Virginia Emlington had spent seven years in the service of the Lornwick family. The truth was, she had served them long enough to know every secret they carried, even those they wished she would keep quiet about.
Virginia was originally from London, England, but had relocated to the United States at the age of nineteen. There, she secured employment as a scullery maid in the household of the wealthy American Lornwick family, who resided in the small town of Masoncaster, Georgia.
Virginia knew that Elizabeth Lornwick, who preferred to be addressed as "Mrs. Lornwick," adored reading the tales of her favorite author, Washington Irving. Virginia knew that Jonathan Lornwick, who preferred the title "Mr. Lornwick," was obsessed with carriages and horses, possessing at least a hundred different varieties of wagon-trailers on the property. And she knew that the family's many Congolese slaves, forced to toil day after day on the Lornwick's vast plantation, dreamt in secret of insurrection. They yearned for freedom, to break loose from the harsh and cruel grip of their white owners, and they often whispered their plans when Elizabeth, or Jonathan, or any of the children, were out of earshot.
Speaking of the Congolese slaves, it must be said with the utmost horror that the Lornwick family was not merely rich; they were spellbound by their own power and avarice. They openly displayed pride in owning more African slaves than any other plantation owner in all of Masoncaster. Elizabeth and Jonathan Lornwick cared little for the human lives working under their roof; each slave was regarded as a valuable fixture, a commodity to be exchanged, sold, or punished according to their own caprice. The slaves toiled day after day on the plantation under the violence of oppression, but the children, Sarah and Felix, viewed this with the same pride as their parents.
Even Sarah, the young girl with dark brown hair and stubborn eyes, would sometimes laugh maliciously and say with a chilling glint in her gaze: "See how they struggle now, Felix! Isn't it peculiar how much power we white folks actually possess over their lives?" Felix, not much older than his sister, would smile crookedly and nod, his eyes glittering with the same twisted pride: "Oh, indeed, sister. To think our family owns more souls than anyone else here in Masoncaster! It's as though we rule the whole world ourselves." And so, they would laugh together, without shame, while the slaves labored in the heat, sweat pouring down their spines. For the Lornwick children, empathy had not yet found a place, and their hearts were already shaped by the family's greed, cruelty, and sorrowful pride in the ownership of human life.
Virginia knew that Sarah Lornwick and Felix Lornwick, loved reading the fairy tales and stories that had become popular during the first half of the 19th century. Felix favored the colorful adventure books of Washington Irving, such as Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, while Sarah also found pleasure in reading narratives penned by the peerless Washington Irving. In fact, Sarah loved these books so much that she often skipped school to secretly read about the thrilling and strange adventures time and again.
Felix Lornwick was a slender and spirited boy of ten, with jet-black hair that fell in soft curls over his forehead, and eyes of the clearest amber that seemed to sparkle with curiosity and mischief. His narrow face still bore traces of a child's softness, but his cheeks were already lightly flushed with the youthful ardor that filled him. Sarah, on the other hand, had soft, dark brown hair that often fell in long strands over her shoulders, and eyes as dark as rosehips in the autumn, filled with both stubbornness and dreaming fancy. Her small mouth could curve into a smile that melted hearts, but could also tighten in fierce determination when her will met resistance. Together, they presented a contrast of curiosity and childish exuberance amidst the strict and sometimes stifling order of Lornwick Manor.
Every evening, after the children had said their grace and eaten supper, Virginia would tuck them into their bedchamber and read aloud from the tales they loved. She enjoyed hearing their giggles and seeing their eyes alight with excitement. Making the children happy was the best thing she knew, and this became her greatest, if not particularly private, secret.
But there was one secret the Lornwick family harbored that awakened not only curiosity but also great anxiety and fear: the room located up in the dusty, soiled attic. From within this room, one could hear sighs, groans, and heavy panting. Neither Virginia nor the wealthy family she worked for knew what lay behind that door, nor did they dare to find out. Both Elizabeth and Jonathan had forbidden their children from either entering or opening that room; they had also forbidden their scullery maid, Virginia Emlington, from entering that room, and it was absolutely unacceptable to bring the children into it! This room was to be shrouded in mystery forever—well, that was what everyone in the Lornwick family believed, anyway.
