Time To Chat

I put the journal into my pocket. Though it was the writings of a madman, its cryptic entries hinted at secrets that could prove invaluable in understanding this place.

I walked to a metal door in the stone wall that resembled a freezer but had no temperature-controlling mechanisms. Through the window in the door, I saw the familiar wall of darkness that seemed to linger everywhere in the house. I tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Looking through the window again, I froze as Carson’s mother’s face appeared, her mouth hanging wide open, jaw loose. Though she seemed to scream, no sound came. I stepped back just as the window shattered, sending shards of glass toward me. I raised my arms instinctively to shield myself.

When I looked up again, I found myself in the room beyond the metal door, the one I had just been staring into. The transition was seamless and disorienting, as though I’d blinked and suddenly crossed an invisible threshold. Soft yellow lights bathed the space in an eerie glow, revealing mannequins and sculptures scattered across the floor. The walls were covered in paintings, drawings, and photos, all centered on one subject—me.

My breath caught as I took in the grotesque details: sculptures with exaggerated features, distorted hues in the paintings, stark and unflattering angles in the photos. A chill ran down my spine, and my stomach churned. The room felt alive, mocking my very existence. Behind me, a sound broke the silence. I spun around, searching for its source, but the room had changed. Written in red across every surface were the words, “I Love You, Emily,” scrawled in varying sizes.

The sound came again, closer this time. I turned to face the wall, now bearing the words “You Will Love Me,” where moments ago it had been blank. My heart raced as warm, steady breath brushed against my neck. Before I could react, hands traced through my hair and poked my cheek. The hands grip tightened on my shoulders, jerking me backward into a chair that hadn’t been there before.

The force knocked the air from my lungs. Cold metal pressed against my back, and the chair glided along invisible tracks, slamming me into the wall. Carson kicked another chair into place and sat across from me, his posture unnervingly calm. For a minute, we stared at each other—me with growing dread, him with a casual indifference, as though this were an everyday occurrence.

“Let us have an actual chat now,” he said, breaking the silence. “You’ve had your fun running about the place, but we can’t play all the time, can we?”

A chat? Somehow, the prospect made me more uneasy than anything else. My stomach twisted with anxiety, and I forced myself to appear calm.

“All right, let’s chat,” I replied softly but firmly. “What should we talk about?”

“Oh, goody,” Carson said, his tone cheerful as he pulled a small notepad from his vest.

“What is that?” I asked, unable to mask my curiosity.

“Carson is checking things off the list Mother gave him.” Producing a dark red pen, he began marking the page. “Let’s see. Carson picked you up for our date, gave you presents in the form of dolls, touched you without permission, and let you play with the dogs to show he’s good with animals. Mother says girls love men who are good with animals.”

The absurdity of it was almost funny. This deranged man had concocted a checklist based on advice from his mother—likely a woman he’d killed. According to the journal, the maternal side of Carson’s fractured psyche wanted his attempts at wooing me to fail. She wanted me dead. My only hope was that Carson’s twisted affection would keep her at bay long enough for me to escape.

“She’s right,” I said, forcing a smile. “Girls love men who are good with animals.”

Carson didn’t seem to notice my attempt to ingratiate myself. He kept his focus on the list, making more marks before looking up with a grin.

“Mother told Carson not to talk with you. Stick to the list, she said, do not deviate.” He chuckled lightly, leaning closer. “But Carson feels we can break that rule, at least for a little while.”

“Right, it’ll be our little secret.” I tried to sound playful, though my nerves betrayed me.

“So, did you like what was in the journal?” Carson asked in a hushed tone. “Carson has never read it himself. He could never get it open, with Mother’s lock on it and all.”

I pulled the journal from my pocket and examined it. “There is no lock on it,” I said, holding it up for him to see.

“Not for you. You aren’t supposed to be here. In fact, Mother doesn’t even know you’re here yet.” Carson smiled, his expression turning wild. “Won’t she be surprised?”

“I assume she will,” I said with a forced laugh, trying to hide my growing unease. “So why do you love me?”

