When I reached the manner, I thought I would feel relief. Instead, all I felt was fear.

The lamp at the center of the courtyard was out. As such, there was no light coming from anywhere except whatever moonlight happened to fall over the area. The manor, already large and imposing, seemed sculpted out of moonlight and shadow. It seemed more unreal and ghostly than before. Beneath the haze of snowfall, one could be forgiven for thinking it was a mirage.

My feet were well and truly numb. The barest sensations registered through my boots. My hands were weakly wrapped around the lantern holder. At least Doux wasn’t cold if his wriggling inside my coat pocket was any indication. I guess one of us wasn’t uncomfortable.

The snow was up to my knees. The courtyard was now covered in two feet of snow, like an ocean of snow. The servants must’ve cleared away the snow before it reached that point, I deduced. But the snow had become far worse than when I was last here. More signs that I need to do something, I thought as I waded through the snow.

From the lamppost hung long icicles that hung treacherously from its metal posts. I noticed a large pile of white under the post. I moved to clear away the snow and uncovered the stone horse lying on the ground. Its stone eyes stared into the night as I brushed away the snow caked under its ears. I patted its large broad face before heading to the entrance.

My dream from a few days ago came back in sharp clarity. As I walked up the steps, I remembered seeing the large raven standing at the doors. Just like the ravens of myth, it gave me a warning. At the same time, I knew deep in my heart that I could not run if from all that was happening. I abandoned someone I cared for before. I wasn’t going to do it again.

I flexed my hand and pushed open the doors. A blast of wind like a giant’s yawn nearly pushed me off my feet and threw snow into the air. When I collected myself, the open doorway led into a place that was black as pitch.

You can do this, I told myself even as I shivered from cold and fear. If you can’t, no one else can.

I collected my lantern and stepped inside.

The doors creaked and closed behind me with a loud bang! I jumped at the sound, whirling around the room. My lantern’s weak light barely illuminated my surroundings. I was in the foyer again. This time, no lights of any kind blazed to life. The room remained dark and still. Only the wintery winds outside could be heard.

“Hello?” I called out. “Faustine? Finley? Anyone?”

My voice echoed back to answer me.

I set down my lantern and took Doux out of my pocket. “Here,” I said as I placed him on my shoulder. “You should be happier up here.”

Doux nuzzled my ear in response.

I paced around the foyer for a moment, rubbing my hands together to warm up. I then pulled the rose out of my coat and inspected it. Miraculously, it was intact despite looking slightly flattened and missing a few petals. Its glow was flickering, though. It resembled a dying candle as its light desperately fought to remain.

“What does this mean?” I said to Doux.

Doux squeaked in response as if to say, “I don’t know.”

“We have to find her, then,” I said to my rat friend. I flexed my hands again. I was already beginning to feel through them again. I could even wiggle my toes in my boots without much effort. I placed the rose in my front pocket so that the flower shined like a second light from my coat. Then I picked up my lantern and proceeded down the halls.

Without the ghost-lights, the place was more like a tomb than ever. The silence was deafening. My footsteps and breaths felt impossibly loud despite my efforts to remain quiet. I wanted to call out in hopes that someone would answer, but something told me otherwise.

I’m not alone, I thought. But I don’t know who else is here.

I entered the library and held my lantern to my surroundings.

I gasped.

The shelves, normally so organized and neatly fitted with books, were torn asunder with large claw marks. The other stacks of books in the corners of the room were also disheveled. Pages littered the floor. Cinders from the fireplace spilled out onto the carpet, the very same carpet Faustine and I sat together reading a book of fairy tales just a few weeks ago. The chairs were torn to ribbons too; their wounds were like what had attacked the bookshelves.

“What could have done this?” I said. Doux huddled close to me.

I walked towards the dining room. So far, I had seen no servants anywhere, not out of the corner of my eye or disappearing down a corridor. Where was everybody?