One evening, the entire Lornwick family was gathered around the dinner table, as usual, for a delightful supper. But immediately after grace, Elizabeth looked severely at her fourteen-year-old daughter.
"Sarah, you must know that this is utterly inappropriate! You have skipped school for weeks merely to stay home and read that novella. It is highly improper for a girl of good upbringing to act in this manner!" Elizabeth stated sternly.
Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes.
"School is so damn tedious, and the days seem only to consist of study, study, and more study. We girls are hardly allowed any time for pleasure. Therefore, I have decided never to return there," Sarah replied.
"You must know, Sarah, that I do not care if you find school tedious! I have raised you to be an obedient child, who always does as she is told. I have not raised you to be an irresponsible girl who lives only for pleasure and fun. Tomorrow, you shall return to school, and if you do not, I will confiscate every single one of your novellas!" Elizabeth said in a strict voice.
"That is grossly unfair, Mother! How can you undertake such a thing against me? May I say, if my own will were to rule, no one would have to subject themselves to the duties of school. I therefore refuse to return there!" Sarah said in an indignant tone.
"You must know, Sarah, that since you stubbornly refuse to obey my edicts, I will confiscate all your novellas. Furthermore, you shall be forbidden from attending our annual Thanksgiving feast for three whole years," said Sarah's mother in a strict voice.
Sarah's face grew dark as a thundercloud, and her hands clenched tightly in fury.
"Oh, go to hell, you old hag!" Sarah muttered.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!" said Sarah's mother, fixing her eyes on her young teenage daughter.
"I said, go to hell, you old hag!" Sarah shouted angrily.
Everyone around the dinner table gasped aloud. Under their roof, coarse words and blasphemy were strictly forbidden. "He who utters unseemly words risks going to Hell," Sarah's parents used to say, but right now, her rage was so strong that she did not care.
"Mind your tongue, young lady!" Jonathan said severely. "You know that unseemly words are absolutely forbidden under this roof!"
Sarah rose instantly. Her eyes were black with fury.
"SHUT UP, FATHER! I can't take any more!" Sarah roared. "You never understand how I feel! I'm tired of being forced to go to school and tired of no one listening to what I want. I want to decide my own life! I am not your little girl anymore!"
"Sarah, you must know that your behavior today is completely unacceptable! All your novellas will be immediately confiscated, and you will not attend our annual Thanksgiving feast for three years. Moreover, your evening routine will be extended with extra prayers and writing assignments, so you may have time to reflect upon your naughty behavior!" Elizabeth roared.
Jonathan nodded gravely and added: "Starting tomorrow, you shall report to us every day about how you have behaved. We expect complete obedience, Sarah, and this is not something we take lightly! NOW YOU GO UP TO YOUR ROOM AND STAY THERE UNTIL YOU HAVE LEARNED TO BEHAVE DECENTLY!"
Sarah turned and stormed out of the kitchen; the last thing she did was slam the kitchen door so hard that a large crack appeared in both the door and the wall.
"I hate you, I hate both of you! I hate everything you say and everything you force me to do!" Sarah shouted, stomping her feet on the stairs. "I wish both of you could DIE!!!"
Virginia, who had sat silently throughout the entire quarrel, stood up. She turned and looked at Mr. and Mrs. Lornwick.
"If I may be permitted, may I go up to Sarah and comfort her, Mr. and Mrs. Lornwick?" she asked in a gentle voice. Virginia felt a little sorry for Sarah, even though her behavior was, in fact, unacceptable.
"Virginia is not to go up and comfort her; she deserves no solace! But she may, however, go up and speak seriously with her, just look at the state of my clothes!" Elizabeth said, pointing to her black cotton dress that was drenched in large soup stains.
