Chapter 5
What Lurks Between
The bathroom door creaked open slowly.
Calathea looked up from the sink where she had been staring at her reflection for the last several minutes, trying to steady herself. Her thoughts were tangled, looping endlessly through what she had just seen upstairs.
The painting.
She had watched the empty frame fill itself. The brush strokes forming out of nothing. The image appearing like something remembering itself.
It wasn’t possible.
Yet it had happened.
The door opened wider.
Mallory stepped inside.
Her face looked pale—far more pale than Calathea had ever seen it. Her hair clung damply to her cheeks like she had been running.
“Mallory?” Calathea asked.
Mallory shut the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment like she needed the support.
“Where’s Jeffrey?” Calathea asked.
Mallory didn’t answer right away.
Instead she walked over and sat on the edge of the bathtub.
Her voice came out quieter than usual.
“He’s gone.”
Calathea blinked.
“What do you mean gone?”
Mallory looked up.
“Something in this house took him.”
The words hung in the air like a weight.
Calathea laughed softly under her breath, though it didn’t sound amused. It sounded nervous.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Let’s—let’s think about that for a second.”
She began pacing the bathroom, instinctively shifting into the analytical patterns her mind used when solving electrical systems.
“Old houses have weird acoustics. Visual distortions. Alcohol messes with depth perception. That painting—there could’ve been some kind of projection system or—”
“Calathea.”
Mallory’s voice cut through her explanation.
Calathea stopped pacing.
Mallory looked directly at her.
“You’re not drunk.”
Calathea hesitated.
Mallory continued.
“You saw that painting happen.”
Calathea swallowed.
“…Yes.”
“And you felt it too, didn’t you?” Mallory said. “When you walked into this house. Like something was watching you.”
Calathea didn’t answer.
Because the answer was obvious.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly.
Mallory leaned forward.
“That thing… whatever it is… it’s attached to this mansion. And it took Jeffrey.”
Calathea’s mind raced.
Her logical training wanted to reject everything she was hearing.
But the memory of that painting forming itself inside the frame refused to disappear.
Something in the mansion was operating outside the rules she understood.
And if that was true…
Then Jeffrey might actually be in danger.
Across the estate grounds, laughter drifted through the humid night air.
Brandy stumbled slightly as she walked across the grass, her arm wrapped around Caleb’s shoulders.
“You’re walking crooked,” Caleb teased.
“I’m walking perfectly fine,” she replied, though she bumped into him again as she laughed.
The party music was faint now, barely audible from the mansion behind them.
They had spotted the greenhouse earlier from one of the upstairs windows.
A tall glass structure standing quietly near the edge of the property.
Now the moonlight reflected across its panels as they approached.
“This place is huge,” Brandy said.
Caleb pushed open the greenhouse door.
It creaked softly.
Warm air rolled out toward them, thick with the scent of soil and plants.
Inside, rows of greenery stretched beneath the glass ceiling.
Moonlight filtered through the panes above, casting pale silver patterns across the floor.
“Okay,” Brandy said with a grin. “This might actually be the coolest place here.”
She stepped inside.
Caleb followed behind her, closing the door with a soft click.
Brandy wandered between the rows of plants, touching the leaves as she walked.
“Imagine owning this place,” she said.
Caleb shrugged.
“I’d get lost in it.”
Brandy laughed and turned toward him.
He stepped closer.
They wrapped their arms around each other.
Their laughter faded into quiet murmurs and soft kisses as they leaned against one of the wooden planter tables.
Brandy closed her eyes.
Caleb stepped behind her, pulling her gently against his chest.
His arms slid around her waist.
His hands glided slowly along the sides of her body.
For a moment she smiled.
Then something felt… wrong.
His fingers felt stiff.
Not warm.
Not flexible.
Rigid.
Her smile faded.
Slowly, Brandy opened her eyes.
She looked down at the hands resting against her.
They weren’t Caleb’s hands.
The fingers were too long.
The skin looked pale and cracked.
The nails were yellow and thick, curling slightly at the tips.
The joints bent at strange angles like brittle branches.
Brandy gasped and lurched forward, ripping herself out of the embrace.