The dining room was in a similar state of disrepair. Tables were overturned. Broken plates and scattered silverware littered the floor. More of those deep scratches marked the walls and tables.

The ballroom? I thought. Maybe she’s there.

My lantern started flickering. I set down the lantern and reached into my coat for the oil.

I froze. Something settled on the base of my spine. A terrible, chilling feeling which traveled up my body and stuck itself firmly in the back of my neck. Every hair sprang up like blades of grass and remained as such.

A sound started at the other end of the hall, quiet at first, but unmistakably there. I thought it sounded like a quiet moan.

I stared into the dark. I dared not move. I didn’t know if it could see me. Whatever it was.

The sound began to move toward me. My body seized. I wanted to run, but to where?

Whatever it was nearly upon me. The moan was not a moan, but a low roar. And it was getting louder.

I brought the lantern to my face and quickly blew out the fire. Only the faint light of the rose now kept the dark at bay. The roaring still came.

I squeezed my eyes shut as the sound reached its apex. It was like crashing waves combined with the tortured keening of dying cattle.

The sound stopped. I opened my eyes. I was still in the dining room. The rose kept me in a small patch of light. I could feel Doux shaking and digging his little nails into my shoulder.

“It’s alright, little one,” I petted the rat. “It was just the wind,” I said to him as much as to myself.

I gingerly relit the lantern and headed for the ballroom.

When I arrived, I felt a cold wind blowing. Patches of snow covering the floor of the ballroom. Wisping snowflakes fluttered through the air. I turned to see the stained-glass windows shattered and the winter air invading the opulence of the room. Shards of colored glass lay on the floor. I picked up a jagged piece and inspected it. It was of a blue rose framed by the moon.

At the center of the room was the remains of the grand piano. It was smashed into matchsticks. The keys lay scattered like broken teeth on the floor. The strings sprang frayed and shredded into the air.

The sight of it broken on the floor was like a dagger in my chest. Looking at the corpse of that instrument sent my mind back to that beautiful song she played for me. I imagined the ballroom filled with light, the people dancing and swirling like petals in the wind, how hers and my lips almost met…

My heart sank even lower as I realized something else about the room.

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The figures standing in a corner of the ballroom were not just my eyes looking for form in the dark. They were people. Specifically, they were servants.

They weren’t moving.

There were four, their backs to the wall. Two were holding their arms over their faces. Two were holding each other. Their faces were frozen mid-scream in expressions of terror and despair. I could hear their cries in my head just by looking at them.

My eyes fell on the couple holding each other. They were a man and a woman. The man wore a lopsided hat while the woman had a feather duster on her waist. Their faces were pressed together.

Finley and Etienne, I realized. I knelt and stared at their frozen forms. I wish I could’ve helped you. My hand hovered over their faces, but I decided not to touch them. It seemed more respectful that way.

I looked around the ballroom some more and found more frozen servants. Some were covered by snow, their pale stone mixing with the winter white. Amidst the remains of the piano and the snow invading the room, the ballroom appeared like a macabre artwork. The Sistine Chapel, as commissioned by Hades himself.

My hope was wearing thin. There was no life here. There was only desolation and despair. I feared the worst for Faustine.

You’ve made it this far, I told myself as I touched the rose on my coat. You have to keep going.

I left the ballroom and continued my search. I peeked around every corner and into any open doors. The most I found were more servants frozen in place. All of them were in the corners of the rooms and huddled together. A revelation occurred to me: They were all trying to hide from something. Whatever did this was long gone. Or it was still here.

The only other place I hadn’t looked was the garden. But that was on the other end of the manor. I would give that one last look and then…

What then? What was I going to do if I found nothing? Go home? Was I going to risk going back through that storm and return to the village which was going to be consumed by a freak winter storm? What were my efforts good for if it didn’t go anywhere?

