his chest, seeking solace in his protective presence.

His embrace becomes a shield that lets me shatter underneath its force, my heart clenching with the need for an outlet. The overwhelming urge to scratch my wrist and pick at the skin washes over me, but I fight it, not wanting to let go of him. Weakness deep within my tainted soul takes over, but I realize it’s not a weakness to show what you’re feeling. It only makes you stronger, and so I hug Grey back, letting the tears fall down, embracing that strength.

After a while, he tilts my chin up, making my heart stutter at the intensity I see in his sapphire depths. It skips a beat, butterflies flying around in a whirlwind, as he leans down to lick away the tears from my cheeks. His eyes are hooded, gaze intense, his breath hot on mine.

“If he wasn’t already dead, I’d fucking tear out his throat with my own goddamn teeth for doing that to you—to all the children who suffered at his hands.”

I nod, unable to speak as I breathe deeply.

“I would go to the ends of the world and ruin everything that ever hurt you, if only to allow you the peace of mind you deserve. You’ve been through so much, my little doll. So fucking much. And I’m so proud of you for surviving.”

My throat tightens, and the words won’t come. Instead, I manage, “I’m not sure what we’re searching for. But I’m sure we can find something that can give us a better clue of the dealings between Emilio and Frederick.” I step closer to the house, scanning the area for anything that might give us a lead.

This is not a place you can venture without risking the entire facade falling apart. Every creak of the weakened structure threatens to bury us.

As Grey and I cautiously pick our way through the wreckage, something clicks in my mind that makes me freeze mid-step.

“The basement,” I whisper, the words barely escaping me.

“What?”

I scan the ruins, desperately trying to find the entrance to the basement underneath all the remnants. “There was a basement. Children told all sorts of tales and horrors about it. But it was made of stone. Surely, it must have made it through the fire?”

Thinking deeply, he nods. “If it’s made of stone, it wouldn’t have burned up. We just got to find it. Do you remember where the entrance might have been?”

Memories take me back to the parlor room, where the doll master used to announce the monthly games, until we were all forced to venture outside in wait for further instructions. I used to slip out of the house undetected to escape some of the games, but not all of them. I remember seeing a door to the far right, on the opposite side of the parlor room. Stairs leading down until it reached another door, leading into the basement room where the doll master used to force those children that disobeyed him. I shudder at the memory, but as I look up at the wreckage once more, I can recognize the remnants of what used to be the parlor room.

My heart is a thunder underneath my ribcage, pounding hard as if trying to escape the confines of my bones, and I step over scorched planks and remnants of furniture as I climb my way to what used to be the parlor room.

“It should be here somewhere,” I mutter, Grey tight on my heels. “There used to be stairs leading downstairs, and then a door indicating the basement.”

He lifts planks, using all his strength to search through the area in desperate need of finding that door. “Why is the basement important?”

“He used to take children down there to punish them if they disobeyed. Legends were spread that if you once ventured down, you would never return. It’s a far shot, but maybe that’s where he stashed papers? If no one was allowed there, and no one dared go down because of legends, wouldn’t it make it the perfect place to hide secret papers?” I ask, lifting away what used to be a couch, its fabric long gone. “I know he never stashed important papers in his own office on the other side of the manor.”

I know, because I used to hide from the games there, learning his routines of when he came and went.

Far ahead, there’s tape restricting the area from any trespasser like us, but something tells me the police didn’t care enough to search through the perimeters properly. They most likely wrote it off as unimportant.

“Naya,” Grey calls from where he stands a few meters away, looking at me.

I carefully climb my way over to him, making sure not to trip and fall over the debris scattered across the ground. He’s holding up a plank, having dug up a hole where the stairs once stood.

And there, at the bottom, lies the rusted remains of what used to be the metal door leading to the horror chamber in the basement.