She spun around.
Caleb stood there, confused.
“Whoa—hey—what happened?”
His hands looked completely normal.
Warm.
Human.
Brandy stared at him.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“You…” she said shakily.
“What?”
She looked back down at his hands.
Normal.
She shook her head, forcing a nervous laugh.
“Nothing.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow.
“You sure?”
Brandy nodded quickly, though the uneasy feeling still crawled across her skin.
“Yeah… I just thought I saw something.”
Outside the greenhouse, the wind rustled softly through the trees.
And for just a moment—
Something moved along the glass behind Caleb.
Watching them.
The greenhouse felt warmer the longer Brandy stayed inside it.
Not uncomfortably warm.
Just… heavy.
The air smelled like damp soil and sweet leaves. Moonlight filtered through the glass ceiling in pale silver beams, making the rows of plants look almost dreamlike.
Brandy shook off the strange feeling from a moment ago.
She had definitely imagined those hands.
Too much wine.
Too many weird vibes from that mansion.
Caleb stepped closer again.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Brandy laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah. I think the wine finally caught up with me.”
Caleb smiled.
His expression looked warm. Easy. Familiar.
The kind of smile that made the whole mansion feel far away.
“Good,” he said.
He stepped closer, sliding an arm around her waist again.
This time his hands felt normal.
Warm.
Human.
Brandy leaned into him and kissed him.
The greenhouse seemed to quiet around them as they moved slowly between the planter tables, their laughter fading into soft whispers and kisses.
Outside, the wind brushed softly against the glass.
Inside Brandy’s mind, something stirred.
For a moment, she felt a flicker of unease.
A tiny voice in the back of her thoughts whispering:
Something is wrong.
But then Caleb’s fingers brushed along her back and the feeling faded again.
She kissed him deeper.
And the whisper disappeared.
Caleb watched her.
Carefully.
The smile on his face never faltered.
But the thing behind the smile was not Caleb.
Not really.
It had been weak earlier that night.
Barely able to reach beyond the walls of the mansion.
Barely able to whisper into the thoughts of the living.
But when Jeffrey’s spirit slipped between the seams of reality—
When he fell into the Median—
The entity felt it.
Felt the energy spill outward like a crack in glass.
And it fed.
Not enough to fully leave the mansion.
Not enough to reveal itself.
But enough to reach.
Enough to touch minds.
Enough to bend perception.
The girl in front of it—Brandy—was easy to influence.
Her thoughts flickered like loose wires.
Alcohol.
Excitement.
Attraction.
All perfect openings.
So the entity wrapped itself gently around her imagination.
When doubt appeared…
It softened it.
When fear rose…
It blurred it.
When she looked at Caleb…
It made sure she saw Caleb.
Brandy laughed again as Caleb spun her gently toward one of the greenhouse benches.
“You’re trouble,” she said.
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“Am I?” he replied.
Their lips met again.
For a moment she closed her eyes.
And as she did—
Her mind flickered.
For just a second she saw something else.
The arms around her looked longer.
Too thin.
The fingers stretched slightly past where they should.
The nails curved faintly yellow at the tips.
Her eyes snapped open.
Caleb stood in front of her.
Normal.
Completely normal.
His hands rested softly against her waist.
“You alright?” he asked.
Brandy blinked.
Her heart skipped once in her chest.
“Yeah,” she said slowly.
“You look like you saw a ghost.”
She laughed nervously.
“Wouldn't surprise me in this place.”
He brushed his hand gently along her cheek.
“Just relax.”
The moment his fingers touched her skin, the unease melted again.
Like fog burning away under sunlight.
Her mind settled.
Her doubt quieted.
She leaned into him.
“Okay,” she said softly.
And kissed him again.
Behind Caleb’s eyes—
Something watched her.
Patient.
Calculating.
It could feel Jeffrey’s fading spirit drifting somewhere deeper in the Median.
A slow burning energy.
A battery it could draw from.
And every moment Brandy stayed here…
Every moment she stayed close…
The entity’s influence grew a little stronger.
Her thoughts were becoming easier to bend.
Soon…
She wouldn’t question anything at all.
Upstairs in the mansion hallway, the air had gone still.
