Down and down the halls I went, weaving through rooms and hiking up stairwells. It felt like I was in a dream state, running from something I couldn’t place. It was like a screaming voice, but it was so faint that I couldn’t tell if it came from below the floorboards or from my own head. It didn’t matter how fast I went; it never overtook me, and I never outpaced it. It maintained its distance, as if to haunt me without needing to confront me. 

 

Occasionally I whipped my head back, convinced that someone was standing right behind me. I was always wrong, but the nagging feeling didn’t go away. 

 

It had continued to rain throughout the night, and it hadn’t let up. I had woken up to the sound of it, and deciding that I didn’t want to be invited to Holden’s cold breakfast, opted to disappear into the back ends of the house. But the more I walked, the more the halls and rooms seemed to grow darker and smaller, until I had completely lost my way.

 

I pressed onwards, speeding through the halls and kicking up the antique dust particles out of the thick, fibrous carpet. I was like a shadow, flitting in and out of doorways like a passing mirage.

 

I turned this way and that, running down the halls with reckless abandon. At one point, I slipped into an unlit room to take a break. Panting, I fumbled around for the light switch, but failed to find it. Then, I saw a glint of sunlight from under a heavy curtain at the other end of the room. I stumbled towards it, still trying to catch my breath, and pulled it back.

 

The sunlight flushed in, illuminating a wide room. It was filled with more shelves of dusty, tightly packed books. At the center of the room was a large grand piano, with stacks of sheet music on it and the floor around it. But I didn’t notice any of this. Because the statue of the veiled woman was standing right in front of me.

 

I jumped. She was so close, she could’ve kissed me on the lips just by leaning forward. I looked at her for a solid minute, forced myself to breathe, and reminded myself that she was just a statue. After a moment, I drew the courage to flip her veil back. 

 

Again, it was that same innocent, forlorn smile. She wouldn’t look at me; her eyes were fixed on the distance, as if she was waiting for her lover to return. Something told me that she would never see him again. I stared at her symmetrical features, awed. Her immeasurable beauty was calculated, scientific, intended. 

 

Then a warm breeze drifted in, shifting the curtains. The sunlight danced on the woman’s face, so that that sweet, hopeful smile was unstable, and in certain lightings, sinister.

 

An unease crept over me, until at last, I fled from the room. I ran and ran, and when I could run no further, I found the next nearest room and barged in.

 

Holden looked up, his eyebrows slightly raised with surprise. I stopped, breathing hard. My hair stuck to my moistened face. I had somehow made my way back to the sitting room with its green ribbed couch and antique television. Even the lifeless taxidermies were a welcome sight. What relief gushed over me, I don’t think Holden understood. But the good man had quickly recomposed himself. I stepped in and shut the door.

 

“A good morning to you, Sophie!” Holden sat on the couch with a book in his hand and a cup of tea in the other.

 

“Hi, Holden,” I said, pausing to catch my breath. “I am so glad to see you.” He would never know how much I meant what I said.

 

He smiled kindly, and gestured for me to sit down with him. Then he returned to his book. It was to be a quiet morning, then. But I had to ask.

 

“Holden,” I said. He looked up again. “I saw your sculpture — Angelina — in one of the back rooms. The one with the piano in it. She’s not in the hallway anymore.”

 

He eyed me questioningly. It was all I could do not to articulate my creeping suspicion that she had moved overnight of her own accord.

 

“Yes,” he said evenly, but again, I could tell that he was surprised by my reaction. “I moved her there, to give the house a new look, you know. What do you think of it?”

 

“Oh!” I replied. Suddenly, I felt silly again. “It does give the room a very nice touch.”

 

He returned to his book.

 

“Holden.” I interrupted again. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

 

He set down his book and cup of tea, giving me his full attention. A look of concern was on his face when he asked, “What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know,” I sighed, exasperated. “I just feel so paranoid. I feel unsafe. I mean there’s been no reason for me to, but I’m imagining all these creepy things. I can’t stop, either.”

 

“Well,” He was clearly at a loss for solutions. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sophie. Would my presence be of any comfort to you?”

 

I nodded. “Yes, actually. I would like that a lot.”

 

Holden smiled, flashing his white teeth at me. “That was all I needed to hear, my dear. I am at your disposal for the rest of this afternoon!”

