The mansion looked beautiful in the daylight. Its wide halls, polished wood, and ancient paintings gave it an old-world charm. But when night fell, beauty turned into something else—something unsettling. The silence of the house wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, almost suffocating.
Belle had never liked silence, and here it was everywhere. The walls seemed to breathe, the floor whispered under her steps, and every corner carried shadows that never disappeared.
On their first evening in the mansion, her parents had given her a warning.
"Belle, promise us you will never open the attic door. That place isn't safe."
She had nodded, but her curiosity had already started burning. Why forbid her from a room that was hers to explore?
That night, while the rest of the family slept, Belle found herself restless. She tossed and turned, but her eyes kept drifting toward the ceiling—the very direction of the locked attic. It felt as if something was calling her name, pulling her upward with invisible strings.
Unable to resist, she slipped out of bed. The wooden floor was icy under her bare feet as she crept toward the staircase. Each step groaned under her weight, the sound sharp in the silence. The higher she climbed, the colder the air became, until goosebumps spread across her arms.
At the top of the stairs, the attic door waited. Dust covered its surface, the metal knob rusted and dark. Belle stared at it, her pulse quickening. It was just a door. Just a room. So why did her chest feel so tight, as if her heart already knew what was behind it?
Her trembling hand reached for the knob. To her surprise, it turned easily, as if the lock had been waiting for her touch. The door opened with a long, aching creak.
A gust of cold air burst out, carrying the smell of damp wood and something older… something that sent a shiver through her soul.
Inside, the attic was dim. Moonlight spilled weakly through a cracked window, casting silver shapes on the floor. Dust floated in the beams of light, like tiny spirits dancing in the air.
Belle stepped inside slowly, her breath loud in her ears. The air was thick, heavy—like unseen eyes were watching her. Her skin prickled, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the chill that wasn't just from the cold.
She heard it then.
A whisper. Faint, almost lost in the silence.
"Belle…"
Her heart jumped into her throat. She spun around, searching the shadows, but there was nothing—no one. Only the sound of her own breathing.
She told herself it was just her imagination. Just the house settling. Just the wind. Yet deep inside, she felt it wasn't.
Her gaze lifted toward the corner near the window. The shadows there seemed darker, heavier, almost like the outline of someone standing still… watching.
Belle's breath caught. She blinked, and the shape dissolved into nothing. But her heart didn't stop racing.
There was someone here. She could feel it.
And somehow, it felt like he had been waiting for her.
Belle's lips trembled, and she backed away slowly toward the door. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, torn between fear and something else—a strange pull she couldn't explain, like a thread connecting her to the presence in the shadows.
She slipped out of the attic, pulling the door shut behind her. But the whisper lingered in her ears, soft and haunting, wrapping around her like a secret she couldn't escape.
For the first time, Belle realized the mansion wasn't empty.
And she wasn't alone.