Mallory and Calathea stood frozen in front of the painting.
Neither of them remembered moving closer to it, but somehow they now stood only a few feet away. The tall frame that had once been empty now held a fully formed image.
Mallory’s stomach dropped.
“Calathea…” she whispered.
Calathea didn’t respond.
She couldn’t.
The painting was finished.
Every brushstroke was now clear.
Jeffrey stared outward from the canvas.
But it wasn’t a portrait of him standing or smiling like the other paintings in the hall.
It showed him falling.
The background behind him wasn’t a room.
It was darkness.
Not simple darkness—depth.
A void stretching downward beneath him like an endless pit.
His arms were reaching upward as if trying to grab the edge of something that wasn’t there.
His mouth was open in a silent scream.
Mallory felt cold.
“He’s still alive,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Calathea tore her eyes away from the painting.
“How do you know?”
Mallory pointed.
Jeffrey’s eyes in the painting were moving.
Just slightly.
Not enough to notice at first glance.
But enough.
Like someone trapped behind glass.
Calathea’s voice trembled.
“That’s impossible…”
Then the lights in the hallway flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The hum inside the walls deepened.
And somewhere far below the mansion—
Something stirred.
Across the property, the greenhouse sat quietly under the moonlight.
Inside, Brandy and Caleb stood near the back wall, half-hidden by rows of tall plants.
The moment felt soft again.
The earlier unease had faded like a strange dream.
Brandy laughed quietly as Caleb pulled her closer.
“You’re trouble,” she said.
He smirked.
“You keep saying that.”
Their lips met again.
As they kissed, Brandy’s eyes drifted shut.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then she opened her eyes.
Across the greenhouse wall stood an old mirror.
Its surface was cloudy with age, fogged with streaks of time. Dark wooden trim carved with twisting patterns framed the glass.
Brandy hadn’t noticed it before.
But now she could see their reflection inside it.
She smiled slightly.
Then the smile faded.
The reflection of Caleb wasn’t Caleb.
In the mirror—
The thing holding her looked wrong.
Its body was stretched too tall.
Patches of gray, white, and black hair clung unevenly across its head like rotting fur.
Its skin looked pale and sunken.
The eyes were the worst.
Black.
Completely black.
They bulged outward from hollow sockets as they stared down at her.
Brandy’s breath caught in her throat.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
She lifted her head and turned toward Caleb.
For a split second—
He still looked normal.
The familiar face.
The same warm expression.
Then it changed.
The skin paled instantly.
The smile widened too far.
His eyes darkened into empty black pits.
The patches of wiry gray hair seemed to crawl across his scalp as his face twisted into something ancient and wrong.
Brandy screamed.
But the sound barely escaped her throat.
The thing grabbed her.
Its arms stretched around her body with unnatural strength.
She struggled, kicking and clawing at it.
“LET GO OF ME—”
The creature squeezed.
Her body compressed against its chest as though the thing was pulling her inward rather than simply holding her.
Her movements slowed.
Her breath crushed from her lungs.
The creature’s black eyes locked onto hers.
And then it turned.
Step by step, it walked toward the old mirror.
The foggy glass rippled faintly like disturbed water.
Brandy’s hands pressed against the surface as they reached it.
“No—no—”
The entity pushed forward.
The mirror swallowed them.
The glass folded inward around their bodies like liquid.
Then—
They were gone.
The greenhouse fell silent again.
The mirror’s surface slowly hardened back into dull, cloudy glass.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees.
And far away in the mansion—
Jeffrey’s painted hands pressed harder against the inside of the canvas.
Mallory stared at Jeffrey’s painted face.
His eyes still moved.
Barely.
But they moved.
It was like watching someone trapped behind thick glass, trying to signal for help through a world that couldn’t hear them.
Calathea’s breathing had slowed into a tense rhythm beside her as she studied the frame.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she whispered.
Her mind was still trying to map the situation onto something logical.
Some mechanism.
Some illusion.
Some kind of hidden projection system inside the walls.
But the longer she stared at the canvas, the more the explanation collapsed.
The paint was still wet.
Mallory noticed it first.
