The hushing stopped, and all of a sudden, the air thickened.
The moment we stepped back from the golden book, something in the room changed. Almost as if it had been holding its breath and finally decided to exhale.
There was a sound of something wet and meaty falling to the floor. The shelves glitched. One of the glass cases cracked. The air itself tilted.
"... Did you hear that?" Prudence asked, voice already too quiet.
I nodded. But I didn't answer. My eyes were locked on the stone wall across from us.
It had just moved.
The spiral symbol carved into it was unraveling. Its outer edge rotating slowly, sloppily, until the grooves tore open like a wound. There was no wall anymore. Only something pulsing. Organic. Breathing.
And then the humming began.
Same as before. Soft, tuneless, almost sweet. But too loud. It filled the inside of my mouth, made my vision throb. It felt like hands brushing my skin from the inside.
The humming pulsed against my skull. Like something alive was crawling, spiralling inside.
———
I was ten, maybe eleven. I'd broken something and blamed it on the air.
My father didn't yell. He never yelled. He just brought me to the basement and into a cold, dark, operating room.
He only said, "Lies are a cancer."
Then he injected me with a syringe. Dread filled my senses, something in me knowing things were never going to be the same again. A few seconds later, I black out.
When I awoke, I noticed my parents' smiles were too wide, their eyes too big. But I never said anything to anyone. They were always watching.
I hated studying with him— he would make me recite things.
"What's the most dangerous thing in the world?"
"Cowards and hypocrites who pretend to be good," I'd say.
He'd smile. Genuinely.
Somewhere along the way, he became the very man he taught me to hate.
He started testing me around middle school. Made me watch grainy footage of vivisections, mostly dogs, their frantic struggles going slack under indifferent blades— and write what emotions I felt. Said it was for 'essay practice'.
If he thought I sounded too sympathetic, he'd make me do it again. 'To see real results, sometimes you need to make sacrifices'.
'As long as he's not doing it to any humans, right?'
... How was I so stupid?
———
With Prudence's scream acting as a cue, we ran.
The hallway outside was wrong again. This time, completely. No more flickering lights— now just red. Heavy, smearing red, like the hallway was underwater and bleeding. The smell hit me so hard I gagged— salt, rot, metal. Everything stung.
Behind us, the humming kept coming. It was chasing us without moving.
Every door we passed stretched taller than it should've. The floors spiralled. The ceiling curved. I couldn't tell if we were running in circles or toward something worse.
Prudence stumbled and caught herself on the wall.
"Don't stop," I gasped, "don't even think."
"I'm not—" she began, then broke off with a choked sob, "She's— She's in my head!"
I grabbed her arm. We didn't stop.
We hit the stairwell. It isn't even supposed to be here, we haven't reached the elevator. But we took it, up, up, stumbling over each other's feet. Our slippers slapped against cold wood until we reached the second floor landing.
The humming had stopped.
The silence didn't feel like relief. It felt like breath being held.
My house. This was my house again.
Sort of.
The floor creaked wrong and too loud. The kitchen table was upside down. Melted candles on a warped kitchen counter. One of the family photos on the wall showed my parents with spiralling eyes. It smelled like wax and something floral, despite nothing blooming— It smelled like her.
———
My mother used to light candles late at night. Not for prayer. Just to watch them melt. She had a pendant with a dried flower pressed in glass. She'd hold it between her fingers like it was a rosary.
Once, I asked who gave it to her. She said it was a memento from her friends. She told stories sometimes, about a boy and a girl she used to know. One was sunny, the other soft. She never said their names, but I've seen a photo of her with them.
One was a deep-skinned young man, bright and cheery. The other looked reserved and a bit gloomy, despite her small smile. With eyes so dark you could see your reflection. In between stood my mom, always so sweet.
Even now, I can remember the way she used to touch my hair after recounting those stories. Slow, like she was checking I was real.
It stood out. My strong mother— vulnerable.
She was way different now. Never faltering in her sweetness. Gushing sweet to the point of sickness.
Whenever we sparred, her eyes no longer had a glint of curiosity or playfulness— only emptiness and the cold. The praises she showered me with now hold the same weight as wisps of fog.
Everything she does feels like a performance.
———
"What's happening?" Prudence whispered.
"I think—" I swallowed, "I think we're not in either place anymore."
That's when we saw her.
Pale skin, vivid, spiralling, violet eyes, black hair— humming.
Her face was almost human. Her crimson smile almost kind. Her naked shape almost still. But everything about her shifted. Her limbs were too long. Her mouth moved before the sound. Her skin dripped like waterlogged flesh.
My brain suffered a sharp pain once again.
Humming was filling the air. This time, it wasn't just her voice. Theirs accompanied the melody.
And in that moment, my whole life split open.
I remembered the first time my dad smiled after hurting me. Like it was a gift he was giving.
I remembered the way my mom's eyes started glazing over around the time she stopped lighting candles. Like something was consoling her from behind.
I saw their strings. I saw the thing holding them.
And it was her.
She didn't move.
But I knew she would.
Dolores raised the red gun, hands trembling. The figure before him watched with an unsettling calm.
He squeezed the trigger.
The bullet sped forward but vanished as it struck her chest, sinking into flesh like it was melting into liquid.
The agony hit him before he could even blink. A white-hot spike of pain erupted through his arm, crawling up his nerves and crashing into his mind like a tidal wave.
His vision blurred. His muscles locked, refusing to obey. Panic clawed at his chest, sharper than any wound.
He collapsed, the gun slipping from his grasp.
He had no idea what just happened. Only that whatever this weapon was, it wasn't like any ordinary gun— and it had just turned its power against him.
Prudence's hand found mine, pulling me up. I felt her shaking again, "We need to go," I said.
With all my strength, I looked behind me. Looked ahead.
The balcony doors were open.
And beyond them— night wind. A storm. A two-story drop.
But it was the only thing that didn't feel warped.
I looked at her.
And she nodded.