Virginia curtsied and left the kitchen, aware that it would be difficult to speak seriously with Sarah since she was utterly furious at the moment.
The Lornwick Manor consisted of four floors, and on the uppermost, fourth floor, lay Sarah's bedchamber. To reach it, one first had to ascend the long, creaking wooden staircase, and Virginia stepped carefully upwards. The higher she climbed, the more clearly Sarah's cries and rage echoed through the corridor. She was swearing and screaming up there, and Virginia could not help but feel a mix of worry and compassion for the young teenage girl.
When Virginia finally reached the fourth floor and approached Sarah's bedchamber, she suddenly caught sight of a door. But it was not just any door; it was the door to the forbidden attic room, the room that no one in the family was ever allowed to enter. A cold shiver ran through Virginia as she stood before it, and from the inside, faint sighs, groans, and heavy breaths could be heard, making the floorboards seem even more terrifying. She knew she shouldn't go closer, but curiosity gradually began to overcome her entirely.
Cautiously, she pressed down the rusty doorknob and opened the door.
As Virginia stepped into the room, it felt as though the whole world had stopped. The light from the filthy windows seeped in, and dust motes drifted slowly, almost as if they weighed more than the air itself. Every sound—her own breath, the creaking floorboards under her feet—echoed and stretched out, lengthened to infinity. The clock downstairs in the house ticked on, but up here, every second seemed to extend, as if time itself had become viscous and heavy. Virginia felt her heart beat slowly, almost of its own accord, and every movement she made was met with a resistance from the air itself, as if the room was trying to slow her down. She felt an eerie pressure on her chest; every moment was drawn out to the utmost, and the room whispered that nothing here would ever change.
In the shadowy center of the room stood a large, old chest, covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The wood was dark and cracked, as if every fissure told of centuries of secrets pressed inside. The chest looked worryingly heavy, almost alive, and Virginia felt an almost hypnotic pull toward it. The handles were forged from dark iron and shaped like twisted faces that seemed to scream in silence. As Virginia approached, she had the sense that the chest was breathing slowly, as if it lived and waited for someone to dare to open it. The shadows from the windows danced across its surface, making it look even more menacing, like a silent guardian of something forbidden and dangerous.
Virginia took a tentative step closer, every fiber of her body on edge. Her breath suddenly felt heavy, as if the air itself had become viscous, and resistance pressed against her chest. She did not know what was hidden inside the chest's heavy, cracked lid, but something within her whispered that what lay inside had power over time and space, and that her curiosity might be her undoing.
From the depths of the chest came faint, raspy whispers that made Virginia freeze: "Release us... release us... release uuuuussssss..." The voices were like echoes from another time, drawn out, anguished, filled with ancient pain. They rose and fell in slow, hypnotic rhythms, and every syllable felt like a call from the darkness itself. Virginia felt the floorboards beneath her seem to vibrate slightly, as if the chest was trying to anchor her there, capturing her soul in its timeless, heavy presence. Her heart pounded hard, yet slowly, as if the room itself was drawing out time to suck all the courage out of her.
Virginia nervously tugged at her apron dress and bit hard on her lower lip. She knew very well that under no circumstances should she open the chest, yet something within her—a dangerous, forbidden curiosity—still lured her forward. And we all know how risky it can be to listen to such impulses instead of reason, don't we?
"I know I shouldn't... I know I shouldn't... I know I shouldn't..." Virginia mumbled in a trembling voice, as she reluctantly stepped closer to the heavy chest. Her hands shook when she finally stood before it, and every breath felt like an eternity. The chest lay there, motionless and menacing, as if waiting for her and for whatever would be unleashed.
With her strong fists, she tore off the lid of the box.
