Chapter 5
The sound of scraping wood above them sent a shiver down Ricardo’s spine. It wasn't the wind, and it certainly wasn't the house settling. It sounded deliberate, heavy, and distressingly close to the ceiling directly above the white carpet.
Ricardo stared upward, his jaw tight.
“What is up there, Elena?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Whose room is that? We locked the entire third floor when we moved in.”
Elena’s composed facade finally flickered, a tiny micro-expression of unease flashing across her face before she quickly masked it with a cold, blank stare.
“It’s storage, Ricardo. Old furniture from my mother’s estate. The temperature fluctuations cause the floorboards to expand. It happens every afternoon.”
“That wasn't wood expanding,” Ricardo said, taking a deliberate step toward the curved staircase. “That was a heavy object being dragged across the floor. Someone—or something—is up there.”
He started toward the stairs, but Elena moved with surprising speed, stepping directly into his path and planting her hand flat against his chest. Her red dress rustled sharply against his dark grey suit.
“You are not going up there,” Elena said, her voice dropping all pretense of warmth. “If you go up those stairs, you are breaking the agreement we signed when we purchased this property. You will destroy everything we’ve built.”
“My son is terrified of whatever is locked behind that door,” Ricardo growled, brushing her hand away with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Property agreements don't override child safety.”
He bypassed her and took the first two steps of the grand staircase. The wood groaned beneath his heavy shoes. Below him, Leo let out a sharp, panicked sob, scrambling backward on the white carpet until his back hit the baseboard.
“Dad, don’t!” Leo screamed, his voice breaking into a desperate wail that echoed off the high glass walls. “If you open it, she’ll make me go back inside the box!”
Ricardo froze halfway up the staircase. He turned his head slowly, looking down at his son. The word box hung in the air between them, heavy and incomprehensible.
“What box, Leo?” Ricardo asked, his heart hammering against his ribs.
May you like
Leo buried his face in his hands, his small shoulders shaking violently as he pointed a trembling finger not at Elena, but directly at the small wooden toy house sitting beside him on the carpet.
Ricardo’s eyes drifted back down to the toy house. Only now, as the afternoon light shifted through the glass hallway, he noticed something horrifying: the tiny windows of the wooden model were glowing from within with a faint, amber light.