Carson’s head jerked up, as though the question had caught him off guard. “Why? Because you’re you, of course.”

“Yes, but why me?” I pressed, feeling a strange confidence growing. “Why not someone else?”

Carson leaned back, his posture still unnervingly proper. “It has been a few months; it is likely you’ve forgotten. Sent out by Mother for tinctures from the apothecary, Carson had one rule: do not cause trouble, as trouble would be trouble. As Carson left the apothecary, parcel in hand, he was accosted by ruffians. Carson could have handled them, but Mother’s words stayed true. While they beat Carson and took his package, a girl appeared. She flew in with a sharp tongue, scattering the men. She handed Carson’s things back and even saw under his hood. But she smiled. The first act of kindness Carson ever experienced outside this house was gifted to him by you, Emily.”

I remembered now. How could I have forgotten that face under the hood? My mind raced as I tried to understand how a simple act of kindness had spiraled into this nightmare.

“Why, Emily…” Carson’s tone darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Isn’t it obvious? No good deed goes unrewarded.”

How did he do that? I know I hadn’t spoken aloud. However improbable it sounds, it seems that he has the ability to read my mind. Could it be due to his watching me for the past few months? Getting to know a person can give insight into the way they think. However much I dislike this, I must admit he is an intelligent person. He could easily be capable of predicting my thoughts. This makes him all the more dangerous. I’ll have to do something unexpected to make him drop his guard.

“So what might I be rewarded with?” I asked, trying to take a little more control.

“To be honest, Carson was thinking, based on Mother’s advice, that we could check out the view on the cliffside behind the chapel,” Carson said excitedly.

“No, that’s okay…” If it was his mother’s idea, he might try to push me off.

“Are you sure? It’s really pretty.” Carson looked kind of sad.

“Maybe later,” I said. I don’t plan on it, but it’s best to keep him happy.

“Well, what would you like?” Carson smiled happily. His expressions changed rapidly throughout the short time I had been abducted. One moment he’d look full of malice, and the next as sweet as a puppy dog—given he hasn’t “upgraded” it yet.

“Perhaps I could take a look at the list to make sure that it isn’t already there?” I just need to look at the list and see what else I might have to deal with.

He held it out to me hesitantly, pulling back briefly before finishing the handoff. As I read the small page, I did my best to hide my terror.

“KillherFormotheRkillHerfoRMothErkiLlherfOrmoTherKillherFormotheRkillHerfoRMothErkiLlherfOrmoTherKillherFormotheRkillHerfoRMothErkiLlherfOrmoTherKillherFormotheRkillHerfoRMothErkiLlherfOrmoTher KILL HER FOR MOTHER,” was written all down the page.

I closed the notebook slowly, handing it back to Carson, hoping that I was able to hide the fear welling up inside me. “Well, lucky me it wasn’t on there,” I said, trying not to waver.

Carson chuckled, probably because of his fake list. He tucked it into his vest, pushing his loose cravat out of the way to get into it. The pen had also vanished somehow, just as mysteriously as how it appeared.

“So what is it that you wish?” Carson leaned forward again.

“How about we go dancing?” I doubt he’ll go for taking me out into public, but asking for something usually wouldn’t could keep him on his toes if he can really predict what I’m thinking.

“But on March 16 at 2:54 p.m., you told Nikki and Maria that you hate dancing,” Carson said, naming my roommates at the orphanage.

“I just said that so they would stop asking me to go with them,” I lied fluently.

“Then a-dancing we shall go.” Carson stood up, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Carson does so love balls.”

“Y-yeah, I love balls too,” I said, taking his hand warily. I can’t believe it. Is he really going to take me out of here?

Carson plucked me from my seat and spun me around, first out and then back into his arms. He held me close and said, “Don’t be vulgar, Emily,” before laughing softly again.

He pulled me forward, throwing me into a spin across the room. The lights went out all at once, leaving me alone in darkness. In a moment seemingly slowed in time during my spin, before my eyes had a chance to catch up with my brain, I thought I saw Carson’s mother in the corner, before fading away.