It had been a week since Theodore arrived at the ghost woman's house. He lay on the old, creaking bed, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his once-vibrant demeanor had dulled. His nose, once repulsed by the constant stench of blood and dust, had grown accustomed to it.
Theodore sighed deeply. His days blurred together in a monotonous cycle of eating, playing with decayed toys, and sleeping. And every night, without fail, he would wake to find the ghost staring at him while he slept, her unblinking eyes glowing faintly in the dark. The image of her looming figure sent shivers down his spine.
"I just want this to end," he whispered to himself.
Sitting up, he found himself wondering about the others. Were the teachers and students still searching for him? Did they even care? A bitter smile spread across his face. "Why would they?" he muttered. "I'm just the abandoned prince. No one cares about me."
But the thought lingered longer than he wanted to admit.
Suddenly, he heard the heavy footsteps of the ghost woman approaching. "She's back," he muttered. Bracing himself, he sat up straighter.
The ghost entered the room, her towering figure nearly scraping the doorframe. In one hand, she carried a cluster of tiny baby rabbits, their soft bodies trembling. In her other hand was the mother rabbit, struggling and breathing erratically.
Theodore's stomach sank.
Is she really going to feed me those baby rabbits?
The ghost placed the mother rabbit on the ground, pinning it down with her massive foot. Her clawed toes pressed into the floor, trapping the rabbit as it struggled to break free.
Then, without hesitation, she grasped one of the baby rabbits in her long, spindly fingers and snapped its neck. The tiny creature's squeal of pain pierced the silence. Theodore turned his head away, unable to watch as she killed each baby one by one.
His eyes flicked to the mother rabbit, who was frantically trying to escape. Her eyes were wide with desperation as her children were slaughtered before her.
A wave of disgust and sorrow hit Theodore. How could someone—human or ghost—be so cruel? Didn't she once have children of her own? How could she so easily take the lives of innocent creatures?
Theodore's expression must have betrayed his emotions because the ghost turned to him, tilting her head. She approached him, lifting him up as if he were a doll. Her cold, clawed hands cradled him like a baby. Humiliation burned in Theodore's chest, but he forced himself to remain calm.
The ghost carried him downstairs to the dining table, where she placed him in a chair and laid the six baby rabbits on a broken, dusty plate. Their lifeless bodies were motionless as she began slicing them up with her claws.
Theodore's stomach churned, but he showed no outward reaction. His ability to endure these horrors had grown over the past week. Each time he swallowed a bite of raw, bloody meat, he used the fire magic inside his body to burn it away. The food never actually reached his stomach raw, but the mental toll of eating it was undeniable.
The ghost seemed pleased as she devoured the mother rabbit alive. The sickening crunch of bones echoed through the room as Theodore forced down his meal, his hands trembling with each bite.
Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. "Enough!" he snapped, slamming the plate down.
The ghost paused, tilting her head. Her cracked voice broke the silence as she began to hum that same haunting lullaby.
The ghost's voice filled the room, soft yet fractured, as though the notes were tearing through her.
"Oh my love, my little sunshine,
Where did you go and leave me behind?
I miss your smile, your laughter,
The joy you brought to my weary mind.
My heart feels like a shattered sea,
Where each wave of grief crashes down upon me.
My life is now like a sunless sky,
Where hope and joy have said goodbye."
Theodore froze, his anger forgotten as he listened. The sorrow in her voice felt almost human. It was as if, in her cracked and monstrous form, she carried the unbearable weight of grief.
When the song ended, the ghost smiled down at him, her sharp teeth gleaming.
"Let's… play… a game," she said, her voice childlike yet chilling.
"A game?" Theodore repeated, wary.
"Like… the old times," she said, patting his head.
Theodore clenched his jaw. Old times? She still doesn't realize I'm not her son. But he nodded. If playing along would get her to open up about the curse and the truth of the village, he would do it.
"Fine," he said. "But I don't want to play with those toys." He gestured toward the rusty, decayed pile. "Can't we play something else?"
The ghost tilted her head again, her grin widening unnaturally.
"Then… play… hide-hide."
Theodore blinked, confused. "Hide-hide?"
"You… hide. Me… find."
Realization dawned on him. Hide-and-seek.
He nodded, thinking it was a simple game—one that wouldn't involve any grotesque horrors or raw meat. "Alright, let's play," he said.
The ghost's smile stretched even wider as she led him outside, into the sprawling dead field surrounding her house. The air was thick with rot, and the twisted remains of plants clawed at the sky like skeletal hands.
Theodore surveyed the field, spotting a few places where he could hide. This might actually be bearable.
"You… hide now," the ghost said, turning her back to him and closing her eyes. Her crackling voice began counting slowly. "One… two… three…"
Theodore darted away, looking for a good hiding spot. As he crouched behind a crumbled stone wall, he felt a brief moment of calm.
But then, he felt it.
The air grew colder, heavy with malice. A dark, suffocating aura spread across the field like a wave. Theodore's stomach tightened as he realized this wasn't a simple game.
This is going to be a nightmare.