Page 2 of Tainted Serenity

“She should be arriving at any moment. She comes from a wealthy family whose money will help further push our work into a new shining light. She will live here for one year until Arthur will marry Irene Margaux next New Year.”

The determination and shock displayed on Arthur’s face were too evident, which their father noticed, giving him a look that promised more sessions inside the chamber. His attention drew to Frederick again after silently reprimanding Arthur.

“Many years have passed since this business started, and the curse became a legend that made more good than bad,” their father started, and Frederick thought back to the alleged curse he had been told many times while growing up.

The legend has it that their father’s grandfather could see mystical creatures lurking in the darkness of the woods surrounding Grimhill Manor. There was even a rumor that he could hear child-like screams at night and the voices of ghosts calling for him to save them, but the man never paid attention to these voices. Supposedly, a curse was placed on the decaying manor—a curse that brought children to its doorsteps without a logical explanation, dressed as dolls. And that was the beginning of the Grimhill organization, claiming children as their own, all for the purpose of being their dolls.

His father gave him a grave look, making Frederick’s spine straighten. “My grandfather may have been mentally ill, but he collected the abandoned children left at Grimhill Manor’s doorstep as his own, making them his personal toys to do with as he pleased. I expect you both to carry on this tradition to make me proud and to honor my ancestors.”

Chapter 1

Naya

“Come out, come out,wherever you are.”

As the haunting melody weaves its spell around me, it comes from all different directions that I have a hard time comprehending. My mind hurts with each word that plays from amacabre music box. A slow, eerie feeling slowly creeps into my consciousness; my head is pounding, and I see the world come into existence in small fragments.

There are trees in front of me, trees that I cannot see clearly because of the fog that settles over me, but I do see the snow that covers them. I blink multiple times, trying to clear out the emotions that wreak havoc inside me. As waves of nausea intensify, a feeling of unease wafts over me as it feels like my stomach has become a tempestuous sea that tosses and turns. My lungs fill with sultry air, expanding my chest as I fight to breathe in through the pain that consumes my essence.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

The melody continues to weave its way through my surroundings, its enchantment growing stronger with each breath I take. It’s a melody that drags me down to the bottomless pit of hell as I try to decipher where it comes from. The wind howls around me, grabbing hold of my clothes in a way that causes shivers to run down my spine. I blink harder in a desperate attempt to get a good look at my surroundings.

Trees stretch above me, looming over my much smaller frame at the same time as the tree crowns sway in the wind that has whizzed past me. Shadows dance in my field of vision, taunting me with their eerie presence as they cause my heart to pound against my ribcage in a painful way.

No one is nearby. Not that I can see, anyway, and that makes a sense of apprehension well up within me.

A persistent headache takes over, beginning as a subtle twitch and turning into a murmur of discomfort. The leaves of the trees sway from the wind, and every rustle that reverberates through the air is like a forbidden whisper.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

As the melody plays, my blood slowly freezes to ice, the color draining from my face as the sweat forms on my forehead, beading me in its drops. After the music box lets out those words, a haunted sound erupts, followed by a nightmarish child’s laugh. My head whips to the side in a desperate attempt to see anything through the lingering fog, but it’s in vain, as I can only perceive the trees. The laughter continues along with the horrible melody, and as my head finally regains full consciousness, I try to sit up. Every muscle in my body groans in protest as my legs and arms roar with numbness.

I cannot move.

My upper body jerks forward in an attempt to break free once and for all, and in return, a faint jingle creeps through the shadows, a symphonic sound of chains rattling. It soon intensifies into a clattering sound as it intertwines with the haunting echoes of the forest around. The chilling pain that sweeps over me as I move is enough for acid to fill my mouth, leaving a sour aftertaste as I swallow.

Memories of his words fill my mind, making it even more eerie as they mix along with the haunting, child-like voice singing through the trees.

“I won’t let you escape again, my dear.”

Arthur’s voice. It’s even more terrifying than the one coming from the music box. The memories of his actions overwhelm me—how his voice emerged from the depths of hell, wafting through the trees the second before steel met my flesh in agonizing pain. At that moment, time ceased to exist, and the initial impact stifled me,creatinga white-hot blaze that spread deep within me and took over my core. During those few seconds it took him to stab me, I felt as though the knife itself carried malignant intentions, and as if it were one with him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

The giggle-like sound fills my eardrums once again, shivers crawling through me. A branch snaps to my right, and my eyes immediately fly there. I swear I see a shadow moving amidst the trees, a swift motion that leaves me questioning whether it was a figment of my imagination.

I watch as the fog slowly sweeps away from the forest floor, and my heart begins to pound like a restless drum inside me. The sight in front of me is now clear, although I wish it wasn’t. For in front of me, on one of the many rocks surrounding me, lies an antique doll.

And it’s staring right at me.

An uneasy feeling cripples my body, spreading like a wildflower as I take in the sight of her. Once beautiful but now tattered and marred by neglect, with a dress that hangs in rags with no hope of ever being fixed again.

But it’s not the condition she is in that’s the worst. No, the worst is the way she sits with a rope encircling her waist, keeping her stuck to the rock behind her. Her chipped porcelain hand is now frozen mid-action, holding the memory of a moment long forgotten.

The creepy song continues to waft through the trees, the wind carrying the melody around in a taunting way as I stare at the antique doll.

Her hair is chestnut brown with navy blue ends; her eyes are mismatched, vacant of any life, and glassy as they stare right at me.

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