As the lid fell to the side, a thick darkness rose from the chest, as if the night itself had been set free. A sickening cold draft sucked into Virginia's fingers, causing her skin to prickle. From the chest's depths curled meager, twisted mist that quickly formed into spectral, outlined figures. Their faces were contorted with eternal pain; gaping mouths that could never be silenced, and eyes so black that they seemed to suck in every sliver of light. They whispered and wailed, but not as ordinary words; it was like old, broken notes from lost souls, echoing through Virginia's mind and body, as if the very walls of the room vibrated with their suffering. The figures ascended slowly, but every movement filled the room with a weight that felt alive. The dust swirled around them like little ghosts themselves, and the air became thick, suffocating, almost liquid. Virginia felt an invisible hand pressing against her chest, sucking out her courage and filling her with icy despair.
The whole room seemed to breathe, to live, and breathe together with the liberated souls, and Virginia realized with horror-mixed fascination that she now stood before something that was not just dead or alive, but something beyond time and reality.
"Oh, dear Lord... oh, dear Lord..." Virginia groaned in a trembling voice, her hands shaking so much she could barely hold them together. "What have I done? What trouble have I caused now? I knew, I knew I should never have touched that damned chest!" She felt the room seem to close around her, as if the very walls were breathing with the suffering of the ghosts.
"How could I be so careless... so utterly foolish?" she whispered, and every word echoed against the walls, mixing with the sibilant, mocking whispers that now filled the entire attic room.
One by one, the ghostly figures floated up out of the chest, their meager, misty bodies writhing forward like smoke in the night air. They glided silently through the room, as if the floorboards beneath them did not even exist, and when they reached the attic door, which Virginia had so unfortunately left ajar, they vanished out into the corridor with a whooshing, almost whispering sound wave that made the room tremble. Each figure left behind a cold, suffocating presence, and the air was filled with their ancient sighs and moans. The walls seemed to shrink, the shadows contracted, and Virginia stood rigid, unable to move, with a feeling that every spectral form was now heading out into the house, and perhaps further, out into the world.
The ghosts had barely left the attic room before the entire house began to protest against their presence. Stairs creaked without anyone stepping on them, doors slammed shut by unseen hands, and windows rattled against their frames in a rhythm that almost resembled a heartbeat. Virginia felt the air become thick, almost sluggish as molasses, and her skin crawled all over her body. The hair stood up on her arms, and her pulse pounded so hard that it felt as if her chest would burst. She saw her own fingers tremble, almost unnaturally slowly, and every breath inhaled an icy smell of rot and lost souls. Downstairs in the dining room, distorted cries and moans were heard from Jonathan and Elizabeth. Jonathan turned chalk-white, his jaws clenched like iron bars, and his eyes widened with pure, unadulterated terror. His otherwise steady hands trembled uncontrollably as he staggered toward the stairs, but suddenly one of the wraiths grabbed his dark brown hair with cold, coarse fingers. It flung him around in a vortex of the night's wrath, and his stomach twisted with nausea.
Elizabeth held her hand over her mouth, her face pale, almost transparent, as if the ghosts' chill was already beginning to creep under her skin. Her eyes, large and terrified, glimmered in the light that seeped in from the windows. The next second, two skeletal hands grabbed HER long hazel-brown hair and did the same thing they had done to Jonathan, namely spinning her around and around in the kitchen and tossing her back and forth as if they wanted to play with her.
Upstairs, Sarah's screams mingled with Felix's trembling voice. When the ghosts took shape in the house, they swept like dark mists into the children's room. Sarah, trying to hide behind her bed, felt icy fingers stroke her shoulders and tug at her dark brown hair curls. Felix fell to his knees in terror when a misty figure glided between his feet, lifted him almost as if he were a doll, and then dropped him with a thudding, crashing sound onto the floor. Both children saw their beloved storybooks flutter like living things, the pages turned by unseen winds, and the hissing voices from the books mixed with the ghosts' wailing. Shadows climbed along the walls, and the ceiling beams groaned menacingly above their heads, as if the entire house had become a single living monster. Meanwhile, out on the plantation, the Congolese slaves were toiling, their brows drenched in sweat. They, who had dreamt of freedom for so long, saw their moment in the chaos. With the house filled with screams and terror, they crept silently through the back door and into the darkness of the night. They fled across the fields, their hearts pounding with fear-mixed anticipation. Some fell to their knees and thanked God for their chance at liberty, while others pulled along family members who had long been held captive by the Lornwick's tyranny.
