A "Peaceful" Evening in the Mansion
Alaika had anticipated that the neurosurgery residency would be difficult: endless rounds of duties engulfing day and night, bricks of case files stacked over like a tower, and the constant pressure to be mentally present every minute. Anyone can be exceptionally drained just trying to hold up their end of the cognitive responsibility day after day. Yet nothing—not even the terrifying horror stories recounted by senior residents— could prepare her for the overwhelming exhaustion of merely surviving the first month. She let out a breath and a heavy sigh, grateful that she had finally turned the engine of her car on and was ready to leave the dreadful premises. Residency was not meant to be this exhausting. She had successfully fulfilled tasks much more challenging than these. Even though she had just started her first month as a neurosurgeon in training, after days of sleepless nights and pouring caffeine into her body every morning, she felt like her brain was being materialistically stretched in one hundred different directions. Her being twenty-eight but feeling older than fifty with this schedule gave her a reality check of her choices. But for some very odd reason, the rush, the work, and the moving made her feel vividly alive—thrilled even.
In truth, there was a strange kind of excitement that flickered beneath the exhaustion.
Uncommon concerning the past schedule, there was something new about today. For the first time in a rather long period, she had the evening off. No patients. No emergencies. No lectures. Just her and her thoughts. Well, almost.
Happy enough she waved at her colleagues and hopped inside her black Toyota Camry. In the rearview mirror, she eyed herself while holding in yet another yawn. Her dark brown hair, typically falling neatly just above her shoulders, crouched in all directions, indicating she occupied her time somewhere, unsure how or when. And her face, well—that look it displayed was here to stay. The hoodie she wore, her favorite black one, looked like it was packed in a suitcase long-term: wrinkled beyond any prompt documentation.
“Just a quick drive,” she said as she put the car in gear, attempting to give herself some self-talk. Her eyes darted to the seemingly harmless-looking box in the back seat as she cast a glance over her shoulder. It stood there, almost taunting her, silently enjoying the luxury of the non-attentive seat.
As she drove out of the parking garage and onto the well-known streets leading from the hospital, her automobile purred along. Above the freshly lawned ground and well-made roads, towering apartment buildings glowed through their windows with the warm light of late-night workers and families. The streets were as crowded and lively as ever. She hadn’t had a real meal since breakfast, but she had one more task to complete before heading into a restaurant. She looked at the dashboard clock and muttered to herself. “It is only 6:30 p.m.” It would be a one-and-a-half-hour ride before she could reach her destination.
Whispering silence replaced the cacophony of the bustling town as Alaika kept driving. This road extended in front of her for mile upon mile, bordered on both sides by towering trees and expansive, open spaces that appeared to go on forever. Her fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel as she exhaled. She had not driven this far since shortly, she did though back when she had first moved to this town, before her classes began. But now she was on her way to the mansion, which stood, as though forgotten by time itself, on the farthest border of the town. It was surrounded by thick forest and appeared to be nearly deserted. It was perfect.
Alaika eventually found herself pulling up to the mansion after two hours of driving. It stood exactly as she remembered it: two storeys of abandoned grandeur, the façade taken over by nature, the once-well-engineered gates now corroded and creaked. Climbing up the decaying, faded stone walls covered in, moss and vines gave the building a delicate, unsettling touch. It was where people would gather in whispers, a remnant of a long-forgotten era that was off-limits to outsiders. It was supposedly haunted. But it was great for her.
Alaika stretched her arms up, stiffened from the long drive, echoing the creaks that probably filled up the old floorboards of the mansion as she stepped out of the car. She shifted to the rear seat, pulling her black hoodie tighter around her shoulders as she zipped it up, paired with plain black trousers. The overall look was intended to be undetectable, using only black clothing that blended into the background, merging into the shadows. She hadn’t considered running into anyone this far out. But you never know. To complete the look, she added stylish black sneakers, which were necessary for last-minute errands or fast getaways in her field of work.
Stepping onto the hardwood planks as she made her way to the creaking stairs that led to the basement. With a mental picture of the house, she took slow, deliberate steps down, clutching the box under one arm. The house’s map was perfectly ingrained in her memory. The basement was as dank and dark as she had imagined, with her headlamp’s weak beam illuminating a floor covered in debris and trash strewn everywhere. Most of the room was filled with broken tables, boxes, and old chairs that didn’t seem to belong anywhere, forgotten old junk. However, she could still make out the long-fading pentagram in the weak light of her lamp—presumably the result of bored children trying to spook each other out. Various literature scattered throughout the room, about magic and demon accoutrements. That was included in the appeal, too. She laughed silently and snorted. “Kids these days, have no idea what they are messing up with. But then again, who does these days?”
The basement was not extensive compared to the house above, though probably because the former owners had divided it into four cramped sections. For what reason? Alaika could only guess, but it certainly wasn’t for practicality. Maybe something weirder. She shook her head at the thought. The room she was in wasn’t exactly large. A great deal of two-and-a-half king-sized beds could fit into the space if anyone were interested in making such absurd comparisons. But all of the space was taken up by garbage-rotting furniture, shattered mirrors, and boxes filled with who knows what, all stacked haphazardly against the walls. It was the perfect place to hide something, and that’s what matters right now.
Alaika set down the box at the foot of the stairs with care; though her headlamp flashed and dimmed, she didn’t care and focused her eyes on the pile of old crates shoved in one corner. Taking in a deep breath as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, she announced, “Okay, Nova, let’s get this over with.”
She started to throw boxes and trash everywhere from that one specific right corner, dust clinging to her hoodie and leaving white streaks on her sleeves. She glanced over quickly, double-checking that everything’s spot on, then leaped onto the floor and opened the box she had dragged along with her. Inside was something that could make anyone’s blood freeze in their veins: a severed head. His face was practically graying; his mouth was twisted, frozen in a scream he never got to escape as his eyelids hung half-open in death. Alaika smiled. “You really shouldn’t have crossed with us,” she gritted mockingly under her breath.
She set her box in the small, empty space she had cleared and covered it completely over with other discarded crates and random debris. And as if to crown her masterpiece, she set atop the pile a broken three-legged chair, like a cherry on some macabre cake. Satisfied, she brushed her hands together, casting one last glance about the corner where the box now sat hidden. She felt a hot surge of pride. “Why do we have to go and do everything in the freakiest way? We could have just set it on fire,” she said, turning toward the stairs, huffing in frustration.
″Ah…whatever.” She shrugged, and just as she reached halfway up the staircase, she heard something.
Upstairs?
Her body went stiff. She reached her back pocket and withdrew her gun. Moving cautiously, she climbed the final couple of steps. The house was black. Pitch black. But as she looked around under the dim light of her headlamp, there was nobody there. Silent as a ghost, she stepped across the kitchen, watching each corner. Suddenly, for some reason, she felt a sudden urge to look out the kitchen window.
There, moonlit in that yard, stood a figure. Someone was outside.
Who the hell is out here? And what in the world could they possibly want?
Alaika narrowed her eyes, the beam of her headlamp spearing through the darkness. “Who in the hell are you?”
The man looked up, momentarily blinded by the sudden light. He raised a hand to shield his face, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. His gaze flickered to her hands, and instinctively, Alaika lowered her gun, shoving it into her back pocket and adjusting her hoodie to conceal it.
In mock defeat, he threw his hands up in surrender, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. “Whoa, whoa, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Alaika raised an eyebrow, still unmoved. “You chose a pretty bad night to go for a little explore.”
“I could say the same to you,” he retorted, his smirk lingering there like he thought this was all just hilarious.
Just who the hell is he?