 

I picked up my novel and flipped through the pages slowly. I heard a shuffling of papers, and saw Holden moving around out of the corner of my eye. When I finally raised my head to look at him, he had settled back down with a sketchpad in his lap and a pencil in his hand. As he drew, his eyes darted between my face and the paper. 

 

“Are you drawing me?” I asked.

 

“Wouldn’t want to waste the view,” Holden murmured, his eyes trained on the sketchpad.

 

We spent the rest of our day sitting together like this — I reading my book, Holden sketching my face. With him looking at me intently from time to time — not as a person that he knew, but as a series of shapes and shadows to be captured on a page — I could barely focus on the words. It was all I could do to stop my heart from beating loud enough for him to hear.

 

After fruitlessly reading the same sentence over and over for some time, I noticed Holden put down the sketchpad and look outside. I followed suit. 

 

The sky was a brilliant blue. Not a single cloud was in sight. Except for some shimmering dew drops in the grass, there was no way to know that there had been any rainfall at all.

 

“Look at that!” Holden beamed, turning back to me. “I am going to tend to the flowers right away. Would you like to join me?”

 

We left the house for the first time in days. It was a beautiful afternoon, complete with a gentle breeze and the faint smell of wet earth. Holden swerved past the broken porch without so much as batting an eye. He made a beeline for the side of the house, where a little fence protected the flower garden, now little more than a mound of mud.

 

Holden sighed. “I didn’t think the flowers would make it.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s alright,” he said, and got to his knees. He dug through the mud, found a spade, and got straight to work, all the while still in his brown suit and red tie. 

 

I got to helping. He produced a few seed packets from his coat pocket and I dug shallow holes in the ground to accommodate them.

 

By the time Holden ruled that we had brought order to his garden again, I was sore, tired, and hungry. I retreated to my room, fell into bed, and was out like a light.

 

When I woke up to use the washroom, the sky was pitch black. I slid the covers off slowly and landed on the floor. I yawned, still half asleep, and dragged my feet lazily across the room. 

 

I stumbled over to the dresser, opening the drawers. I swept my hand through and groped for the room key, which clanked against the wood panelling to protest against my clumsy movements. I fit it into the keyhole, jangled it a couple times, and yanked the door open. 

 

I jumped. Holden was standing outside. He was still in his brown suit and red tie, but it was more crumpled than ever. A cufflink hung precariously off his wrist, and one of his collars stuck up like a corgi dog’s ear. His face was ghostly in the dim hallway lamplight. His hair was a messy mass, as if his hair had grown out by a foot overnight, and most unsettling of all, his eyes twitched with a crazed look. 

 

“Holden?” I gasped, my heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I told you before,” he huffed and puffed. Spittle shot out from between his red, swollen lips. “You’re not supposed to make any noise!”

 

I was frozen in horror. His mouth contorted into strange shapes. His hands gestured at me violently. I could see the whites surrounding his pin-hole irises. He was so unlike the kind, welcome host that I trusted. For a moment I wondered if he — or it — was Holden at all.

 

“I only woke to go to the bathroom,” I defended myself weakly.

 

“But I heard you,” he rasped, stepping closer to me. His eyes widened even further. “I heard you jump off the bed, and shake your nightstand for the keys! There can be no noise!”

 

“I’m sorry!” I wept. “I didn’t know—”

 

“All my friends are able to abide by the rules, so why can’t you?” he continued, bending his head towards mine. His teeth were bared, and they flashed even in the darkness. What friends? My heart cried. There were no servants, no lodgers, not even a co-host. I stared up at his face in horror, and it clicked only moments later that the only friends he could be talking about were his taxidermies and his terrible, terrible statue.

 

“So why can’t you!” he hissed again. His voice harmonised with itself. “It was a simple rule! Don’t be heard!”

 

Before I could respond, he closed the door and locked it with his own key. I hurriedly drew the curtains and leapt back into bed. I desperately needed the washroom, but the thought of stepping back outside terrified me to no end. I waited with bated breath as my heart thundered in my ears, watching the sky slowly turn from black to blue. And at that moment, as afraid of Holden as I was, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else that was listening, something that Holden was afraid of waking. I decided then and there that I would leave when it was light. 

 

With my muscles taut and my skin clammy with sweat, I fell in and out of a horrible sleep. Once or twice, I imagined that I heard footsteps approaching, then stopping, outside. It was as if Holden, pacing disconcertedly with that same wild look in his eye — or some other secret guardian of the house — had stationed itself by my door to listen.