Inside the house, Virginia struggled to maintain her composure. She saw how every wraith, every specter, devoured spatial light and energy, spreading coldness and terror through all the furniture and corridors. The children, pale with fear, huddled together in each other's arms, while walls and floors vibrated under the wraiths' wrath. They screamed and begged for help, but the sound was drowned out by the house's own sighs.
Sarah clung convulsively to her bed, while Felix trembled by her side: "Sarah... what is happening?!" Felix cried out, his eyes wide with horror. "They... they are touching us!" "I don't know, Felix... I don't know!" Sarah shrieked, her voice breaking between panic and despair. "Virginia! Please, do something!" Virginia, fighting to stand steady against the cold pressure wave of presence that filled the room, stretched out her hands:
"Children, stay close to me! I will protect you, I swear it!" An icy hand swept over Sarah's shoulder, making her scream in terror. Felix almost fell over when a shadow swirled around his feet. "They... they want to take us!" he sobbed, while Sarah's hair stood on end and her heart pounded wildly. Virginia grabbed both children by the arms, pressed them against her, and tried to speak calmly despite her own voice shaking: "Listen to me! Breathe, children! They can't... they can't take us if we stick together! We must... we must go!" At the same time, Jonathan and Elizabeth's desperate cries were heard from the dining room downstairs: "God help us! What is happening here?! Someone... something... is pulling our hair!" "Save us, someone! Someone... please, help us!" Elizabeth wailed, while Jonathan collapsed toward the stairs, white as chalk, grasping for every piece of furniture not to fall.
Sarah, through tears and screams, tried to move forward: "Virginia... we will never survive this! They want to tear us to pieces!" Virginia, her heart pounding and the panic almost suffocating her, screamed back: "No! We will survive! Follow me! I will lead you out! Hold my hands and... and trust me!" Felix held tightly to Virginia's hand, while Sarah struggled to control her panic screams. Outside the windows, the wind rattled, and the house itself seemed to cry out and groan with dark, invisible voices.
In this moment, it became clear that the house was not just a place—it was a trap, a captivity for both the living and the dead. And in the midst of it all stood Virginia, determined to protect the young ones, while the slaves, who had long carried their chains, ran toward freedom with the night winds as allies. Virginia ran through the creaking corridors, the children close to her, while the ghostly figures swept after them with cold, invisible hands. The stairs beneath their feet shook, and the house seemed to want to swallow them whole. She led them toward the back door, but just as they reached the landing, she felt a hard grip on her foot, as if the house itself was trying to prevent their escape.
The slaves on the plantation had reached the edge of the woods and saw the light from the house trembling behind them, but Virginia and the children paused for one last glance. The attic room window glowed with a red light, and there they saw dark, twisted faces pressed against the glass, with gaping mouths screaming in silence. Suddenly, all sounds vanished, the wind fell silent, and the house stood desolate, but something had changed. When Virginia turned around, she saw how the mist from the chest slowly stretched out over the ground—it was not shrinking, it was spreading. The figures, no longer bound to the house, now glided silently out into the night, beyond the forest, beyond the fields, like a dark wave that would hunt them and everyone else who dared to approach. Virginia felt an icy hand on her shoulder and quickly turned around, but there was nothing there. Only the children's trembling breaths and the silence of the night. But when she looked back at the house, it appeared as though a black, pulsating heart was beating in its walls, and she realized with a cold shudder down her spine that Lornwick Manor was no longer just a house—it was a gateway, a lost place where time and death flowed together. And somewhere in its darkness, a whisper was heard that only she could perceive.
"Ah, if only I hadn't been so hideously impulsive and opened that damn chest," Miss Virginia muttered to herself in a trembling voice. "Ah, if only I hadn't been so dangerously hasty...54Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7t2Sp7Vful
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