Chapter 11 - The Reflection in the Glass
Ricardo staggered backward from the open closet, tripping over the scattered porcelain shards, his breath hitching in his throat. The boy with the solid black eyes smiled wider, slowly crawling out of the darkness on all fours like a spider, his joints popping with unnatural, mechanical snaps.
"You're not my son," Ricardo whispered in absolute horror, scrambling away across the splintered floorboards until his back slammed against the nursery's far wall.
"Whose son am I, then?" the entity hissed, its voice splitting into multiple discordant echoes that bounced off the unseen walls of the pitch-black room.
Before Ricardo could reply, a sharp, deafening crash echoed from the center of the room. The wooden floorboards in front of the crib splintered apart, plunging downward into a deep, vertical shaft filled with blinding white light and the sound of rushing water. From the depths of the chasm, a tall silhouette rose slowly into the room, wearing a sweeping one-shoulder maroon dress that billowed outward despite the lack of wind.
It was Elena, but her face was stretched into an impossible, wide grin that reached from ear to ear, her eyes completely devoid of pupils.
"You walked right into the trap, Ricardo," Elena’s voice echoed, sounding as though it were originating from the walls, the floor, and inside Ricardo’s own mind simultaneously. "Clara tried to warn you. The house feeds on blood and lineage. The moment you married into the family, your soul was notarized."
Ricardo pressed his hands flat against the wall behind him, searching frantically for a hidden latch, a secret door, anything to escape the nightmare closing in on him. His fingers brushed against a cold, vertical crack in the wood. With a desperate shove, a hidden panel swung inward, revealing a narrow, dust-choked staircase leading downward into total darkness.
Without looking back at the advancing entity or the monstrous figure of his wife, Ricardo dove headfirst into the dark shaft, tumbling down the steep wooden steps as the nursery door slammed shut behind him with a final, echoing crash.
He hit the bottom hard, the breath forced from his lungs in a painful gasp. He lay sprawled on a cold, smooth stone floor, the smell of damp earth filling his nose. As he slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, the dim emergency lights flickered on, revealing that he was back in the modern living room of the penthouse—except the furniture was entirely upside down, and the toy dollhouse on the white rug was bleeding thick, dark red liquid from its tiny windows.
A small, familiar voice spoke from right beside his ear.
May you like
"Look behind you, Dad," the real Leo whispered softly.
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