Page 132 of Phobia

“Thank you so much,” I practically squealed, and turned around to head toward the main entrance.

“Good luck!” she yelled out after me, but I was already walking down the hallway, heading toward the foyer of the house and the main door.

The cold night air hit me in the face the moment I stepped outside, and I regretted not drinking something heavier than just a juice to at least warm me up. October in Winworth was a vicious month, but November was even worse. As we were heading into the winter period, it was getting harder and harder staying outside.

I couldn’t understand how the others could do it. As I passed a couple kissing next to a car just before I rounded the corner of the house, I shuddered, seeing her barely there top, and his unbuttoned shirt. I’d spent almost twenty years of my life here and I still couldn’t get used to this kind of cold that hit you from all sides, or the darkness falling down on Winworth during these months when it felt as if the day passed in one blink.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I hurried toward the side of the house. The moment my eyes zeroed in on the tall mahogany doors, I almost sprinted, trying to get away from the cold. My hand wrapped around the massive doorknob and as I pushed it open, the loud, creaking sound echoed around me.

I expected to see someone inside, but as I stepped in, letting the door close behind me, I was immediately enveloped in the darkness of the hallway. If it wasn’t for the lone lantern flickering at the end of the hallway, I wouldn’t have been able to see where I was going.

My steps echoed around the hollow space, and the deeper I went, the colder it became. I slowly realized that I wasn’t walking straight. The hallway was leading down instead of straight and the deeper I went, the darker it became. A lantern flickered in the distance, but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the entire space.

“Hello!” I called out, hoping that maybe Lazarus was already here, but an answer never came and only the echo of my voice kept me company. Shivers erupted all over my skin and the jacket I wore was useless in providing the heat I needed right now. “This is fucking insane,” I murmured to myself. Just before I could turn around, I felt it.

The presence.

The breathing that wasn’t my own.

The sheer terror took over my body as I turned around, coming face-to-face with a hooded figure wearing a golden mask. He, it, whatever it was, tilted its head, looking at me, and I knew.

I fucking knew.

This was a trap. This wasn’t the way to the clock tower.

Turning around, I started sprinting down the hallway, coming in front of another set of doors. I couldn’t hear the footsteps behind me, but I couldn’t really hear anything apart from the sound of my heart ringing in my ears. I pushed the door open, pressing my back against it as soon as I stepped inside another hallway, breathing heavily.

With my ear pressed firmly against the door, I tried to hear something—footsteps, breathing, any noise—but nothing was there. Did I imagine it? Was I going crazy?

After all that happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if my mind started playing with me, but I could swear that someone was there behind me. Jesus fucking Christ, what did I get myself into?

My chest felt as if it would explode, my lungs working overtime, trying to bring fresh oxygen into my system, but the fear coursing through my veins made it so much harder to breathe, so much harder to move away from this spot. Rationally, I knew that my body wouldn’t stop a grown-ass man from entering, or just simply pushing this door, but I couldn’t move.

Trying to adjust my eyes to the dim lighting inside this hallway, I realized that it only led further into the ground, and nowhere near up.

What the fuck was this place?

I couldn’t recall seeing this door the last time we visited the Morass Asylum, nor could I remember if Lazarus’s father said anything about the basement area where the patients were. Most of them were located in the South Wing of the mansion, far away from his family who lived here. I often wondered what it was like living here, hearing all those people scream and shout, wailing in the middle of the night.

Was Lazarus ever lonely? Or did he truly go insane along with his entire family as the people from town said?

Was I an idiot for coming here, for thinking that there was something pulling me toward him? Maybe I was. Maybe I was just another victim, succumbing to the dark desires that I never wanted to think about, until the monster revealed that the world wasn’t such a pretty place.

Until my body broke in ways I could never comprehend, until the searing pain split my soul in half, shattering the sanity I used to have.

But maybe, just maybe, I was never quite sane. Maybe I wasn’t born for a nice and boring life, as I initially thought. Perhaps my father was right to run away from my mother and me. Maybe he saw the soul of a monster when he looked in my eyes that last time, when he couldn’t even bring himself to touch me, while the tears ran down his face.

And I never saw my father cry.

Not before that day.

My mother never spoke of him, but now as my breathing evened, and my heart stopped threatening to erupt from my chest, I thought about the past and everything she’d been hiding from me. The freakouts whenever I would mention the founding families, and the stern words, telling me to avoid them at all costs.

But why?

Why would she say that?

Every single person in Winworth wanted to be a part of their elite group. No matter how much I hated what they represented, I also envied them. I envied the freedom they had, the nonchalant way they could cruise through life, and the way that they didn’t seem to care about anything or anyone.