The warning Beneath
Chapter 5 – The Warning Beneath
Ava sat stiffly at the edge of her bed, her breaths shallow, her eyes still locked on the window where the figure had stood only moments ago. Damon had searched the grounds, found nothing, and left with a warning disguised as concern. But Ava knew what she’d seen. She hadn’t imagined it.
That woman had been real.
The house had come alive with silence afterward. A silence that felt far too deliberate—as though the very walls were waiting to hear her next move. The fire in her bedroom crackled, offering a false sense of safety. She didn’t sleep. Not even for a second.
When morning came, Ava's eyes burned from exhaustion. She barely touched the breakfast Margaret brought, her appetite lost somewhere between the secret passage and the voice whispering her name through the floorboards.
She dressed in silence and made her way through the corridors like a ghost. As she passed one of the arched hallways, a door creaked open at the end. Her heart lurched, but it was just Emilia.
The little girl stood barefoot, holding her doll by the arm, staring at her like she’d been waiting.
"You saw her, didn’t you?" Emilia said.
Ava's throat tightened. "Who?"
Emilia's eyes didn’t blink. "The woman in white. She likes to watch new people. But she doesn’t like it when they find the hidden places."
Ava knelt slowly. "Why, Emilia? What does she want?"
The girl looked down at her doll. "She says you’re like Evelyn. Curious. And broken."
A chill trickled down Ava's spine. "Is that what she told you?"
Emilia nodded. "She says if you don’t leave, he’ll break you too."
---
The words haunted Ava for the rest of the day. Every corner of the estate felt sharper. The hallways longer. The shadows darker.
When she passed the grand portrait in the main corridor—Damon standing beside a faceless woman painted in soft whites—Ava’s chest tightened. The likeness had always been blurred, worn by time or maybe by intent.
Was it Evelyn?
Or someone else?
She wanted to confront Damon again. Demand the truth. But she didn’t know how to ask questions without crossing the lines he’d drawn in silence and threats.
Instead, she retreated to the library—the only room where she felt like she could still breathe. Her fingers skimmed the spines of books until she found an old volume of estate records and tucked herself into the farthest corner.
The book was heavy and yellowed with age. Inside were notes about renovations, staff changes, and one page she wasn’t meant to see:
East Wing Servants’ Quarters: Renovated after Incident. Access sealed. Do not reassign.
There were initials signed below it: D.B.
Her pulse quickened. The word incident leapt from the page.
There had been something. Something that forced Damon to bury part of the house—maybe part of himself. And now, it was clawing its way back through the walls.
---
That night, Ava didn’t wait for the humming. She went back to the passage.
This time, she brought a flashlight, gloves, and a small knife—just in case.
She moved quickly through the hidden tunnel, her footfalls quieter, more confident. When she reached the small room again, she noticed something new: a scrap of paper under the bed.
She pulled it free and unfolded it.
A letter.
If you find this, don’t trust him. He says love, but he means control. He says safety, but he means silence. I was like you once. Curious. Lonely. Don’t let him choose your ending.
It wasn’t signed, but the handwriting matched the back of the photograph she had hidden in her drawer.
It had to be Evelyn.
And Evelyn hadn’t left. Not willingly.
---
She returned to her room and tucked the note into the bottom of her suitcase.
When she turned, Damon was standing in her doorway.
Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t heard him come.
"You’ve been busy," he said, voice calm, almost amused.
Ava’s fingers clenched. "You should knock."
He stepped inside. "It’s my house."
She didn’t back away, even as he came closer. "What happened to Evelyn?"
His face gave nothing. "You already know more than you should."
"That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’ll get tonight."
He stepped closer, and for a moment, the cold mask he always wore cracked. His eyes weren’t empty—they were full of something darker. Guilt. Rage. Maybe grief.
"Some stories were never meant to be rewritten, Ava. Let this one die."
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"Before it buries you too."
Then he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.
---
The following day, Ava found Emilia in the garden. The child had dug a hole in the dirt and was burying her doll.
Ava crouched beside her. "What are you doing?"
"She told me to," Emilia said without looking up.
"Who did?"
Emilia patted the dirt. "She said the doll listens too much. She doesn’t like spies."
Ava’s voice trembled. "Is she talking to you now?"
Emilia shook her head. "Not today. She’s angry."
Ava stood slowly. The air around the garden had changed. It was heavier. Still.
Like something watched from the trees.
---
That night, Ava didn’t sleep again. The whispering didn’t come. Neither did the humming.
Only silence.
And that, somehow, was worse.
Just after midnight, she heard a creak.
The door to her room swung open on its own.
She rose, flashlight in hand, and stepped into the hallway.
Empty.
Except the portrait at the end of the corridor—the one of Damon and the faceless woman—was gone.
In its place hung a mirror.
Her own reflection stared back at her.
But behind her—just for a breath—stood a woman in white, eyes hollow, mouth parted as if to scream.
When Ava turned around, the hallway was empty.
She faced the mirror again.
The woman was gone.
But the words GET OUT were now etched in the glass.
Not scratched.
Written.
In something dark.
Thick.
Wet.
Ava stumbled backward, chest heaving.
This house wasn’t just haunted.
It was warning her.
And if she didn’t listen soon...
It might be too late.