Page 9 of One Last Whisper

“Help! Please!”

It doesn't matter what I want. Someone is in danger down there. I take a breath and continue. It occurs to me that I should call for help or at least call to ask where the owner of the voice is. I don't, though. I tell myself it's because I've had too many experiences where the criminals were residents of the same house in which I work, but the truth is that a part of me fears that thisissome lingering effect of my dream and that I haven’t really heard anything. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve imagined things that aren’t there.

With that uncomfortable thought in my head, I open the door to the basement. It’s pitch black, and the moment I open the door, a wave of cold malevolence swallows me. I shiver, and a soft moan escapes my lips.

Pull yourself together, Mary. There must be a light switch somewhere. Find it.

I reach for the wall, and my skin crawls. I am certain somehow that my fingers will land on something slimy and wet, like an open wound or the offal of some hideous monster.

I find only a stone wall, and after several seconds of tapping, I find the light switch. I take another deep breath and flip it on.

It's empty. The basement, I mean. It's a large room, perhaps twelve hundred square feet, and it's empty. I see nothing but bare stone walls and a bare stone floor. Clearly, Lord Edmund sees no need for the extra storage space.

I enter the room anyway, thinking that I might find some hidden door or some sign that someone was dragged away. The fear I feel a moment ago is gone, however, so I don’t believe I actually expect to find anything. I’m just reassuring myself that it really was all in my head.

When a cursory inspection reveals nothing out of the ordinary and the time spent making that inspection brings no repeat of the cry that draws me downstairs in the first place, I sigh. I’m going to be very unhappy if my dreams begin to linger into my waking hours.

I head back upstairs, flipping off the basement lights and hoping I won’t encounter anyone come to investigate what the nutty governess is doing snooping through the house in the middle of the night. I reach my room, but just before I enter, I hear a small voice ask, “Mary? What’s wrong?”

I turn to see Oliver rubbing sleep from his eyes. He wears his night clothes and in one hand, he holds a stuffed dinosaur. I smile at him and say, “Nothing. I thought I heard a noise is all.”

“That wasn’t you screaming?”

My smile fades. “N-no. That wasn’t me. You heard screaming too?”

He nods. “It was quiet, like it was from far away. I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.”

I try to sound reassuring, but I fear my voice betrays the liewhen I reply, “No, honey. I wasn’t having a nightmare.”

“Then what was it?”

Jibakurei.“It was only the wind, or perhaps a dog howling at the moon.”

“Do dogs really howl at the moon?”

“They really howl,” I reply. “Whether at the moon or at annoying noises that wake sensible people up in the middle of the night, I’m not sure.”

He laughs at that, and my fear subsides somewhat. It may be that there really was a noise, but I can’t believe that it was a cry for help. That was only my mind interpreting an innocuous sound through the lens of my nightmare.

“Will you sit with me a little?” Oliver asks. “Until I fall asleep?”

“Of course, dear. I could use some company myself if I’m being honest.”

I close the door to my own room and follow him back to his. His room is smaller than I would expect for the heir to the Earl, but his bed is comfortable, and he has a large closet filled with all sorts of toys imaginable. The tv on his dresser is even bigger than mind, and I see the video game system Lord Edmund speaks of earlier.

The room is exactly what a young boy’s room should be, and I’m encouraged to see it. Children should be allowed to hold onto their childhood for as long as possible. The world grows so cold when you become an adult.

Oliver curls up in bed and lays a hand over mine for a moment. “Good night, Mary.”

I brush a lock of hair out of his eye and reply, “Good night, Oliver.”

Almost immediately, he is fast asleep. I will not be so lucky.

Someone cried out in the middle of the night. I don’t believe the lie I told Oliver earlier, or the lie I told myself.

Someone cried out for help and was then silenced. I hope desperately that I’m wrong, but deep inside, I know that once more, I’m being compelled to solve another mystery.

CHAPTER FIVE

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