“Cal…”
Calathea leaned closer.
A thin line of fresh paint had appeared along the right side of the canvas.
Neither of them had touched it.
Neither of them had moved.
But the image was changing.
Mallory felt her chest tighten.
“Oh my god…”
Slowly, brushstrokes began forming beside Jeffrey.
Not from a brush.
From nothing.
Dark lines stretched outward across the canvas like invisible hands were painting in midair.
Calathea took a step back.
“That’s not possible.”
But it kept happening.
The outline of a second figure began forming next to Jeffrey.
At first it was only a shadow.
Then the shape of arms.
Then hair.
Mallory’s stomach dropped.
“No… no no no…”
The face started appearing.
Calathea’s voice came out as a whisper.
“…Brandy.”
The painting was showing her.
Brandy’s body twisted sideways like she had been forced against something unseen.
Her mouth was open in terror.
Her hands pressed outward against the darkness surrounding her.
Just like Jeffrey.
But unlike Jeffrey—
Her eyes were still wild with panic.
The brushstrokes kept forming.
More detail.
More fear.
Mallory felt her knees go weak.
“She was just here,” she said breathlessly.
“She was just—she was—”
Her voice cracked.
“How is this happening?!”
The question echoed down the hallway.
The mansion answered with silence.
Mallory grabbed the edge of the frame like she might rip it off the wall.
“What do we do?!”
Calathea’s mind was racing.
Faster than it ever had.
Something deep in her training kept clawing for control.
Systems.
Energy.
Circuits.
Every building operated on a network.
Even the strange ones.
The lights flickered again.
That hum inside the walls vibrated stronger.
Calathea suddenly looked toward the floor.
“The basement.”
Mallory turned toward her.
“What?”
Calathea stepped back from the painting.
“The electrical system in this house isn’t normal.”
“What does that have to do with this?!”
Calathea pointed at the flickering lights above them.
“Everything that happens in a structure runs through its energy system. If something in this house is affecting reality—”
Mallory cut her off.
“You think this is electricity?!”
“I think something is using the electrical grid like a nervous system,” Calathea said firmly.
Her voice carried the sharp focus of someone solving a problem under pressure.
“If there’s a source… it’ll be down there.”
Mallory shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re telling me your friend just got painted into a nightmare dimension and you’re going to go flip a breaker?”
Calathea grabbed her shoulders.
“I’m telling you that if something is powering whatever this is—then the basement is where we shut it down.”
Mallory hesitated.
Her eyes drifted back to the painting.
Brandy’s painted hands were moving now.
Scratching at the darkness surrounding her.
Mallory felt tears burn her eyes.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Calathea nodded once.
“I’m going downstairs.”
Mallory stepped back from the painting.
“And I’m finding Brandy.”
Outside the mansion, the night air had grown colder.
Mallory ran down the back steps and onto the gravel pathway, her mind racing.
The party noise had faded.
Most people had either wandered inside or drifted toward the grounds.
“Brandy!” she shouted.
Her voice carried across the lawn.
No answer.
The greenhouse.
Mallory took off running.
Inside the mansion, Calathea reached the basement door again.
The same door she had found earlier.
The same faint hum vibrating through the wood.
But now the sound was louder.
More alive.
She gripped the handle.
Her engineering instincts were screaming.
Something down there is wrong.
Not broken.
Not malfunctioning.
Wrong.
Like the wiring in this house wasn’t just feeding electricity.
Like it was feeding something
Calathea had meant to find the electrical panel.
The basement seemed simple enough at first—just a wide stone room lined with shelves and wine racks, the air cool and smelling faintly of dust, cork, and old wood. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, its filament buzzing softly as it flickered. Somewhere above, the distant echo of the party drifted through the floorboards—muffled laughter, a burst of music, someone shouting for another drink.
She followed the faint humming sound she’d noticed earlier, certain it had to be faulty wiring.
But then the hum changed.
Thum.
Calathea stopped.
She frowned slightly, tilting her head.
Thum… thum.
It wasn’t electrical.
It was rhythmic.
A drum.
She stood very still, listening. The sound seemed to vibrate through the walls themselves, low and steady like a heartbeat beneath the house.
