Settling In
February 12
The first morning in the Miraj Al-Ghaib Estate dawned with a pallid light, filtered through the thick drapes that guarded the windows. Thomas was up before anyone else, already orchestrating the day's tasks with a precision that brooked no deviation.
"Laura, ensure the kitchen is set up first. I want breakfast at eight sharp," Thomas declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved from room to room, dictating where every piece of furniture should go, his eyes critical and sharp.
Laura nodded, her movements measured and careful. She found herself triple-checking everything, wary of triggering Thomas's ire. The children, Emily and Sam, kept their heads down, diligently following their father’s instructions.
"Emily, those books go on the second shelf, not the first. How many times must I tell you?" Thomas snapped.
Emily flinched, quickly correcting her mistake. Sam, struggling with a heavy box, cast a nervous glance at his father, who watched like a hawk.
"Sam, lift with your legs, not your back. And be careful not to scratch the floor," Thomas barked. His voice echoed in the spacious, silent halls, the mansion seeming to absorb his authority and amplify it.
As the day wore on, Laura found herself in the kitchen, meticulously organizing the cabinets. The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional creak of the old house settling. She paused, sensing a presence behind her, but when she turned, the room was empty. A faint chill lingered in the air, but she shook it off and continued her work.
Upstairs, Emily was arranging her room under Thomas’s watchful eye. "This goes here, and that over there," he directed, his hands on his hips. Emily nodded, her small hands trembling as she followed his orders.
In the hallway, Sam was hanging a mirror when it suddenly slipped from his grasp. He managed to catch it just in time, but not before it hit the wall with a soft thud.
"Careful, Sam!" Thomas's voice boomed. "Do you want to ruin everything on the first day?"
Sam mumbled an apology, his face flushed with fear and embarrassment. Thomas sighed dramatically, shaking his head in disappointment. "I can't leave anything to you, can I?"
Laura, hearing the commotion, hurried upstairs. She placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, but Thomas's glare made her withdraw it quickly. "I’ll take care of it," she said softly, hoping to defuse the tension.
The day dragged on, each family member isolated in their tasks, the weight of Thomas's control pressing down on them. As evening approached, small, inexplicable occurrences began to unsettle them. The chandelier in the dining room swayed gently despite the absence of any breeze. Shadows seemed to shift and flicker at the edge of their vision, only to be gone when they turned to look.
At dinner, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Thomas, as always, dominated the conversation, discussing his grand plans for the estate while ignoring the unease that clouded his family's faces.
"Tomorrow, we'll tackle the library," he announced. "I want everything in its place. No exceptions."
Laura nodded, her mind elsewhere. She had noticed small things throughout the day – objects not where she had left them, the temperature dropping suddenly, the faint sound of whispers just beyond hearing. She dared not mention these to Thomas, knowing he would dismiss her concerns and belittle her for even suggesting something was amiss.
That night, as they prepared for bed, Laura felt a growing sense of dread. She tried to brush it off, attributing it to the stress of the move and Thomas's relentless demands. But as she lay in bed, she heard a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," she whispered, expecting one of the children.
The door creaked open, but no one entered. The hall beyond was dark, the shadows deep and impenetrable. Laura's heart raced. She got up and peered into the hallway, but there was nothing there. Just the empty, echoing silence of the old mansion.
She closed the door, her hand trembling. As she turned back to the room, she noticed that the mirror on the dresser was slightly askew. She knew she had straightened it earlier. The chill returned, seeping into her bones.
"Thomas," she whispered, but he was already asleep, oblivious to her unease.
Laura lay back down, pulling the covers up to her chin. The whispering woods outside seemed to grow louder, their secrets pressing against the walls. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound, but sleep would not come.
In the darkness, the mansion seemed to breathe, its ancient stones whispering tales of those who had come before. Tales of control, despair, and the relentless grip of something far more malevolent than Thomas's tyranny.
As the night deepened, the small, unsettling details persisted. A soft knock here, a fleeting shadow there, the sense of being watched. Laura's fear grew, a silent, creeping dread that wrapped around her like a shroud.
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