Chapter 1 - The Cold Room
The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall with a deafening crack.
Mr. Morrison stood in the doorway, his chest heaving under his tailored suit.
His eyes burned with furious disgust as he glared at the grand four-poster bed.
Under the thick white duvet, Clara sat frozen, shielding two small, shivering bodies.
"What are you doing in this bed?" Mr. Morrison growled, his voice trembling with rage.
He marched into the room, his leather shoes heavy against the hardwood floor.
"I hired you to clean, not to touch my children!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her.
Clara pulled the two young boys tighter against her chest.
Tears welled in her eyes, glittering under the dim ambient light of the nightstand lamp.
She looked up at the intimidating man without flinching.
"They weren't crying because they were cold, Mr. Morrison," she said softly, her voice cracking with emotion.
"They just wanted to know someone noticed," she whispered.
Mr. Morrison’s face instantly drained of color.
His raised hand trembled in mid-air.
The angry words died in his throat as a suffocating silence blanketed the bedroom.
He took a slow step backward, his eyes widening in shock.
His gaze drifted past Clara, landing on the gilded frame hanging on the wall.
The portrait of his late wife, Julianne, stared back at him with serene, painted eyes.
A cold breeze suddenly swept through the tightly closed room.
The shadows around the painting seemed to stretch and deepen.
Clara noticed his sudden trance and slowly lowered her head toward the boys.
"They've been afraid every single night, sir," Clara added, her voice barely audible.
"They think the ghost in the picture comes down when the lights go off."
Mr. Morrison’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.
"Leave," he snapped, his voice barely a whisper yet razor-sharp.
"Excuse me?" Clara asked, rising slowly from the bed.
"Get out of this room immediately," he demanded, staring intently into her eyes.
Clara smoothed her black maid dress and adjusted her white collar.
"I won't abandon these children to your coldness," she said firmly.
Mr. Morrison took three rapid strides until he was inches from her face.
"You are nanny number six in eight months, Clara," he whispered dangerously.
"Do you know why the previous five left?"
Clara held her breath, staring into his dark, unblinking eyes.
"They didn't quit," he whispered, leaning closer.
"They disappeared."
Before Clara could process the horrifying words, a muffled thud echoed from inside the hallway closet behind them.
May you like
Both of them snapped their heads toward the dark corner of the room.
The door to the closet slowly creaked open on its own.