Thum… thum… thum.
“That’s weird,” she murmured to herself.
Her family’s heirloom drum flashed in her mind instantly. The one she had unpacked earlier and set in her room upstairs. The drum that had belonged to her grandmother… and before that, her great-grandmother.
But that was impossible.
No one was in her room.
And even if someone had found it, it wasn't the kind of instrument someone casually picked up and played.
The rhythm came again, louder now.
THUM.
The bulb above her flickered hard, buzzing angrily.
Calathea slowly turned toward the staircase.
The sound was clearer now.
Not echoing.
Not traveling through pipes or wiring.
It was coming from upstairs.
From her room.
She climbed the basement steps cautiously, each step syncing with the strange rhythm.
Thum.
Step.
Thum.
Step.
By the time she reached the first floor landing, the music from the party filled the hallway. Someone whooped near the staircase. Glass clinked. A burst of laughter spilled from the living room.
Calathea paused.
She listened carefully.
The drum was louder than ever.
THUM… THUM… THUM.
It rolled through the hallway like distant thunder.
Yet no one reacted.
Two people brushed past her, carrying drinks, arguing about whether the pool lights should be turned purple.
Neither even glanced toward the sound.
Calathea looked back toward the party, confused.
“You guys hear that?” she asked.
One of them blinked at her.
“Hear what?”
She turned back toward the hallway.
The drum pounded again.
THUM.
The sound rattled the picture frames on the wall.
Or at least—it felt like it should have.
But the frames sat perfectly still.
No one else heard it.
Her stomach tightened.
The drumbeat shifted suddenly.
Faster now.
More urgent.
THUM-THUM… THUM-THUM… THUM-THUM.
It was calling her.
And there was no mistaking where it was coming from.
Calathea turned and began walking down the long hallway toward her room.
With every step, the rhythm grew louder… deeper… more alive.
By the time she reached her door, the drum sounded like it was being played right on the other side of it.
THUM.
The wood of the door trembled faintly beneath her fingertips.
Calathea hesitated.
The drum struck again.
THUM.
Not random.
Not chaotic.
Intentional.
Like a signal.
Or a warning.
She slowly pushed the door open.
Inside the room, moonlight spilled across the floor.
And in the center of it—
Her family’s heirloom drum.
Resting exactly where she had left it.
Moving.
The drum skin flexed inward and outward on its own, as if struck by invisible hands.
THUM.
Calathea stepped inside slowly, her eyes wide.
“Okay…” she whispered.
Her voice was barely audible over the pounding rhythm.
“That's definitely not electrical.”
The drum struck again.
Harder.
And for a moment—
Just a moment—
The sound didn’t feel like it was filling the room.
It felt like it was coming from somewhere much deeper.
From somewhere beneath the house.
Or somewhere beyond it.
And as Calathea stared at the drum, the rhythm shifted again.
Not random.
Not chaotic.
Structured.
Ancient.
Like a language she almost remembered how to understand.
Mallory pushed open the greenhouse door, the humid air wrapping around her instantly.
The space was quiet now.
Only moments ago it had been full of partygoers drifting in and out, laughing beneath the hanging vines and glass ceiling. Now the plants rustled softly as the night breeze slipped through the cracked panes overhead. Moonlight filtered through the glass roof, casting pale reflections across the tiled floor.
“Brandy?” Mallory called.
No answer.
She moved deeper through the greenhouse aisles, brushing past tall ferns and hanging ivy. Her pulse had begun to quicken. Something in her chest tugged at her—subtle but persistent. Not a sound. Not a sight.
A pull.
Mallory stopped.
She knew this feeling.
It was the same strange awareness she’d felt earlier when the mirror had taken Jeffrey.
Her eyes lifted slowly.
At the far end of the greenhouse stood the mirror.
Its wooden frame looked older than everything else in the room—dark, slender wood carved with strange patterns that almost looked like twisting vines or roots. The glass itself was foggy, its reflection dull and distorted.
Mallory stared at it.
“I know you’re in there,” she whispered.
Something deep in her bones told her the truth.
Brandy was on the other side.
And this time…
Mallory didn’t hesitate.