That would’ve been just like me in the past, I thought as I headed to the garden. To give up like that and run off. So unable to see the end because I’m too blinded by what could be rather than what was.

Never again. I was done being that person.

My family loved me dearly. We were all struggling in our ways, but we never hurt each other. We had each other and that weathered the storm. That was what brought Mother back against all odds. That was why I left. I wouldn’t have done so if I didn’t care about them. That was precisely why I was here. There was someone here I cared about, and I wouldn’t rest until I found her.

I saw a familiar alcove fading into view. It was the painting studio.

On a whim, I decided to go inside.

The place, like the previous rooms, was torn asunder. Paint littered the floor in multicolored stains. The easel sat shattered and broken in the corner. Canvases lay around the room, the fabric punched through or clawed.

Suddenly, Doux scampered down my body to the floor and ran to a dark corner of the room. He squeaked loudly at me. I followed him and found a large canvas lying flat on the ground nearby. I turned it over.

My heart sank.

It was her portrait, or what was left of it. Claw marks had torn the canvas to ribbons. All the work I’d done, that we’d done, now lay on the floor in ragged strips. The face had the worst of it. Only a frayed series of slashes remained where Faustine’s birdlike visage used to be. There was so much hatred in the slashes. I dreaded to know who could’ve done it, and why.

I traced the gouges with my hands. I imagined I was touching her, or what was left of her. The thought of Faustine ripped apart tore my heart up as well.

Doux climbed up to my shoulder again and sniffed my ear. “It’s only a painting. I can remake it.” I said to him. Again, I was talking to myself. But it wasn’t making me feel any better.

“She hated it, you know.”

I froze. I felt the hairs on my neck stand up again.

“She destroyed it because of you.”

It was the low roar from the hall. Now it had a voice, a harsh whisper that came from everywhere and nowhere.

“She despises you.”

“Show yourself!” I said aloud. I stood and looked around.

Something plopped onto my shoulder. I brushed it and felt something wet. It was black and thick, like oil.

Another drop plopped on the floor next to me. It was large, about the size of my head.

More and more things fell around me. I yelped and jumped out of the way, dropping my lantern. It shattered and the light went out as the oily substance covered it.

I gazed up in horror as a long globule of black oil oozed from the ceiling and splashed onto the floor. Black spots flew onto the walls and furniture like splattered paint.

The one place I wouldn’t have looked, I thought as I stumbled back.

The puddle congealed and collected into a bubble which then rose and formed into a humanoid shape. Then out of the pitch-black substance emerged pale hands encased in tight sleeves. Then a head appeared, with the oil forming into a facsimile of hair. Its legs were nonexistent, lost within the roiling mass of goo that made up its bottom half.

It turned with a squelching sound that made me ill. Two icy blue eyes set in black pits stared into me. Its face was gaunt and sharp, exaggerated and unsettling in its features. It was the face of the man I’d seen in Faustine’s dream.

“Maaarius…”The creature whispered.

“Maer,” I replied.

“I am no Maer. I am her father, boy.” The Maer said. “I will protect her from you.”

I backed toward the door. “She doesn’t need your protection.”

The Maer’s form rippled. “But she does. And I will do my part.” His face melted like mud in water as his large oily form reared up.

I darted out of the room as a torrent of black oil blasted through the doorway after me. I was not athletic growing up. Connie was the one we called on whenever we needed something lifted or pushed around. He enjoyed helping at the shipyard and that no doubt helped him grow strong. Many days of manual labor would do that to a man.

August was unflappable even in the most difficult situations. I’d seen him deal with difficult clients alongside Mother at the company office too many times to count. Thugs or crooked business types would try to intimidate us for whatever reason, but August barely batted an eye before soundly telling the man to leave and never return. He could be ice cold in temperament if he wanted to. It served him well when he needed it.

I was neither athletic nor stoic. I was terrified.

I didn’t know where I was running to. I just knew that if I stopped, the thing behind me would catch me. I knew not what it meant to do. But I didn’t want to find out.

