Kyle sat on the edge of his bed, his nerves still raw from the day's events. The mansion was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed to hum in the air, making the silence feel thick and heavy. As he sat there, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled over him, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," Kyle called out, his voice sounding small in the large room. The door creaked open, and a tall man stepped inside, dressed in a neat black suit. He had graying hair slicked back and a thin mustache, the kind that belonged in a different era.
"Good evening, Mr. Rivers," the man said, his voice deep and low. "My name is John Carson. I'm the butler here, and I'm here to welcome you to the Rivers family estate. Dinner is being prepared as we speak, and I thought I'd let you know so you can join the family shortly."
Kyle stood, nodding slightly as he processed the man's words. The idea of having a butler, someone who called him 'Mr. Rivers,' felt odd. It was as though he had been dropped into someone else's life, a life far removed from the one he knew. He moved to follow John toward the hallway, but just as he passed the man, John's hand shot out, gripping Kyle's arm with surprising force.
"Listen to me," John whispered, his voice low and urgent, his eyes narrowing as they met Kyle's. "It was a mistake for you to come here. You don't belong in this house, and if you know what's good for you, you'll leave. Now."
The grip tightened just for a moment before Kyle jerked his arm free, a flare of anger and confusion rising up inside him. "What the hell is your problem?" Kyle spat, shoving John's hand away as if to brush off the encounter. He didn't bother to wait for an answer, marching down the hallway and muttering under his breath, "Asshole."
As Kyle walked away, he could feel John's gaze on his back, like a cold weight pressing into him. He shook off the lingering discomfort and headed downstairs, where he found Isaac waiting for him in the grand hall.
"Ah, there you are," Isaac greeted him warmly. "There's something I'd like to show you before we head to dinner." He reached over to a side table and picked up a leather-bound photo album, handing it to Kyle with a small, encouraging smile.
Kyle took the album, feeling the weight of it in his hands, the leather soft and worn from years of use. He opened it slowly, the pages crackling as he turned them. The first photograph was of a baby, a chubby little boy, bundled in blankets. His eyes drifted to the notes scribbled beneath the photos, "Ethan, 5 months."
"That's you," Isaac said quietly, standing beside him. "You were such a happy baby. And here," he flipped a few pages, "are your parents."
Kyle stared at the photo, feeling a strange mixture of warmth and sorrow. His parents looked young, full of life, with their arms wrapped around the baby version of himself. His father's broad smile mirrored his own, and he had the same dark eyes with his mum. "You really do look like him," Isaac continued, glancing at Kyle's face. "The resemblance is uncanny."
As Kyle was about to close the album, something caught his eye. On the wall beside them was a large family portrait, framed in ornate gold. It was from years ago, but even in the faded colors of the photograph, he could make out the faces clearly. There was his father as a young boy, standing proudly beside a man and a woman who must have been his grandparents. But there was someone else too, a young girl, perhaps around ten or eleven, her hair tied back with a white ribbon, a solemn look on her face.
Kyle's heart skipped a beat. There was something oddly familiar about her. She resembled the faint, ghostly image he thought he had seen in the mirror earlier, pale and distant, almost as if she had been there with him, just for a moment.
"Who's the girl?" Kyle asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Isaac's smile faded slightly. "That was our sister, Eleanor," he said after a pause. "She was the first born, a few years older than your father. But… she died when she was very young."
Kyle's brow furrowed as he looked at the picture again. "How did she die?" he asked, a sense of dread building in his chest.
Isaac's jaw tightened. "It's not something we talk about much," he said, his tone suddenly curt. "The details aren't important. She's… she's gone. That's all that matters."
Kyle wanted to push for more, but the sudden shift in Isaac's demeanor made him hesitate. There was a shadow in Isaac's eyes, a darkness that seemed to crawl out of the past and into the present, filling the space between them. Before Kyle could say anything else, Isaac clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Dinner must be getting cold. Let's not keep everyone waiting."
As they walked toward the dining room, Kyle couldn't shake the image of Eleanor's face. There was something about her expression in that photograph, it wasn't just solemn; it was almost fearful, as though she knew something terrible was coming.
The dining room was grand, with a long table that seemed to stretch on forever, lined with elegant silverware and tall, flickering candles. The other family members were already seated, their conversations quieting as Kyle entered. He took a seat beside Isaac, and as he did, his gaze wandered around the room. More portraits hung on the walls, each one like a window into the past, each face watching him as he sat there.
Dinner was served, roast beef, mashed potatoes, and a variety of side dishes that looked far too lavish for an ordinary meal. As the family ate, Kyle felt the weight of their gazes on him, as though they were studying his every move, waiting for something. The conversations resumed, but it all felt distant, like he was listening through a thick wall of glass.
He picked at his food, his mind still circling back to John's warning. It echoed in his head, louder than the idle chatter around him. Why had he said that? Why would he claim Kyle didn't belong here?
Suddenly, there was a loud clatter. Kyle snapped back to reality and saw that Elise had dropped her fork, her face turning pale. Her eyes were fixed on the large mirror at the far end of the room. Kyle followed her gaze, but he didn't see anything unusual, just their reflections… or was there something more?
There, just for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a young girl's face beside his own in the mirror, her wide, frightened eyes staring right at him. It was Eleanor, he was sure of it. But when he blinked, she was gone, and all that was left was his own pale reflection staring back.
Isaac touched his arm, pulling him out of his daze. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern in his eyes.
Kyle nodded, though his heart was still pounding. "Yeah," he said, his voice unsteady. "Just… a bit tired."
Isaac didn't press further, but there was a look in his eyes that told Kyle he had noticed something too, something he wasn't sharing. As dinner continued, Kyle couldn't help but feel that the house was alive in its own way, watching him, whispering to him, and that the truth behind Eleanor's death was more than just a tragic memory.