Her hand reached forward.
The surface of the mirror rippled like disturbed water.
Mallory stepped through.
—
For a split second there was nothing.
No sound.
No air.
Just a cold weightlessness.
Then—
Voices.
Mallory stumbled forward.
The world snapped into place around her.
She stood in the back of a classroom.
Rows of desks filled the room. A projector hummed softly at the front. Large windows let in soft afternoon light that painted long rectangles across the floor.
Students sat quietly, watching the front of the room.
Mallory blinked, confused.
“What the—”
Her eyes moved to the front of the class.
Brandy stood near a projection screen, clutching a stack of design sketches. A mannequin dressed in a half-finished garment stood beside her.
Brandy’s voice trembled slightly.
“…and the structure of the fabric allows the movement to stay fluid while still maintaining—”
She faltered.
Her hands shook.
Mallory stepped forward instinctively.
“Brandy!”
But no one reacted.
Not the students.
Not the professor sitting near the desk.
Not even Brandy.
Mallory frowned.
Then she noticed them.
They weren’t sitting in chairs.
They weren’t students.
Several figures crouched between desks and along the walls—thin, twisted shapes that looked almost human but wrong in every possible way.
Their skin looked gray and dirty, like smeared charcoal. Their limbs were too long. Their posture hunched and animalistic.
Grunge-like creatures.
Malicious.
Their faces twisted into crooked smiles as they stared at Brandy.
One leaned toward another and whispered something that sounded like nails scraping glass.
Mallory’s stomach dropped.
They were feeding on her.
Brandy cleared her throat nervously.
“Sorry… um… where was I…”
Her eyes darted across the classroom.
Mallory realized what this place was.
A memory.
Or worse.
A fear.
Mallory moved quickly through the room, weaving between desks. The creatures barely acknowledged her at first, their attention locked on Brandy like vultures circling wounded prey.
One of them slowly turned its head as Mallory passed.
Its eyes were hollow pits.
Mallory ignored it.
“Brandy!” she called again, rushing forward.
Brandy kept speaking, voice shaky.
“…the draping here allows for—”
Mallory reached her and grabbed her arm.
Her hand passed straight through.
Mallory froze.
“No…”
She tried again.
Her fingers brushed Brandy’s sleeve—but it felt like trying to grab smoke.
Brandy kept talking, panic creeping into her voice as the creatures leaned closer.
Mallory moved around her, trying to break the circle.
“Brandy, listen to me!”
Nothing.
One of the creatures slithered closer to Brandy’s shoulder, its long fingers curling into the air around her.
Mallory lunged at it.
Her hand passed through its body just like Brandy’s.
The creature grinned.
It knew she couldn’t stop it.
Mallory clenched her fists, panic building.
“Come on… come on…”
She tried grabbing Brandy again, pulling harder this time.
Nothing.
Brandy was trapped inside the moment.
And Mallory couldn’t break her out.
—
Upstairs in the mansion—
Calathea stood in her room staring down at the drum.
The air felt heavier here now.
The drum skin pulsed slowly beneath the moonlight.
Thum.
Calathea crouched beside it.
Her fingers hovered over the surface.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
She looked toward the door briefly, hearing faint party noise echoing through the house.
No one else seemed aware anything strange was happening.
But she knew better.
She carefully lifted the drum from the floor.
The wood was warm.
Warmer than it should have been.
Her grandmother’s voice drifted through her memory.
This drum is older than the house, Calathea.
It doesn't just make music.
It listens.
Calathea frowned.
“Okay…”
She sat down on the edge of her bed, turning the drum slowly in her hands.
The rhythm inside the skin hadn’t stopped.
It felt alive beneath her fingertips.
“Let’s test a theory.”
She raised her hand hesitantly.
“If you’re trying to tell me something…”
Her fingers hovered over the drumhead.
“…you’re doing a terrible job.”
Then she tapped it.
Softly.
Thum.
The sound echoed through the room—deeper than it should have been.
Calathea’s eyes widened.
Somewhere far away—
Something answered.
Not in the room.
Not in the house.
Somewhere inside the Median.
And the drum responded again.
THUM.
Mallory stood inches from Brandy, panic tightening in her chest.