I skidded around a corner and barely avoided falling over. Not long after, the Maer splattered against the floor before collecting itself and resuming the chase. At every turn, I could hear its squelching and writhing. I thought I felt its tendrils at my heels. It might’ve just been the adrenaline. I didn’t know. I just had to outrun it.

At the next corner, I pushed myself and sprinted harder than I ever had before. Soon the horrid liquid noises faded behind me. I quickly looked behind me. The thing was nowhere in sight.

My chest heaved. My heart hammered against my chest. My boots crunched against shattered plates and scattered silverware. I was back in the dining room. I needed to catch my breath and think.

My eyes found a dark entryway. Scattered pots and bowls lay nearby. That must be the kitchen, I thought. I darted inside.

Countless cookware and utensils lay scattered on the floor. Ash from the fireplace mixed with oil from a pot that lay spilled in the corner. Three of the servants holding each other behind the central counter space. The place smelled of sauce and burnt wood.

I crouched beside the frozen servants, checking over my shoulder to ensure I wasn’t followed. My breath returned to me. I retrieved Doux from my pocket. His little paws reached for me as I held him to my face. I let him on my shoulder as he licked my ear.

“Thank you,” I told him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The rose on my coat was the only source of light there. Its flickering made the moments of darkness ever more fearful. I found myself waiting for the inevitable moment when the light went out for good and I would be swallowed up.

I listened to the silence around me. The mansion creaked and moaned. The wind moaned outside. I thought I heard the Maer oozing around somewhere.

Here I was talking to a rat in a place that defied all explanation, hunted by a creature that only existed in nightmares. It would all be absurd if I wasn’t so terrified.

“If I don’t make it,” I said to Doux. “I want you to know that you’re one of the best rats I’ve ever met.” I stroked his back. “You’ve been one of the best companions I’ve ever known.”

“As have you.” A little voice whispered in my ear.

I blinked and turned to stare at the little rat on my shoulder. Doux stood on his hind legs with his little head to the side.

“What did you say?” I uttered in disbelief.

“You have been a great companion as well, Marius,” Doux replied. “You always have.”

“How can you speak?”

“I could always speak. I think this place just lets me speak your language.”

I briefly pondered if it made sense. I decided to not think too hard about it. “Could you speak the whole time?”

“I could. But it’s not in my nature to make much sound. Besides, I didn’t need to tell you how much I cared for you. I figured you knew it already.”

I laughed quietly to myself. Despite the circumstances, I knew the truth.

“You know what? You’re right Doux.” I patted his head. “You wouldn’t happen to know any secret passages, would you?”

Doux shook his head. “None you could fit through.”

“That would be easier, just finding a little place to hide.”

“But it’s harder to act. And you can’t act if you’re hiding.” He tapped my shoulder.

“You’re awfully wise for a rat.”

Doux shrugged. “It has its rewards.”

A low moan interrupted our brief respite. My body tensed. Doux gripped my shoulder.

I heard squelching and hundreds of oily tendrils sliding and slithering over each other. Something breathed in wet low gasps, sniffing the air.

“I can smell you,” The Maer said.

I covered my mouth to stifle my breaths.

“She could not hide from me.” It continued. “Neither can you.”

I suddenly remembered the rose. Its light would draw it to me. I immediately stuffed it into my pocket.

The squelching got closer to the kitchen.

“I will protect her.” One of its tendrils slid behind the table. Trails of black oil followed it as it searched for me.

There was nowhere to run. The kitchen was too small. It was right on top of me. I knew it. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Loud squeaking pierced the squirming. The tentacle retracted.

Doux? I looked at my shoulder. The rat was gone.

I peeked around the table to see the roiling mass of the Maer disappearing down another corridor. A trail of black slime told me which direction not to go in.

Please be safe, little one, I prayed for my friend. But at least you’ve given me an opening.