The classroom scene continued around them like a broken recording.
Brandy’s voice trembled as she tried to continue her presentation, hands shaking as she held up a sketch.
“…and the silhouette here is meant to—”
Her words faltered again.
The creatures leaned closer.
Their gray, smeared bodies hunched between desks and along the walls. Long fingers curled and uncurling like spiders. One crouched beside a desk, its head tilted unnaturally as it studied Brandy’s fear.
Mallory clenched her jaw.
“No. No, no, no.”
She reached for Brandy again.
Her hand slipped through Brandy’s arm like mist.
Mallory stepped back, frustration boiling over.
“Come on!”
The creatures began whispering now.
A low, grating murmur that crawled across the walls.
Brandy’s breathing quickened.
She could feel them—even if she couldn’t see them.
Mallory tried again, grabbing Brandy’s shoulders with both hands.
Nothing.
Brandy continued speaking through rising panic.
“…the fabric… uh… it—”
Mallory shook her head.
“There has to be a way.”
Then—
Thum.
Mallory froze.
The sound echoed faintly through the classroom.
Deep.
Low.
Like a heartbeat inside the walls.
The creatures twitched.
Several of their heads snapped toward the sound.
Mallory looked around.
“What was that?”
Thum.
This time it was louder.
Mallory’s eyes widened.
She recognized that sound.
“The drum…”
The creatures recoiled slightly, their bodies tightening like animals sensing danger.
Mallory stepped closer to Brandy again.
Thum.
The classroom flickered.
The projector light stuttered.
One of the creatures hissed.
Mallory reached forward again.
Her fingers brushed Brandy’s sleeve.
This time—
She felt it.
Not mist.
Not smoke.
Fabric.
Mallory’s eyes widened in shock.
“Oh my god…”
THUM.
The drumbeat echoed again.
—
Upstairs in the mansion—
Calathea sat on the edge of her bed, the heirloom drum balanced across her lap.
Her fingers moved slowly across the drumhead, testing the rhythm.
Each strike sent a deep vibration through the room.
Thum.
She paused, listening.
The air felt different now.
Charged.
Like the house itself was holding its breath.
“That definitely did something,” she murmured.
She tapped the drum again.
THUM.
The sound seemed to travel far beyond the walls of the mansion.
As if it were reaching into something deeper.
Calathea frowned slightly.
“I don't know what you're doing,” she whispered to the drum.
“But keep going.”
Her hand struck the drum again.
THUM.
—
Inside the classroom—
The creatures were panicking now.
Their long limbs twisted as they scrambled backward between desks.
The drumbeat vibrated through the floor.
THUM.
Mallory grabbed Brandy’s arm again.
This time her hand wrapped firmly around it.
Solid.
Real.
Mallory gasped.
“I’ve got you!”
Brandy froze mid-sentence.
Her eyes widened.
For the first time, she seemed aware something was wrong.
“Wait—what—”
Mallory didn’t give her time to think.
“Brandy, we’re leaving!”
She yanked her forward.
The classroom walls shuddered violently.
The creatures screeched.
One lunged toward them, claws stretching across the floor.
THUM.
The creature slammed backward like it had hit an invisible wall.
Mallory pulled Brandy harder.
The world around them fractured like cracked glass.
Desks warped.
The projector light burst.
The creatures howled as the scene collapsed.
Mallory ran.
Dragging Brandy with her.
The classroom dissolved into swirling darkness as they crashed toward the mirror's exit.
Then—
They fell.
—
Back in the greenhouse—
Mallory and Brandy stumbled out of the mirror together, collapsing onto the tiled floor between rows of plants.
The mirror behind them rippled once… then went still.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Brandy sucked in a sharp breath.
“What—what just happened?”
Mallory sat up slowly, her heart racing.
From somewhere deep inside the mansion—
She heard it again.
Faint.
Distant.
Thum.
Mallory looked toward the house.
A slow smile of realization crossed her face.
“Calathea,” she whispered.
Brandy blinked at her.
“What?”
Mallory helped her to her feet.
“Come on.”
She looked back once at the silent mirror.
“We have a lot to figure out.”
